There is something extremely special about forming a bond with a wild creature. We are now so far removed from the natural world that to be lucky enough to feel that connection is a truly special thing. I suppose this is what keeps me feeding the owls on a daily basis; this chance to watch them swirl in silent acknowledgement of me. Over time feeding the owls led me to build bonds with the shyer Little Owls and also the kestrels that live on the farm, but none have been quite as trusting and looked to me so readily as Daddy Kestrel.
It was only when we lost him and I recovered the ring that I realised that he had been with us throughout the entire time I had been feeding the owls. I knew he had been ringed a couple of kilometres away as a nestling by Alan Ball as at some point we had recaptured him at our farm but I had no idea that he was the grand old age of sixteen and a half years old when he died, and the oldest wild kestrel on record. This prompted me to look back through my blogs and collate his adventures,to tell his remarkable story in its entirety and to celebrate his life.
We have always had kestrels at the farm, living alongside the Barn owls. The two species coexist quite happily sharing a similar habitat and nest site, so I was initially unsure when he joined us. I began feeding the owls in October 2012 at which time I now know that Daddy Kestrel had apparently already been at the farm for three years. The owls would nest first in their chosen box and then the kestrels would take the other box to rear their young in. It all worked well and without me knowing the kestrels began helping themselves to the food I left out too.
2014 was a bumper year for Barn Owls and for the first time we had two pairs living side by side in the boxes on the dutch barn. This left nowhere for the kestrels to nest and they did their best and nested in the straw. Sadly, the farmers didn't realise and moved the bales and the eggs were lost. Despite a glut of voles there were no kestrel broods that year. My first mention of the kestrels waiting for food is the following year when, in 2015, I mention seeing a kestrel perched on the roof struts eyeing up the food I was leaving. Daddy Kestrel was already six years old at this point and, with an average lifespan of four years in the wild, he was doing well. He had happened upon a lucrative site and was to stay with us for the rest of his life.
After this year, the owls gave each other more space. We added a box over by the beehive and in time another in the barn, so the kestrels were able to take either east nest box or west nest box where, without fail, they would rear three, four or five youngsters. Nesting later than the Barn Owls they simply took the spare box and quietly reared their family.
In 2018 my blog tells me that the kestrels took west nest box for their nest site and it was about this time that I realised that our male bird was ringed and much braver with me than the female. I try not to name the wild birds but over the years he simply became Daddy Kestrel without me realising what I had done. In 2019 they took east nest box only for their youngsters to be evicted by a Barn Owl. We found two youngsters unable to fly and returned them to the nest box only for them to be ousted out again. It became apparent that our second pair of Barn Owls were looking for a nest site for their second broods and were too impatient to wait. I watched these youngsters avidly to make sure they fledged successfully and thankfully they did. This incident also led to my funniest ever faux pas in a message to Paddy when I wrote that the kestrels had;
"Darted under the shed door" only for autocorrect to change the initial D to an F. That kept me laughing for days.
In 2020 I realised that the kestrels needed a box of their own and I ordered them a special open box that was positioned on the east side of the dutch barn siding. Daddy Kestrel gratefully took to this box and never used the owl boxes again. I am so glad I gave them their own designated spot after the pleasure they have given me over the years. The kestrels would roost on top of it all year round and from this vantage point Daddy Kestrel learned to fly in after dark to help himself to the owl's tea. I don't know if this is something that kestrels usually do but his familiarity with the farm certainly helped. Although he only flew in when he was very hungry or when he had young to feed I recognised his hunger and began to put a chick or two out for him each morning. It was another job to do but wonderful to see him perched waiting each morning and to witness his strong, straight flight in to the feeding platform. When he had young kestrels to feed I left more food and it was a delight to see them all flying in squabbling to get their share and chasing each other across the farm yard. This fledging behaviour never lasted long enough for me, and eventually they dispersed further and further from the yard. Within a month they'd always be gone leaving me with a huge feeling of satisfaction that my brave little falcon had, once more, raised his family successfully.
Summer 2021 saw me name a second kestrel in the form of Harry Kane. This year Daddy Kestrel raised five strong kestrels but as they fledged, the youngest fell from the nest box still unable to fly. I fed him for a good ten days as he hopped around the farm yard with his parents watching me intently. As this was world cup year he became Harry Kane and we all celebrated his successful fledging from a scruffy ball of feathers to a magnificent, soaring raptor as avidly as the fans cheered on England.
By summer 2022 Daddy Kestrel was still rearing young and produced another brood of four. He was much braver with me by now and would wait for me, sometimes even flying down the road to wait upon the telegraph pole outside my house. he often met me by the gate and flew ahead in anticipation of the food I had for him. During windy weather he would tuck himself safely up in the shed eaves but mostly he chose a high vantage point such as the barn apex, the grain store vent or the uppermost tips of the ash trees from which to watch me. I never tired of looking out for him and marvelled at how he could clasp such tiny twigs between his talons and still maintain his balance. Max the dog was very jealous and if he saw him flying in to the feeding platform would chase after him. Daddy kestrel quickly learned to watch for Max's position in the field before flying in.
Calamity struck in 2023. I suspect Daddy Kestrel got too brave around the Barn Owls as I had watched him sitting on their nest box porch just as the owlets were ready to fledge and laughed at his bravado. He disappeared for a good two days before reappearing on the machinery near the shed and gazing at me imploringly. His right wing hung by his side and he could barely fly. I remember running home for food which he fluttered down to. I found him and fed him morning and night until his wing healed and he could fly strongly again. He still fledged four kestrels despite this injury and continued to produce a successful brood in 2024. During these years his mate would fly in for food too but was nowhere near so brave and I have no idea how many different mates he has had over his long life.
2025, was sadly to be his final year and he struggled with his brood this summer. He still flew in for food each morning and evening and I increased the food to help him feed the nestlings, but one evening he flew into the shed and in a weakened state he fell to the ground. He lay splayed in front of me on his back, vulnerable and beaten before recovering himself enough to take off and fly to the straw. The following morning I watched him take food and fly onto the floor of the dutch barn. In feeding his ever growing family he had exhausted himself. I took food down four times a day until I could see him flying confidently again. When his family finally fledged, he stopped flying in for food realising that he was too weak to withstand the barrage he would receive from their attentions. He sat back and let them help themselves before taking his share. I was however in awe of him and his mate as I watched them mobbing a Red Kite that came too close to their fledglings. They wheeled and circled until it left the farm and I marvelled at their acrobatics. Daddy Kestrel still had some fight in him.
A couple of weeks before he died he began waiting in my garden and when I saw him, I fed him on the hedge. He knew me instantly and flew in for my offerings but he also continued to wait at the farm. I think his ability to hunt for himself was compromised by his incredible age and he used his wits to make sure he was well fed. On his final morning, he flew from one of his favourite vantage points, the ash tree halfway down the field. I watched as he flew straight and true and deftly took his breakfast up onto the top of west nest box. But all was not well. A friend found him in the grass field later that afternoon and called Rob out to him. Daddy Kestrel had been attacked and had injuries to his eye. He flew back into the straw and perched on the combine. As soon as I received this alarming news I rushed down to look for him but I couldn't find him. The following morning he was dead in the straw.
I've spent a long time trying to piece together that final day. Who attacked him and why? Eye injuries would point to the crows that are always marauding around the yard but I'd be surprised if they'd attack a healthy kestrel. Was he weakened? Perhaps he'd taken in poison? Perhaps it was avian flu which I had reported to Defra in swans on the river? Perhaps it was simply old age? Whatever the cause he was gone and nothing more could be done for him.
For the first time in all those years, I touched his feathers and they were soft and dense, tinged pink on his breast and flecked with brown. His wings seemed strong and true, and I wondered how many miles they had carried him. He was also well fed. I may not have been able to save him but I hadn't let him down in this sense. I carefully took the ring that had shown me it was him each time I walked down although his trusting nature and familiarity did that anyway. The ring would give me the final piece of the jigsaw and an exact age for this special boy.
With avian flu a real possibility we decided to burn him and, wearing gloves, I bagged him and carried him across the yard to the incinerator. It was a beautiful morning, the sort he would have enjoyed as he watched and waited for me. As I walked the crows took off from their viewpoint in the largest ash tree and the fieldfare exploded in their hundreds from the hawthorn hedge. As I continued the finches and larks that have banded together for winter spirited upwards from the grass and for a brief, beautiful moment the sky was filled with wings. It was as if they too had come to say goodbye in a celebration of his long and fruitful life.
I miss him terribly. I catch myself looking for him at all his favourite spots before I remember he has gone. I almost expect him to fly in for food after dark and flutter upwards above me as I wait for the owls. One of his favourite tricks was to scatter the down from his food onto my head as I tried to stand still to watch. It is with huge sadness that I come to realise that I will never experience his companionship again and probably won't be lucky enough to build such a bond with another wild creature as I have done with Daddy Kestrel.
But I hang onto the word lucky. I was lucky to have him and a few days after his death I was stunned to receive an email telling me his age. He was fortunate to have the privilege of six thousand and nine days of soaring across the skies, of wild forays and adventures, and the longest life of any wild kestrel known to man. As I head across the Fens close to home I see one, two, three sometimes four kestrels hunting the grass verges as I drive. Some of these are undoubtedly his descendants, and I smile as I watch them soar.
