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Enonkishu Conservancy, Kenya. February 12 2020.   I think this one has to go in the ‘probable’ category. I had little faith in this long-distance photo of a large bird spotted in the morning haze. I might have deleted it until, on close examination, I fancied I could just make out a hint, just enough facial detail to spark a memory from a few years ago. A memory from February 2017 when I was in Uganda with a guide and we spotted this bird.

We could not for the life of us identify it despite long looks and this high quality photo for reference. Later that day we asked knowledgeable birding tour guide who quickly said ‘It’s a young Bateleur.” The clincher, he said, is the bare skin behind and around its beak, the only plausible conclusion; it was one of those lessons that sticks with you. I’ve seen adult Bateleurs since and they are unmistakable in flight, colour and under-wing patterning and are spectacular. The name comes from French, means street performer or tumbler, a reference to their teetering soaring flight; how picturesque.

Comparing the photo from three years ago with today’s and considering the overall size and posture I was able to persuade Alan, my ornithologist companion, to consider it a Bateleur. He went for it and even muttered ‘Good call”. Probably.

February 7 2020. Maasai Mara, Kenya. Bustards take a bit of believing: maybe not as much as Ostriches, but they’re large grasslands birds who prefer walking over flying, are still hunted in some low latitude countries and have been extirpated from much of their former range in northern Europe. This month I’ve had close encounters with three bustard species: Macqueen’s Bustard in the Arabian Desert and now Black-bellied and Kori Bustards here in Kenya’s Maasai Mara. It’s all rather exotic.

Today’s encounter with a Kori Bustard came towards the end of a day of birding a new-to-us expanse of African grassland. It was the quintessential Maasai Mara landscape of all around grass contained within distant escarpment faces and punctuated only by lone Acacia trees and groups of animals.

We were thrilled to spot a tree-top nest of White-backed Vultures. Not so long ago it was a common bird of the African grasslands but, like all Old-World vulture species,  it is now rare and threatened with extinction through intentional poisoning and/or ingestion of second-hand,  lethal-to-them medications in cattle carcasses.

Other notable birds this day were a low-flying Montague’s Harrier, a nectar-sipping Scarlet-chested Sunbird, two rather distant Secretary Birds, Lilac-breasted Rollers and a lark-like Pink-throated Longclaw.

Companion Alan was continuing his species-logging efforts while Malika (not a birder) was our driver. (Despite our best efforts at pointing out some spectacular birds, at the end of the day, the best Malika could do was acknowledge our excitement.)

Both Bustards were a wonder to see but the Kori especially so because of its novelty and size. It was keeping company with a small group of Thomson’s Gazelles. This picture makes it clear that not only is the Kori Bustard a big bird but the Thomson’s Gazelle is a pretty small gazelle, barely a meal for a family of lions.

February 7 2020. Enonkishu Conservancy, Kenya. I have returned to south-west Kenya to help collect research data on native mammals and birds. Friends and family have wondered about the much reported locust swarms, “Are they eating me out of tent and home?” Well I saw a grasshopper yesterday and that’s about it for me for the orthoptera family of insects. No, there are no locust plagues here, only rain, lots of it. This is supposed to be the dry season, yet every day ends on a soaking note: grasslands flooded, crops destroyed, trucks (and us) stuck axle deep in clay, but life goes on. I’m told that the famed grasslands  of the Maasai Mara recorded 750mm / 30 inches of rain in the last 3 months of 2019; it sometimes feels as though we’ve had as much this week.

But I got out birding yesterday with Alan, a visiting South African ornithologist. We drove miles through subsistence farming communities, his goal was to establish the presence of as many species as possible, all part of a project determining their distribution in East Africa.

One of my hopes for this year’s visit to Kenya is to see a couple of starling species well. My Field Guide to the Birds of East Africa lists over 30 starlings, they are in the same family as the urban urchins of Eurasia and North America and one thing they seem to have in common is that they are generally rather featureless dark brown to black birds; until you look closely. Until you look at a Superb Starling, which, in the right light, truly lives up to its name. The one above is making a meal of termites.

It’s cousin the Greater Blue-eared Starling, below, is almost as spectacular but again the light has to be working for, rather than against, you.

January 26 2020. Muscat, Oman. Curlews are one of those birds who are sometimes used as a literary device to set the mood of a place, usually to emphasize an empty, treeless land, remote and prone to dampness, mostly fog. I don’t think I’ve heard a curlew’s call in the wild but its long piercing whistles are supposed to raise the hairs on the back of your neck, – in the right setting of course. Other than a far off glimpse of curlews on the mudflats of the Rhine Estuary in Holland I don’t recall ever seeing one.

I didn’t come to Oman to see Curlews but after settling into my modest hotel I walked down to the beach, it was low tide and almost the first bird I saw was this Eurasian Curlew; striding purposefully and occasionally stopping to pull something long, squirming and impossible to consider delicious from deep in the wet sand. I was very happy to finally make its acquaintance and delighted that it had no fear of my presence. A good start to a short stay in a very welcoming culture.

It’s mid winter in the Northern Hemisphere and warm places like Oman are just the ticket for migrant birds (and people). The beach and other ocean-side places held lots of interest for me. Without wandering too far I found plenty that was somewhat familiar: Whimbrel, Black-headed Gulls and Common Sandpiper while others were completely new: Sooty Gull, Rose-collared Parakeet and Green Bee-eater.

This abundance of birds seems to be rather limited to coastal areas, for on a journey inland through fiercely forbidding mountains there seemed to be little birdlife. It also helps to have a special kind of car driver who is equally on the lookout for birdlife and able to stop at a moment’s notice rather than a hundred metres further along. I was not so lucky.

January 23 2020. Dubai Desert Conservation Reserve (DDCR).  I mentioned hearing the pre-dawn calls of the Eagle Owl in the previous post. We saw it a few times after that but never well, only in low light and as far-too-brief glimpses. Once, around 9 pm,  it landed in the top branches of large tree that overhung our campfire area. It was difficult to make out, an amorphous lump that only became convincing when it launched itself airborne and slipped away.  Another time we could see it as a small blip atop a high dune, calling out and leaning forward each time as if to add emphasis. Our best sighting, one enjoyed by many in our group because the lead car stopped to watch it, was at first light and the bird was about 100M away on a dune face. As we watched, it took flight to swoop down and past us.

The Eagle Owl is a close relative of both the Snowy Owl and our familiar Great-horned Owl, and looks like a much larger version of the latter. It is the world’s largest owl (with a 2metre wingspan) and of course, as is often the case for scary looking animals of the night, myths have built up to account for its presence, it is persecuted in some cultures.

Oddly the best bird guide for this area does not recognize its presence here, limiting its range quite far north of us in Iran and beyond.