Big bird

I hear it before I see it.

A whistling call, slightly eerie.

Tilt my head upwards…

Oh wow.  Flying low, wheeling, above the gardens.  In the cloudless sky its plumage is unmistakeable – the barred underwing feathers, the forked russet tail, the white head.  And then it soars right over me, that whistling call on repeat, and angles its head down to survey.  Does it see me?  I think it does.  I’m disproportionately (and, I know, ridiculously!) moved to the point that my eyes prick with tears.  I can’t really explain why, except I think it’s something about the wonder of seeing such a huge, majestic bird in the wild, and of knowing its bittersweet back story.

…

Look up!

Something compels me to look up... even though I haven't seen it yet.

I’m wandering down the slope, on the way to the shops.  But it’s what’s above which now has my attention.  The circling – wings outstretched, so wide! – and the tell-tale shape of its tail.  As I keep walking, the bird’s effortless-looking spirals move ahead of me incrementally and it feels as if it’s leading the way.  I follow, but it has the advantage over me; its speed reducing it to a mere speck, and then out of sight.  I want to fly!

…

I’m hanging the washing out on this still, intensely bright, cyan blue March morning, when a movement pierces the skyscape. Rising upward over the roof, gaining height, higher, higher - and then a graceful glide, henna-hued tail fanned - over the ridge tiles and away.  But what a sight.

…

Once again, I hear it before I see it.  Oh, that call.  I’m tuned in now, that'll be it forever now, my ears have instinctively diverted to it, over the sound of cars and jackdaws.  That whistle is really evocative – a sound that taps into something deep and primeval  – as if I've been here before, centuries ago.   I wait in the garden for it to pass over, oh please do! - and yes it does –  coming so low I can see its detail, the yellow bill, its eyes swivelling to look down.  Ohhh! Then off again over the fields, the whistling getting fainter.  I feel a thrill.

…

For four days running now I’ve enjoyed the spectacle of the red kite.  I’m sure it must be the same one.  I said it came low, but then I thought, how low was it really?  Considering this bird of prey has a wingspan of up to 6 feet, it was probably still quite high up.  I’m trying to imagine it landing in the garden and how much space it would take up…which really puts things in proportion.... 

Is it that direct connection to wildness, to nature and a relatively unfamiliar creature which excites and delights me so much?  I think it must be, but as I mentioned above, it's also the back story.  If you don't already know about the red kite's history here it really is noteworthy.  Centuries ago they were common but, as with so many birds of prey, they suffered from severe persecution.  Sadly so much so that, by the late 1800s, they were extinct in England.  But in 1990, efforts were made to reintroduce them - and it all started off with just 13 pairs, who were flown over (in a British Airways jet!) from Spain.  Those 13 pairs did well - breeding successfully in the Chilterns, their young continuing the generations, more birds then being introduced, and gradually they've spread further out across the country.  It's now thought we have nearly 5000 pairs of red kites - maybe you already see them regularly? - but if you haven't yet spotted one, I'm sure they'll be coming to a field or garden near you soon, they're doing so well.  I hadn't seen one here until the last few years.

Everything's alright, even when it isn't, when these moments happen.  I'll be happy to stop whatever I'm doing, to be moved and exhilarated, breath-taken, grateful and in awe of this big, beautiful bird any time.  I hope I see it again today.

Simon Dupree & The Big Sound: Kites (!)

Eddie Floyd: Big Bird (a different kind of big bird, but what a song)

That eerie sounding call