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Winter birds on Wild Ingleborough

Twistleton Scar, Ingleborough (c) Judith Greaves

Ingleborough is a winter wonderland for birdwatching. Grab your binoculars and get ready for a wild day out.

As summer bows out and autumn gets its feet under the table, Ingleborough can seem, and sound, like a bleak place.

Gone are the calls of our summer birds – the liquid bubbling of the curlew, the skylark’s long, descending trill, the sudden metallic tac-tac-tac of a ring ouzel in alarm. Waders head out to the coast for winter and many of our songbirds head for North Africa.

Sharp winds whistle through the limestone pavement and up into the crags. There are birds still here, of course, it’s just that the winter’s cold touch can make staying still to see them something of trial.

Don’t be put off by the chill, though, just make sure you bring warm, waterproof clothing and footwear, and plenty of food and (hot) drink – there’s still plenty to see out here.

A fieldfare perched on branch with rowan berries

Fieldfare - (C) Richard Steel/2020VISION

Fieldfare and redwing

Arriving in autumn and often seen in flocks together, these two thrushes sweep in from Scandinavia and Eastern Europe to see out the winter in our (comparatively) warmer climes.

The fieldfare (Turdus pilaris) is one of our larger thrushes, almost mistle thrush sized, distinguished from the latter by its grey crown and rufous mantle; in Yorkshire of old, its name was often contracted to felfer.

If conditions were favourable earlier in the year, they will now be feeding on hawthorn, rosehip and rowan. You’ll find them lower down the mountain, moving around the wooded areas as they work through the food sources.

Redwing eating holly berries

Redwing - (C) Jon Hawkins

The redwing (Turdus iliacus) is closer in size to the song thrush, differentiated by a pale eyestripe and red flank and underwing. An old Yorkshire name is redwing throlly, derived from throstle, the Old English word for thrush.

They are perhaps easiest to spot on their way to roost when the members of a flock churr and warble to one another. Like the fieldfare, they’re here for the berries so look out for them around trees and shrubs still in fruit.

A waxwing perched on a branch

Waxwing - (C) Jon Hawkins

Waxwing

In the same areas of Ingleborough, and very much dependent on easterly winds, you may be lucky enough to see waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus).

These eye-catching, starling-sized birds arrive in flocks and move quickly through trees and scrub hunting for berries. Easily identified by its rakish crest and the red “waxy” markings on its secondary flight feathers, this gregarious bird is a colourful treat at what can be a monochrome time of year.
 

Meadow pipit perched on an old post,

Meadow pipit - (C) Mark Hamblin/2020VISION

Meadow pipit

Let’s not forget the meadow pipit (Anthus pratensis), affectionally called mippit by birders. It was formerly known as the ling bird (a reference to heather) in the West Riding and the moor titling in Craven.

Perhaps a little non-descript at a distance, these hardy little brown jobs are here all year round. Outside the breeding season, you may see them in loose-knit flocks. They feed almost exclusively on the ground, walking at a steady pace, snatching invertebrates from the vegetation with their slender yellowish bills.

In autumn and winter, they may also resort to seeds if invertebrates are hard to find. Look out for them on the open hillside and all the way up to the summit.
 

Snow bunting in winter plumage in snow

Snow bunting - (C) Mark Hamblin/2020VISION

Snow bunting

Another winter visitor, joining us from breeding grounds in Scandinavia and the high Arctic, this a fluffy dumpling of a bird, unlikely to be confused with anything else.

The snow bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis) has winter plumage of white with warm buff shades around its throat, head and back. The lower mandible is thicker than the upper, giving its bill an almost (but not quite) crooked appearance. 

They feed almost wholly on the ground, on seeds. Out toward the coast, you might find these sparrow-sized birds on arable land, but here you’ll find them on the upper slopes, moving in flocks. Their plumage can make them hard to spot against Ingleborough’s pale, grey stone.
 

A kestrel perched on a fence post

Kestrel - (C) Russell Savory

Kestrel

One of our most familiar raptors, the kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) is possible the one bird of prey we can all identify easily; that hover-that’s-not-actually-a-hover is so distinctive.

Unlike, say, a kingfisher, the kestrel does not simply hover in the air. It faces into the wind and matches its forward speed exactly against that of the oncoming wind to hold itself in place. If you look closely, you’ll see its head does not move – it’s busy scanning the ground for the voles that make up the bulk of its diet.

As they scurry along their habitual tracks, voles urinate continually. Their urine has a UV signature and kestrels can see into the UV spectrum and, well, isn’t nature amazing? Just to be clear, the kestrel isn’t looking for a vole in the act of urinating, it’s just that UV-glowing urine trails narrow down the search area for the kestrel.

You’ll find them hunting over open grassland, bog and crags. Perched, they can be told from the sparrowhawk, which stand up on long legs, where the kestrel squats down on its claws.

An old West Riding name for this falcon is stand hawk, tracing back to Old English stangale, or “stone yeller” – probably from the way that, in our uplands, these birds perch and nest on stone crags rather than in trees.

Another old Yorkshire name is mouse falcon, which is fairly self-explanatory. The word kestrel itself comes, as many of our raptor names do, from the language of falconry: Old French. Crecele (in modern French crecerelle) means rattle, a reference to its kee-kee-kee cry.
 

A short-eared owl perched on a fence post.

Short-eared owl - (C) Danny Green/2020VISION

Short-eared owl

Relatively easy to spot in the summer, when the need to feed chicks extends hunting into daylight, this elegant owl is scarcer sight across the dark months. It quarters open moorland and bog – earlier names include moss owl, moor owl and marsh owl – on stiff, rowing wingbeats.

To find out more about this beautiful, silent hunter, look out for a blog post dedicated to Ingleborough’s owls, later this month.
 

Note: the author is indebted to Francesca Greenoak’s “British Birds, their Folklore, Names and Literature” for the information on historical names for birds. 

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