The best-laid plans...

Almost missed it: distant Goshawk, 21.v.2016

I have no intention to enumerate every Goshawk sighting, but this short update is mainly to continue the more optimistic outlook I had yesterday, when it seemed that my fears over the impact of torrential rain and hailstorms on this year's nesting attempt were groundless.

Shopping and washing meant I did not get to the high landslip watchpoint until late morning.  The first quiet "kek-kek" from the nest site, unseen below me, was not until 13.15, but some more calling at 13.45, a little more urgent, mixed with a couple of "weeoo" wails, got my full attention.  I figured the calls indicated a food delivery and began to scan the airspace over the valley downhill from the nest site, the typical route of the male leaving, wishing I had a hawk's eyesight.  The tension was getting very difficult when the tiniest flicker of movement against the sky, in the opposite direction, just caught my eye.  Another Common Buzzard?  No, more agile, more attentuated appearance, and the big tail abruptly fanned out on a turn - just like a Honey-buzzard - confirmed it was the Goshawk! (image above)  It had left uphill, perhaps within the woods, or just hidden by treetops, but it was already distant.

Anyway, only a couple of poor images, but more useful information: (1) the nesting attempt seems still on course, (2) expect the unexpected!

Lucky sight: note long wings, narrow hand 21.v.2016

And there was an unexpected sighting at about 15.35, on the way back down.  The track is inside the woods, with only an occasional glimpse of the sky overhead, but lower down it turns at a right-angle and at the corner a former tractor route into an abandoned hay meadow provides a wide view of the mid and upper valley basin that I'd recently left, bounded by wooded ridges and the higher mountains beyond.  I make a point of always stepping into the corner of the meadow, partly for the open view after the closed woodland, and partly because there is very occasionally a raptor to be seen (once there was a probable Goshawk leaving a tree in the far corner of the meadow, it was off its perch and away into the darkness between tree trunks before I could blink).  Today I looked up to see a tiny high raptor passing across a cloud: it was a Goshawk, probably the same elusive male again (image above, left).  He abruptly closed his wings and fell in a near-vertical dive.  He was high over the mid sector of the valley, and I guessed he was heading for the nest, but at low level he pulled out of the dive, angling away across the canopy, and from a point on his forward trajectory a pigeon-size bird rushed up from the trees and hammered away at treetop height.  These events were all very distant, but I could see that the Goshawk made no attempt to pursue but abruptly changed course again and vanished behind a row of trees.

All's well, I think

The Goshawk departing; inset confirms identity, 20.v.2016

Much more optimistic that the apparent breeding attempt continues.  Yesterday I was nearly five hours in the landslip area in the woods above the nest site, where calls can be heard, and birds flying to or from the site can sometimes be seen.  Of course, they are not always above the canopy, and if they are, they are usually moving directly and at speed; factor in the distance between observer and site, and I always count myself lucky if I pick the bird up before it vanishes into the woods or over a ridge.

It was on what seemed like the 100th binocular sweep across the wooded ridges facing me when I picked up a distant raptor.  It seemed to have risen up from the head of the valley on the far side of the ridge opposite, but perhaps more likely had only just come into range.  The bird looked good for a Goshawk: below the overall size and bulk of a Common Buzzard, wings held flat or slightly raised, moving quite fast for its size, then as it turned across the sunlight, two white plumes like jet trails either side of the tail.  It glided across the northern face of the mountain, then looped back and forth apparently quite close to the tumbled rocks - presumably alert for prey - before turning decisively, still very distant, into the top of my valley*.  It then lost height and I lost sight of it against the complex surface of the wooded slope.

Ten minutes later there were a couple of medium strength "kek-kek-kek" calls from the nest area; ten minutes after that there was suddenly a Goshawk in the air a little downslope from the nest site, already diminishing in size as it rose up the opposite valley side and into open airspace above the ridgeline (see image above).  There was a short interaction with a much smaller raptor, I think a a Sparrowhawk, that was encouraging it to keep moving away.

Three images of the departing Goshawk; middle catches a moment reacting
to a mobbing Sparrowhawk, both birds visible in right image.

And that was all the visible action.  What I saw and heard was consistent with a male coming to the nest site, I don't know whether with or without prey, and leaving on another foraging trip.  The course he (I'm assuming it was the male) took when leaving was precisely the same as the male typically took in past years.  Around an hour later there was a single wailing "weeoo" call from the nest site; perhaps he had not brought enough food?  Let's see if a few more hours today will bring more sightings.

* I was once sitting on one of the peaks of this mountain watching at close range three Sparrowhawks, believed juveniles, zooming freely around the rocks as if in an aerial dogfight, when in an instant they vanished and a Goshawk floated into view from the cold air wrapping the sheer northern face of the mountain, like Jaws emerging from the ocean depths.

Troublesome waters...

Juvenile from the site in August 2015

Some worrying uncertainty over the Goshawk pair that I was fairly certain were starting to breed in early April.  Back then there was lots of calling from two birds, including several spells of increasingly excited screaming that I thought were likely to indicate copulation events.  But over many hours on three successive days (16-18th May) I have heard just occasional quiet k-k-k calls, mostly from different points around the middle sector of the valley, and no calls from two together.  Nor have I seen a Goshawk in flight.  Positive evidence, eg. the sound of a food delivery, can be gained in just a few seconds, but hours and hours of negative evidence, ie. failure to see or hear anything substantive, add up to nothing but a nagging worry!

On the 15th May there were severe thunderstorms and an intense hailstorm.  The storm turned out to have been far more intense around the town lower down, where the main valley meets the plain; flowers and fruits on orchard trees, grape vines, and the town centre's ornamental plants were destroyed by hailstones said to be as big as golfballs.  Given the general lack of evident Goshawk activity at the site, and the possible impact of hailstorms (I'm almost certain a breeding attempt at this site in 2013 was ended by an intense hailstorm in early June that year), I decided to make an exception to my usual rule of not visiting the nest during the breeding season, and approached the nest site close enough for a visual check.

With wind in the canopy, the network of torrents in tumultuous flow downhill, and the leaf litter soft and silent from rain, I'm confident that any bird present would not have heard me.  However, although this patch of forest is more open than most, with tall well-spaced trees and only sparse low growth to hinder movement, it is still necessary to approach to around 100 metres to find a sightline for binoculars downhill to the nest through the dense screen of intervening lower canopy leaves, and I doubt it is possible to do so unseen.

The next 15 minutes were increasingly tense, as there was no sign of a sitting bird, such as a tail projecting over the nest rim, and no sign of any green leaves having been added, and, at distance and in confusing light, it was too easy to turn any moving leaf shadow or any leaf turning brightly in the sun into some part of a hawk.  But eventually a distinct grey-brown crown raised slightly above the rim a couple of times and disappeared down again.  I could not see any more detail, certainly not an eye, so cannot be certain if the bird saw me, but strongly suspect she (?) had seen me through a gap in the woven sticks of the nest rim as I approached.  She sat tight, I hope on eggs or chicks, without alarming and there was no alarm from any partner perched unseen in the vicinity.

I retreated as unobtrusively as possible and climbed further up the valley to an open rock area from which it is sometimes possible to see birds in flight after they have left the nest site, and always possible to hear any vocalisations from the nest or nearby parts of the valley.  Nothing seen or heard, but I only had about three hours available, so could easily have missed visual or auditory evidence of any interaction.

Although I did not conclusively identify the bird occupying the nest as a Goshawk, I'm pretty sure it was, but now the comforting thought that a bird is in residence is turning into renewed worry about the fate of the assumed breeding attempt after another several hours of intense thunderstorms (but no hail) today, Thursday 19 May.