Juvenile Goshawk appears

Juvenile Northern Goshawk Accipiter gentilis, wings partly
flexed in medium glide, secondaries bulging dorsally,
crossing ridge crest, 12.ix.2016, N Apennines. 

In the last post I mentioned one possible opportunity for coming into contact with adult Goshawks before the next breeding season: "I have previously seen distant 'probable' Goshawks around the craggy rock peaks of the local mountain toward the end of the year...".

It's a beautiful place to be, in the right weather, and can be good for raptors, which tend to pass low after crossing the lower wooded slopes, or to hunt around the gnarled volcanic outcrops.  Of course, some judgement over timing and positioning, and a lot of luck, are needed, but it can be more productive than the lower valley.  A high proportion of the birds seen in late summer are juveniles.

Common Kestrel Falco tinnunculus and Sparrowhawk
Accipiter nisus during one of their frequent
noisy interactions, 12.ix.2016

These first two weeks in September, just past, have been blessed with continuous fine warm weather and the spectacle of juvenile Kestrels and  Sparrowhawks chattering and shrieking at each other as they contest occupancy of the tops.

Occasionally all the Black Redstarts Phoenicurus ochruros vanish from the rocks they were perched on and you know a juvenile Peregrine is about to arrive like a thunderbolt, with a peremptory call, ripping the calm air as it stoops down the sheer northern face.  Or Hobbies will arrive in twos and threes, spend no more than a minute almost brushing the grass as they streak around the outcrops then disappear into high skies to the south. And more rarely a migrant Marsh or Montagu's Harrier will cross the mountain after leaving its summer home in the nearby lowlands.

Sparrowhawk briefly in view while hunting around the
northern face of the mountain, 12.ix.2016

But then on 12 September what I had thought was one of the three Sparrowhawks seen regularly over the mountain, perhaps lurking around the shaded sheer northern face or moving between woods on different sides, registered as distinctly larger than expected as it passed obliquely overhead before gliding out of sight over the clifftop.  I could not make it out in life but the couple of images taken showed the dark-streaked buff underbody of a juvenile Goshawk, the first I'd seen since mid-August!

It would be great to know if it was one of 'mine', born in the valley trending toward the north from the base of the northern face, or a bird in the process of dispersing from a nearby valley.  It remains to be seen, assuming I'm able to return to the site in the autumn, whether I'll run into an adult up there, and be able to identify it before it passes out of sight.

Hobby Falco subbuteo (left) and Peregrine Falco peregrinus (right), both juveniles,
during one of their brief appearances over the ridgetop, 12.ix.2016, N Apennines

Summer ends & even the juvenile Goshawks disappear

Juvenile (Northern) Goshawk Accipiter gentilis, N. Apennines, 29.vii.2016
The slightly bulging crop indicates the bird had recently received food

Returning to the Apennines on 20 August after a week at home it felt as if the breeding season had come to end while I'd been away.  Nothing seen or heard since then has changed that impression.  So, from a happy period when a sight of Goshawk in flight could almost be relied on at some point during the day, to now, when there is scarcely any evidence that there is a Gos anywhere in the vicinity.

Male Goshawk, distant bird in the dull cloudy conditions typical
of spring 2016 in the north Apennines. 

That 'happy period' extended from late spring to late summer, chiefly when the provisioning male of the nesting pair was most active in May and June, and then when the fledged juveniles started open flights above and beyond their natal woods in late July and early August.  The traditional period for Goshawk watching in the UK extends over a couple of weeks in late winter and early spring when adults display over established or potential breeding territories but (as noted in a previous post) my visits to this Apennine location, hoping to see display, have always been hampered by cloud or rain or snow.

No sightings at all since I've been back, and just one "kek-kek-kek" call from the nest area on two different days, sounding full and robust so perhaps an adult.  I probably inadvertently triggered the first of these because it coincided with me walking along the track that passes through the nesting woods; although I never like to cause any disturbance, I was pleased to be reassured that one of the hawks was still present.

Juvenile Goshawk, N Apennines, 28.vii.2016

I'm pretty certain that time spent at a watchpoint overlooking the nesting area now would probably be better used elsewhere, but it remains to be seen if Goshawks will be seen during less narrowly focused excursions into the hills. I have very occasionally seen them flying in autumn in past years but never worked out a way to increase the chances of contact.

There may be one opportunity: I have previously seen distant 'probable' Goshawks around the craggy rock peaks of the local mountain toward the end of the year, and the provisioning male was often seen heading that direction (and one once showed up for a split second to terrorise and scatter a group of three juvenile Sparrowhawks I'd been watching ducking and diving around the main peak).  But very long odds indeed on being up there at the right time and looking in the right direction!

Schedule of events at and around the Goshawk nest site, 2016

End March to start April

Much activity in immediate vicinty of nest tree by adult pair; lots of calling, including several phases of loud and increasingly excited screaming, probably signalling copulation events.
(estimate laying around mid-April, hatch late May)

Late June to late July

Young are heard calling but apparently remain under or within the tree canopy for three or four weeks once presumed able to fly (I do not know the actual branching and fledging dates because I do not attempt to directly monitor the nest and surroundings).

Last week in July.

The first few flights in open airspace above the canopy. These tended to extend only within a few hundred metres of the nest site, with both juveniles remaining relatively close (estimated up to about 200 metres apart).  (I was uncertain if there was a third less advanced bird at this period, and still have not seen more than two juveniles together).  During what I assumed is a food delivery by an adult, often signalled by a kek-kek call, juveniles still tended to converge from separate locations up to perhaps 400 metres away, screaming excitedly.

First week in August

Flights became distinctly more ambitious about a week after their first extensive flight in open airspace above the nest valley, and each of the two juveniles started to take their own separate flightpath.  Birds were seen to soar higher, almost out of (binocular-aided) sight; they have been seen to overfly adjacent valleys and mountain blocks, at least one or two kilometres distant; they have interacted with other raptors.

Second week in August

As the first week to 10 days of flights strongly centred around the nest location ended, during the second week of August in the present case, there was also little evidence of  juveniles congregating excitedly when food was brought.  Once I heard birds calling apparently in response to each other but with no auditory sign of any movement toward each other.

End of August

Where are they now? With no visual or auditory evidence of their presence by the second half of August, I have no way to know whether the juveniles have permanently dispersed or are still present for some periods in their natal woods.

Typical juvenile movements

I tried to relate these observations to the typical behaviour of young as summarised on p146 of Kenward (2006, also see more substantive text in the Markers and movements chapter):
"After fledging to neighbouring trees, Goshawks remain within 300m of the nest for about three weeks until their flight feathers harden, at 60-65 days old, after which they routinely move within 1km of nests but with occasional excursions up to ten kilometres away".

It seems likely that the major part of July, during which I heard young calling and moving within the woods toward a food delivery, but did not see them, corresponds to a first phase of spreading from the nest prior to the 65-day threshold when the flight feathers are fully developed.  The last week in July showed the start of open flight above the woods but mainly together (two juveniles) and mainly within the nest valley, and within just a few hundred metres of the nest.  According to my observations juvenile flights became quite suddenly more ambitious over the first week of August, with juveniles flying separately, going to great height at times, and moving at least a kilometre or two to adjacent valleys and hillsides.

 If the 65-day threshold corresponds to the start of above-canopy flights by the two juveniles together, that would place the hatching date around 20 May and laying in mid-late April. Whatever the dates involved, it was satisfying to find that my observations about juvenile movements under the canopy, free flights in open airspace above the woods, still with some social cohesion; followed by longer distance individual flights, less cohesion, and probable dispersal, are in accord with far more precise observations by others, notably the radio-tracking studies synthesized in Kenward (2006).

Summer ends...

Apart from lack of visible Goshawks, autumn is clearly approaching.  There is not quite a chill in the early morning air, but certainly a freshness.  One apparent sign of autumn is slightly misleading: the extensive areas of brown that have spread over the hills are not autumn leaves, about to fall, but the hop-like fruits of Hop-hornbeam Ostrya carpinifolia, which appear in summer and seem unusually abundant this year (below, left).  But now the air is often filled with the mysterious soft fluting calls of Bee-eaters Merops apiaster, moving away from their breeding sites in the lowland; "mysterious" because their loose and open groups (below, centre and right) are often high enough to be almost out of sight.  It is a clear signal of the approach of autumn because their calls are never heard here in the mountains except during a week or two at the end of summer.

Fruits of Hop-hornbeam (left), Bee-eaters (centre and right). N. Apennines. 

Kenward, R. 2006. The Goshawk. T & A D Poyser, London. (reprinted 2007).

All change at Goshawk site: adult female reappears, juveniles move further afield

Adult female Goshawk, 11.viii.2016, N Apennines

Events around the Goshawk site seem to have taken a different course since the beginning of August.  Juvenile calling has greatly declined in frequency, and the absence of the typical sudden outbreak of shrill screaming from more than one bird, which I assumed arose from a level of competition between juveniles present for food items brought to the area, is very noticeable.  In recent days there have been some wailing calls, apparently from a single juvenile, and a little obvious excitement apparently signalling a food delivery, but vocalisations have been very widely separated over the day (and possibly a different juvenile at different times).  I infer that the juveniles are tending to spend much of the day, possibly entire days, at other locations, and I have indeed seen juveniles in flight at nearby locations.  The single juvenile I saw in flight at the site on August 4th seemed a little hesitant and unsteady and soon disappeared back into the woods; I wondered if this might have been the third and later juvenile, whose presence I have suspected from differences in calling but have never been able to confirm visually.

Juvenile Goshawk, 9.viii.2016, N Apennines

On the 9th, I saw one juvenile come up just before 10.00 after several wailing calls spread over the previous two hours, but no apparent excitement over a possible food delivery.  This bird circled quite slowly up, soaring without visible effort, while moving in an uphill direction until I lost it a great height.  A second juvenile came up about two hours later, after similar sparse calling, but with four high pitched wails perhaps indicating food availability.  This one soared up a little way and then moved directly off overhead in a different direction to the first (it is possible this was the same individual as the first, having returned unseen, but I suspect not).  Consistent with the growing tendency for fully independent flight and daily activity, as noted in the previous post, I have not seen two juveniles up and flying in the valley together since August 3nd.

The adult female Goshawk, 11.viii.2016, N Apennines

And, really remarkable, I saw what I believe is the adult female of the nesting pair in flight for the first time since 7th June, a little more than two months!

Considering the enormous number of hours over this period that I have spent at watchpoints overlooking the nesting valley, I can only infer that she undertakes almost all her activity entirely within or under the canopy.  Of course, during much of this time she has been at or close to the nest.  But, apart from one possible glimpse of her in flight back in early April, this has been the only certain sighting of her until today.

The mystery pale bird

Curiously, just before I saw her rising over the nest site, I had been trying to make out some detail of a large pale bird sitting exposed at the top of a tree on the far side of the valley, beyond the nest site from where I was sitting.  I had been thinking this was probably the very pale Honey-buzzard I saw moving among trees nearby just a couple of days ago, preening in the sun after the torrential rainstorm last night.  I did not directly see the perched bird become the flying bird, but it vanished from its treetop at the same time, and it took several second looking at the (distant) soaring bird to realise it was a Goshawk not the Honey-buzzard: somewhat similar structure, big tail, sometimes fanned, sometimes twisting in flight, similar dorsal colour. So perhaps it was the Goshawk sunning herself?

The only images I have of her are very poor mainly because of excess distance and (not today) bad light, but I think there are just about enough similarities in shape and moult state to accept that the same individual is involved.

Adult Goshawk, believed to be the nesting female. While chasing the adult male (or an intruding male?) on 7 June 2016, left; post-nesting, 11 August 2016. The short primaries seen in June appear to have grown fully in the later image. N Apennines.

So, evidence of a marked shift in events around the Goshawk nest.  It feels as if the tight bounds of family life during the nesting season are starting to disintegrate; the sudden appearance of the adult female seems to signal that she's done with all that for another year!

Addendum. 13.viii.2016
Something else a bit different yesterday.  Silence from the area around the nest site for most of the morning, then several "kek-kek-kek" calls, full and strong, sounding like an adult and very possibly the female.  Then just about 15 minutes later, she (or he) let out a single "wee-oo" wailing call, again full and strong.  Like turning a switch, it seemed to electrify the whole valley, already simmering nicely under a high sun.  Or was it just me that was electrified?  But the adult was answered almost immediately by a wail from another bird probably several hundred metres down the valley, and just afterwards, by another bird from the opposite valley slope perhaps five hundred metres away.  About five minutes later she called again and again was answered from two other locations.  And on several occasions afterwards, there was this clear response by the other two Goshawks, which I assumed would be the juveniles.

I had never before heard this obvious communication between the Goshawks that was not tied up with competition for food and did not result in the calling birds converging on wherever the food was available. This time the 'answering' birds stayed right where they were.

Male & female juvenile Sparrowhawks, 12.viii.2016

And just after this (which did not end in any of the vocalising birds in visible flight) two Sparrowhawks (image left), I believe male and female juveniles, were flying around immediately above the Goshawk nest site, one of them hawking for flying insects and both occasionally swooping on each other and grappling, just like the young Goshawks over the past couple of weeks.  I was expecting, hoping even, that their display might bring an adult Gos up to object, but no!

Flight behaviour of the juvenile Goshawks

One of the two juvenile Goshawks now flying freely in open airspace. 29.vii.2016. N Apennines, Italy. The pale buff ground colour and dark-streaked chest and belly are characteristic of juvenile Goshawk.

It takes a lot to get me up at 6 o'clock in the morning, but the chance of close contact with young Goshawks flying around above the woods in their home valley does the trick.  The plan has been to climb up to the nest site, more specifically, to my 'edge' watchpoint that overlooks the valley below the nest site, before one of the parents makes a first food delivery.  The hope then is that, as seems to be usual, the juveniles will take to the air after eating.  As the previous post noted, 25 July was the first time this year I had seen the juveniles in flight in open airspace above the woods, and I've been up to the valley every morning since (writing on 3 August).  During each of those ten days, there have been phases of 'wee-oo' calling from juveniles, moving in the woods between about 200 metres above the nest location and 500 metres below, and my visit has coincided with flights on seven mornings.

Juvenile Goshawk Accipiter gentilis

The morning of the 29th was fairly typical of the first few days (apart from the possible adult hawk arriving).  I had heard no sounds from down in the valley as I walked up on the path through the woods on the eastern slopes.  At about 8.00, through the screen of branches extending over my head from the woods behind, I glimpsed a bird fly quite fast above the 'edge' heading toward the nest site; this is out of view upstream, behind a buttress of rock and screen of trees to my left.  I had the impression it was the adult male Goshawk, although I did not get a good view of  it. Whatever that bird was, a couple of minutes later a wild cacophony of screaming from at least two juveniles broke out.  I could hear them, rather than see them, moving through the treetops below me, uphill toward the nest area. Then the calls seemed to return to near the original position below me.  Frantic screams followed for a few seconds, then one source of calls moved position up the valley again. Then there was silence again.  I did not see an adult leave (it was typical, back in June, to see the male leave, but has been very unusual in July).  It seemed almost certain from the calls that there had been some animated discussion about a food item, but that both juveniles may have got some.

The quiet lasted nearly an hour, then there were a couple of wailing calls below.  They seemed to indicate an excited state, but not the hunger-driven desperate sounding calls around the assumed food delivery.  Then a few more calls, then suddenly a juvenile launched from the woods and flew fast across the opposite valley slopes.  In hindsight, the characteristic pace and pitch of the calls suggested that the bird was working itself up toward flying out of the woods, but that could be entirely fanciful!

One of the juveniles in mid call. 

The first bird was soon joined by a second, and, as on previous mornings, they began to soar up, alone or in synchrony, or fly in pursuit of one another, soon covering the full width of the valley (around 700 metres at this point) and gaining height until they broke above the skyline.  Their frequent wild screaming calls helped make the occasion just unforgettable. While rising up in this way they would often fly past my 'edge' watchpoint at eye level, sometimes at very close range, and then disappear for a few moments over the woods behind me before reappearing, and perhaps diving down to the bottom of the valley, grappling in a whirling tumble of pale underwings and spread tails.  They would then vanish, but I couldn't tell if they had flown off for a greater distance or returned down to the woodland canopy closer to the nest site.

Sequential images of juvenile Goshawks grappling during an early flight, 1st frame on left. 25.vii.2016. N Apennines

Once, I could just follow one young Gos as it flew a sinuous track among the higher tree crowns below, small birds scattering ahead; then it flew directly into an opening of a tunnel-like enclosure of trees arching over a stony track through the woods, and I could hear its calls as it followed the path up along the western slope! Which, if habitual, perhaps a foraging route for adults, could explain why I once found a Goshawk feather on that track.

Juvenile Goshawk, July, N Apennines

This basic pattern was extended on the following (sixth) day.  Some while after they had flown together around the valley and then gone out of sight, one bird appeared from the direction of the nest site, calling.  On its own still, it soared quickly up, well above the valley, and kept going up until it was barely visible without binoculars.  From a height it then moved off uphill toward the rocky peaks of the local mountain, just over 2 kms distant.  Exactly the flight pattern the provisioning male often took after a food delivery, and I had to check carefully while still within range to make sure it was a juvenile.  About 45 minutes later (around 11.00)  I started hearing persistent but distant Goshawk calls, they gradually became less distant, and eventually I picked up a high hawk approaching.  It came closer, crossed the valley and started flying uphill again following the ridgetop opposite.  This bird turned out to be a juvenile and quite possibly the same one that earlier set off in the direction whence this one appeared.

Juvenile Goshawks: part of one interaction

Since that sixth day (30 July), one or both juveniles have been seen to fly higher and/or longer distances from the nest valley, and in one instance at least, to behave more 'confidently' in flight.

On August 2nd, for example, one of  the juveniles had soared to medium height above the lower end of the home valley, moved across to the valley on the far side of the western boundary ridge, then abruptly and strongly powered upward towards a higher approaching raptor. This turned out to be a Honey-buzzard, and a couple of fast swooping dives by the Goshawk encouraged on its way.

Today (3 August) was interesting.  While at the 'edge' watchpoint I managed to glimpse an adult Goshawk, that I presumed was the male after a food delivery.  He soared high from close to the nest site, then headed toward the rocky local mountain and was soon lost.  As he left there was a phase of penetrating screaming wail calls from the juveniles, and they burst out of the woods, flew downhill, soared quite slowly in widening arcs, and went separate ways.  One crossed the adjacent side valley, heading for a prominent wooded mountain; the other headed uphill along the western ridge of the valley where I soon lost it (while tracking it's sibling).  So, three of the Goshawk family had gone their separate ways.

Juvenile Goshawk harried by Kestrel Falco tinnunculus
3.viii,2016. N Apennines

I then left the side valley where the Goshawk nest is and walked through the woods to a small high meadow giving extensive views over the main valley itself.  I was hoping to pick up one of the local Honey-buzzards in flight, but the main bird of note was a Goshawk.  I heard what sounded like the same juvenile wailing calls I'd been listening to in the morning.  Then the source came into view, rising  from the far unseen side of the convex slope below, it was indeed a juvenile Goshawk, probably one of the valley two: it was being harried by a Kestrel, and headed towards perhaps more familiar terrain just over one kilometre away.

So, picturesque details aside, the basic pattern of early juvenile flight behaviour (of this brood) seems to have been:

1) Remain mainly under and within the tree canopy for something like four weeks once able to fly (I do not know the actual fledging, branching and flying dates because I have not directly observed the active nest or the woodland immediately around it).

2) The first few flights in open airspace above the canopy tend to be limited to a radius of a few hundred metres from the nest site, with both juveniles remaining relatively close (estimated up to about 200 metres apart).  (I'm not certain if there is a third less advanced bird).

3) Flights have been distinctly more ambitious after day 6, and each of the two juveniles has started to take their own course.  Birds have soared higher, almost out of (binocular-aided) sight; they have been seen to overfly adjacent valleys and mountain blocks; they have interacted with other raptors.

Juvenile Goshawks flying free!

One of the two juvenile Goshawks, 25.vii.2016, N Apennines

In the previous post I mentioned that I hadn't been expecting juveniles flying free above the woods for some days yet, simply because last year it was about a week into August before I saw one.  On the 25th I went again to the narrow ledge at the top of a rocky outcrop on the valley side downstream of the nest area.  The site itself is not visible from that 'edge' watchpoint, but the valley downstream extends left to right (north) immediately below the edge, and the male typically flies (like a rocket through the treetops) down this section of valley after a food delivery.  I went along there mid-morning again, hoping that I might by a stroke of good fortune coincide with a food drop and get a chance of seeing one of the adults.

juvenile Goshawk, 25.vii.2016

For about an hour and a half there was just a sporadic juvenile Goshawk cry, similar to the adult wail but weaker and higher in pitch.  At first, each set of three would be separated by 10 or 15 minutes, but abruptly and for no visible reason, the gap shortened and then there was a flurry of excited calling from at least two birds together.  I was on the alert in case an adult had just brought food and would be visible leaving the site, but instead the calling got louder and even more urgent, apparently closer.  Then I caught side of a Goshawk flying quickly up from woods downstream of  the nest site, at first close to the foot of the far slope of the valley, then higher and out into the open airspace above the valley and in front of my watchpoint.  It had the streaked breast and slightly more delicate appearance of a juvenile, and was promptly followed by a second!

With almost continuous calling, the two Goshawks dashed around the area right in front of me, sometimes apart, sometimes chasing and grappling with a sudden flash of underwings and spread tails, gradually  spiralling wider and higher.  One would often come within about 20 metres of my position, half-hidden by the overhanging leaves from the wood at my back.  The fast-flying hawks above, the wild shrieking calls: all this and a summer's day in the green hills!

juvenile Goshawk, 25.vii.2016, N Apennines

After a couple of minutes the two moved away over the woods behind, still calling, then returned, then as they moved away behind again, their calls became fainter and stopped.  I waited a long time but didn't see them return, and don't really know if they had already returned to the nest site from a different direction or had moved away for  wider exploration.  I strongly suspect, but don't know for sure, that this was their first extended flight above the canopy; I've visited the watchpoints around the nest area often this month, and have only heard evidence of juvenile movements within the woods, ranging between an estimated 200 metres upstream from the nest tree and 200 m in a downstream direction.

For concentrated excitement, and sustained proximity to wild raptors in flight, I can't imagine those minutes will be surpassed.  It was deeply satisfying because I've spent too many hours trying to keep in touch with key events at this nest, listening for calls and looking out for Goshawks in flight in the valley.  And too many hours worrying that someone will disturb them, or that another night's torrential rain or leaf-shredding hailstorm would be one stress too many, or that the male will not be able to keep the food supply going, or that a fledgling will fall from the nest.  Of course it's somewhat absurd to get personally involved, but there it is.

Perhaps it was so moving because this year I've been lucky enough to follow events from late March, when the adults were starting to reoccupy the nest site, and mating (often, judging by the bouts of increasingly frenzied calling), right up to the juveniles flying free above the canopy (there might be a third to make that step, perhaps significantly younger, judging by the thin calls still coming from the area when the others had flown off).

July 2016, progress report

Distant Goshawk heading for the ridge, 16.vii.2016

So, back in the Apennines since 9 July, and the first unpleasant lesson has been that it is now very much more difficult to see the male Goshawk.  Not really sure why this is.  Presumably the female is now hunting more for herself and the young, and now that this responsibility is shared, the male does not need to be rushing around in such conspicuous haste.  Perhaps the female spends even less time flying in open airspace above the woods than the male does. It may also be that the female tends to be less protective of the nest once the young are flying within the wood, so the male is perhaps under less pressure to keep his distance.

It must be safe to assume the young have fledged, because since arriving back I have heard their relatively 'thin' wailing calls from different points within a couple of hundred metres radius of the nest.  I have not yet seen one in free flight above the woods this year; last year they did not appear in open flight until early August.

But I did see one in the woods by accident a couple of days ago.  I was on the trail that goes up the valley and passes quite close to the nest tree (the nest can just be seen from the trail in winter when the trees are bare, if you know where to look).  The trail loops around above the site and crosses to the other side of the valley, but above the site the loop crosses the same seasonal torrent that then flows down past the nest tree.  In fact, it is almost bone-dry this July (baking hot in contrast to wet and chilly June).  A juvenile Goshawk must have heard my approach because it flew up, with a cry, from the bottom of the deep and narrow torrent bed just below the trail.  Peering down I saw that a couple of tiny pools remained, dammed up behind boulders; the bird had been out of sight but must surely have been next to the water, presumably drinking.  It was certainly a young juvenile, dark sooty brown dorsally and very raggedy in appearance, but easily able to take off from a constrained space and slip away between tree trunks to somewhere near the nest, where it wailed again a couple of times, provoking a sibling (or two) to join in.

I was sorry to have disturbed it, but confident it could return to the water if needed, and very happy to learn that at least one of the brood is now able enough to take off from the ground.  In late July last year, returning from a period at home, I found remains of a near-fledgling Goshawk (flight feathers still emerging) that must have fallen to the ground, or been blown from the nest, and been unable to take off again.

Over several days since arriving back (not quite so many hours total observation time as in May-June) I have only twice briefly seen an adult.  A few days ago I was in fields at the lower end of the valley, close to the village, trying to pick up any Honey-buzzard flight over the panoramic expanse of woods above, but instead saw a Goshawk fly fast over the treetops of the wood bordering the upper meadows, and cross the valley to the ridge on its western side.  It then followed the ridgeline up towards the mountain at the head of the side valley, pausing to repeatedly circle a couple of sections, as if looking closely for potential prey (composite image below).  This is the route most commonly taken by the adult male after leaving the nest area, and it was in one of those sections the bird was examining, where coppicing has left a micro-mosaic of wooded, bushy and open patches of ground, that I once saw a Goshawk perched early one autumn evening.

Adult Goshawk foraging. Composite image to show aspects of flight shape (not plumage detail!) and a little landscape for context. Note long-winged appearance, broad secondaries almost 'stepped' up from the narrow hand, and very conspicuous white 'flashes' (lateral undertail coverts) that seem to be prominent at all times in the breeding male (not sure about other periods).  N Apennines, 16.vii.2016

Then yesterday I was at one of my old watchpoints, that has a view of the valley downstream of the nest site, listening hard for the sporadic calling of juvenile Goshawks (slightly distracted by an occasional distant Honey-buzzard whistle-call, and the screeching of a Peacock kept by someone in the village below).  About a minute after a short spell of agitated wailing, apparently from two juveniles, unseen but not far below, an adult came fast down the centre of the valley, turned a couple of relatively wide and slow circles over a patch of cut hay-meadow, and vanished again into the woods.

Flight direction of the male Goshawk leaving the nest

Male Goshawk gaining height at the start of a
foraging trip after leaving nest site, probably
heading for the first ridgeline or the valley
beyond. Note white undertail coverts either
 side of tail. 10.vi.2016

I left the Apennines on 21 June and have since had opportunity to reflect on my attempt over the past few weeks to get more familar with Goshawks.

Quick recap: I found the Goshawk nest by chance in 2008; it was used by a Common Buzzard in 2011, and by Goshawks certainly for six of the seven remaining years (no data for 2009). That's 7 out of 9 years up to and including 2016.  My main hope for 2016 was that a Goshawk pair would again use the known nest and breed successfully.

Visits in March-April confirmed that an adult pair were active at the site and, having listened closely to vocalisations from the nest area in June, I believe that when I left the valley the pair had produced at least one near-fledgling (making wailing calls noticeably 'thinner' and quieter than the adult).  It might become clear later (plan to return mid-July) if there is more than one juvenile, but an accurate count will not be possible just by listening for calls.  If last year is any guide, juveniles may be expected occasionally to fly above the canopy from late July onward.

Given a nesting pair, my next priority was to observe from the few locations on the surrounding wooded hillsides, such as the edge of an old meadow or rockslide, giving some view of the wider landscape and of the airspace above the nest, in the hope of seeing the male more reliably.  I also wanted to try and get some decent images, less distant than hitherto.  As noted in the intro pages (see "Nesting Site" page) there is no view down onto the canopy of the woods where the nest tree stands; closer trees block any direct view from all watchpoints in the surrounding area, but the airspace above the nest site and up and down the valley in which it is situated can be scanned.

Male Goshawk moving along the far slopes of the nesting 
valley  at the  start of a new foraging trip after leaving 
nest site.  Note white undertail coverts and 
bulging crop.  13.vi.2016

It's OK to hope, but best not to have expectations, and essential not to be in a hurry.  The cool rainy or stormy weather throughout June meant that sessions were often abandoned, or I didn't even leave the house, and because of the apparent scarcity of other raptors this year, I spent countless hours trying to stay alert while gazing at wooded hills and an apparently empty sky.  This has its charms, but can pall after a while.

But I did get to see the adult male several times.  The usual course of events was that I'd suddenly hear a loud "kek-kek-kek" call, perhaps a couple, perhaps with one or two "wee-oo" wails, then I would become hyper-alert for the male in flight.  Typically, very soon after the calling (a few seconds or couple of minutes), he would streak away downhill among the treetops in the centre of the valley, parallel to the main torrent in its deep-cut channel.  Variations in the height of trees along the valley might give me a lucky glimpse of him in flight, but often I would only pick him up once he'd travelled 750-1000 metres downslope from the nest site and turned back to fly diagonally up the opposite valley slope and back along the crest, past the nest area and toward the higher woods.  Sometimes, instead of doubling back and zig-zagging up along the crest, he would soar upward, usually fast but sometimes more relaxed, and move off toward nearby hillsides.

Twice he appeared to head straight up the valley slope opposite my usual position before turning to move uphill parallel to the crest, and three times he moved in the opposite direction, more or less toward my usual position and the out of my sight over the wooded slopes behind me. A couple of times I first saw him higher up the valley after an apparent food drop; I don't know if he headed this way straight from the nest, or if he'd taken the usual downhill route and I had failed to notice him before he'd worked his way back up the valley.

The map below attempts to represent this information.  Essentially, he usually leaves low or very low in fast direct flight down the centre of the valley, he will then usually turn to his left (ie. west) and move up over the far slopes of the valley, often directly over the ridge crest, toward the higher outcrops to the south.  Sometimes he would drop down on one side then the other (something like a scaled-up Sparrowhawk zig-zagging along a hedgeline); often he'd move across to the far side and not reappear.  During my observation times he left by this route more often than all the other routes indicated combined.

Sketch map to show initial route of male leaving the nest site. Red dot indicates location of nest; orange arrows represent flightpaths, their width indicates frequency (ie. the male most often leaves down the centre of the valley).  Green lines are contour lines at 100 metre intervals; the land slopes from south to north and rises to over 1400 m beyond the lower left (southwest) corner of the map. Grey bands suggest main ridge features.  Dashed blue lines show hill torrents, draining in general to the north and east. The three green stars indicate location of main observation points (the eastern point on the 800 m contour is the one I most often use). 

There is a location along that ridgeline where trees overhang a stone trackway and patches of partially coppiced woodland; I have several times heard a Goshawk alarm call here and once, at dusk, briefly saw a bird perched over the track that could only have been a Goshawk.  I suspect this is the kind of terrain that the male would often perch on the lookout for prey.

His most frequent departure route means that he is at minimum 700-800 metres away by the time I see him, ie. I have lots more images of a distant male Goshawk.  On the rare occasions when he left low over my position, his much greater relative speed meant that my camera (unsuitable for birds in fast flight) could not find focus before he was out of sight over the woods behind me.  Cue expletives.

Once, I had been in position for a couple of hours, and had just put my camera down and picked up a pencil to make some notes; at this moment the male abruptly rose up from the nest woods and flew directly overhead giving me just enough time to grab only one nearly sharp image (crop shown in the previous post, but here's the image again, below).  There had been no sounds to indicate he'd just delivered food; I guessed that he'd been resting in the vicinity of the nest site since before I arrived in position, having delivered prey some time earlier.  Several images of the departing male show a distended crop showing that he had consumed some of the prey he'd brought.

The breeding male leaving overhead after a food delivery, N Apennines, 30.v.2016 

It is exceptional to see the male arriving and I infer that he typically does so under or within the woodland canopy.  I have only once seen him arrive at the nest area in open flight during the season so far, and only once in previous seasons.  One morning in June I was just getting organised among the broken rock of the old landslip when I heard an unfamiliar, slightly 'croaky' call, and a bird swept past from behind the treetops close on my right. I did not immediately realise it was the male Goshawk, partly because of the call and partly because the flight was unfamilar, with something of a 'fluttering' action: perhaps he was carrying heavy prey (I did not see prey) or could it have been a signal to the female (never read of this, so presumably not).  He flew in a straight line to a point upslope of where I estimate the nest to be located, then a sharp turn downhill and fast descent below the trees in front of my position.

The 'Honey-buzzard' that was a Goshawk

The breeding male Goshawk, 30.v.2016

Friday 10 June, forecast "sereno" (sunshine and cloudless sky) from dawn to dusk.  Hah!  Yea, right.  Well, only a few spots of rain, but chill breezes, and clouds clustering dark and heavy right over the valley. Then, it abruptly cleared to blue sky and hot sun around mid-afternoon, by which time I was on my way back down.

It was a strange session.  After about an hour I saw a raptor moving across the head of the side valley where the male Goshawk had quite often been seen, but this bird was fast, flappy and erratic, wings looking a touch shorter or broader.  A Sparrowhawk.

Then, after four and a half hours at the rocky watchpoint, trying to force breaks in the cloud cover by willpower alone, I picked up the thin shallow arc of a medium sized raptor lifting above the ridgeline opposite.  Honey-buzzard I thought at first, and still thought after an anxious few moments when I lost it and refound it higher and closer and gliding toward my position.  That 'giant falcon' shape of a gliding Honey-buzzard approaching is so typical, the wing distinctly flexed with that forward prominence at the wrist, straight trailing edge, tail closed and looking quite long with rounded end, head inconspicuous.  Closer, its forward speed was suddenly startling, then the bird angled away giving a side view, dark against the grey sky, and then my last views were a series of broken images as it passed behind the trees to my left and disappeared over the convex slope above. Something about these last glimpses did not look right.  Was it a Honey-buzzard?  I only got a couple of poor images, but they show the bird was a Goshawk!

Honey-buzzard (left), Goshawk (right), to show similarity in silhouette of birds approaching
 in glide, rather like a giant falcon.  Goshawk 10.vi.2016.

Somewhat chastened, I resolved yet again to look thoroughly before coming to conclusions about identification.  The images show subtle differences in the silhouette that I might have seen in better light, or had I not in my mind already pencilled-in the bird as a Honey-buzzard, or had I kept binoculars on the bird instead of trying for some record images.  And the Goshawk image clearly shows the projecting undertail coverts on one side, which I did not see in life.  The bird appeared distinctly large and bulky to me, close enough to the scale of a Honey-buzzard anyway, and I now wondered if it had to be a female Goshawk; the adult male seen quite regularly now is definitely more slender overall.  It was certainly not the female that appeared over the nest woods with the male on the 7th (see previous post) because that bird was showing evidence of moult in the wing.  Why have I not seen it/her before?  Perhaps I have, but only at extreme range.

The unfamiliar Goshawk, 10.vi.2016, N Apennines

The bird I now knew to be a Goshawk flew almost directly over the nest site on its way toward my position.  I had not heard a single sound from the site in nearly five hours watch and now began to get uneasy.  The day before I had been high on the other slope of the cloud-filled valley, trying to peer through the ribbons of cloud blowing up the slope from below.  On my way down about 12.45, the cloud beginning to clear, I paused to look across over the tract of woods where I know the nest is situated.  Almost immediately I heard a sudden outbreak of loud and prolonged kek-kek-kek calls and repeated wailing, some wailing calls sounding thinner, as if from at least one large chick.  There was silence for a couple of minutes, then the whole strident episode started again.  No bird was seen leaving the scene.  But I was quite shocked by the energy put into all the calls and really wondered if something serious had occurred (wild thoughts of another Gos taking a chick, or a Marten perhaps, or the male bird even...), or could it have been just the female seeing off the male partner again?  Seeing today's large and unfamilar Goshawk made me wonder again about the cause of yesterday's violent alarms.

But then, at 14.10, I heard a quiet and short k-k-k call from the site, one quiet wail, and there was a bird arrowing away down the centre of the valley.  The male Goshawk!  So, the nesting attempt seems to be still on course.  I just hope it can withstand all this rain.

Thank you for some heat and sunshine

Male Goshawk, 7.vi.2016, N Apennines

Day after day of maddening weather in this pocket of the north Apennines.  Remorseless  dark grey cloud, heavy rain showers and wind, interspersed with thunderstorms and rare blue breaks in the cloud with precious warm sunshine.  My behaviour looks pretty crazy too.  Set off up the Goshawk valley with hope in my heart, yesterday's rain dripping off the trees and down my neck, today's rain on its way in the dark banks of cloud already descending over the hilltops, head back down having seen little or nothing of any raptors.

But what a difference a change in the weather can make!  The day before yesterday (7 June) dawned with a faint mist in the valley that soon cleared in the sun's heat to leave a blue sky, from mid-morning decorated with isolated puffs of snow-white cumulus that did not build into a pall of raincloud until late afternoon.  The kind of day that many here would regard as typical for June, unlike recent weeks, which have typified March or April.

And straight away raptors were in view: a Honey-buzzard tussling with a Common Buzzard, another Honey, whistle-calling and wing-shivering; and plenty of Goshawk activity.

I was only just completing a first scan of the ridgeline opposite, after arriving at my observation point at around 8.30, when I picked up a Goshawk flying low over the canopy further up the valley to my left.  The white undertail coverts were what drew my eye to him, otherwise I would probably have missed him against the complicated background of the wooded slope.  He moved in a diagonal up towards the ridge crest, with what looked like unusually laboured and rapid wingbeats; I wondered if he was carrying a substantial prey item but could not see clearly at the distance.  I momentarily lost my footing on the rocks and the small movement of my binoculars was enough to make me lose the bird.  I heard some k-k-k calls from the nest area soon afterwards and wondered if he had brought food.

Inset: stout body & distinct 'hand' of Goshawk

Only about 20 minutes later there was again a Goshawk in the same upper part of the valley, I assumed it was the same bird; this time he gained height and moved up the valley to fly back and forth around the rocky slopes and peaks of the local mountain.  A couple of the distant images I got show a distinct bulge in the crop, so perhaps he had recently fed.  He investigated the rock slopes for several minutes before moving decisively toward the high woodlands to my left, and out of sight.

About an hour and a half later I again heard a k-k-k call from the nest area, but very short and low key.  A few minutes later I just glimpsed the presumed male streaking down the lower part of the valley far to my right; he must have delivered prey and then left the nest area below the tops of the trees immediately in front of me.  He came back into view for a few moments, now heading back up the valley, but was soon hidden again by trees.  After a few minutes, during a period of strong and agitated kek-kek-kek calling from the nest area, with loud wails, what I presumed was the same bird came back in view around the ridgeline opposite.  This time he gained height in a combination of soaring and active flight, and performed a short display, quite like a Common Buzzard's 'roller-coaster' flight.  He made several deep but quite rapid wingbeats, rushing upward, before hanging for an instant at the apex of a steep curve then folding his wings and arrowing downward*.  Then the same again after a few seconds of lateral flight.

I was amazed, partly because I had never seen any element of Goshawk display (all my late winter or early spring visits have been marred by adverse weather or lack of visible action), and partly because I could not quite read how to interpret this performance.  It did not seem the appropriate time for a normal courtship display, because nesting is well-established by now (judging by calls), with the female presumably attending to chicks; perhaps it had a mainly territorial element.  I did wonder, with the relatively frequent sightings of a male Goshawk, if an intruding male had appeared.  At a distance, and with my poor images, I could not determine whether two males were in the vicinity.

Female Goshawk, 7.vi.2016
Apologies for very poor quality
(extreme crop of soft and badly exposed image)!

Shortly after the loud and excited calling coming from the nest area, more calling started, evidently from a bird in the air over the nest woods unseen in the deep axis of the valley below me; then another Goshawk flew actively up into view.  Clearly a different bird; less slender, and larger overall, with a rather tatty appearance due to moult.  I assumed this must be the female of the pair, the moult being consistent with nesting.  Then there was a vigorous chase up and along the ridgeline opposite, the assumed female generally harassing the male (but positions reversed in the image shown).  This behaviour is entirely consistent with several descriptions (eg. see the website cited below) of the nesting female being intolerant of the male remaining close to the nest when chicks are present, and sometimes chasing the male away. Unfortunately my camera is unable to focus on flying birds moving in front of any background except sky, so none of the images is much use.  The female soon came down to the site again while the second bird disappeared down the valley.

An outstanding morning: warm sunshine, a male Goshawk in a few moments of dramatic display, the presumed nesting female up in my sight for the first time, lots of vocalisation, some fast interaction between two Goshawks.  Of course, the birds are unmarked and I have never seen them 'at home' in the nest site woodlands, so my assumption that they are the nesting pair is just that!

Goshawk chasing; male on left, female on right in this image; mostly the other way around

*This appears the opposite from descriptions of the 'classic' display, in which most of the upswoop is without wingbeats but the over-the-top downswoop uses wingbeats.

See this brief very well-illustrated account of a watch on a Goshawk nest in England (link verified active 9.vi.2016):
http://www.thebirdsofsussex.co.uk/Articles/goshawk1.htm

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.