25th March 2012
A cold front was one day over Hong Kong but the sky was promising of a clear sunny day. What would my
finds bear out, I wondered.
At 7:15 the usual birds were there again. On one side of the Pineapple Dam there were Black-eared kites
flying and on the other there were six Chinese bulbuls, later occupied by a Chestnut bulbul, which sang in a way seeming to proclaim himself the best male in the vicinity for a mating partner.
The catchment was quiet and one single Grey wagtail was found again along the section I used to look for its kind. The old one from last Thursday or a new bird, I found unacertainable.
Were the Ashy drongos not there? No way to find a quick answer for the question. So I lingered on for a while. The leucogenis one appeared which vindicated again before me how efficient it preyed on its victims as food. A single male Scarlet minivetperched itself on top of a fir tree and sang all the while I wandered nearby, supposedly trying to get an admirer of the opposite sex for the year's reporduction of the species.
It must be mentioned again, a clear but weak Crested goshawk's call came in the direction of a short flowering Cotton tree. I approached the tree a few steps at a time, this time witnessing a male Orange-bellied leafbird making the call while feeding on the cup-like red flowers. Is it a means to frighten other birds away? Obviously, the calls failed if it was the purpose. The several Whiskered bulbuls on the same tree seemed totally unaffected and stayed. My only plausible explanation of the phenomenon was that the genetic trait was developed accidentally. Whether the trait will continue to pass on depends on whether it will strengthen the species chance of survival, a result which will overwhelmingly certain takes more than a dozen of lifespans of my existence to find out.
I must be thankful for experience that I found the Mugimaki flycatcher that was around the place I saw it. It flew across my path in a shape and manner I immediately told myself that it was a bird I hadn't seen recently, and indeed for the whole winter. Would it be a flycatcher? The supposition helped me to look for it among trees that its kind favour. I was not disappointed to find it facing me, orange/rufous from throat to upper breast and dark upperparts, a male. A piece of good drilling of birdwatching, I told myself.
The Lead Mine Pass up to Picnic Site No. 9 was totally uneventful, save that I was able to hear and identify the call of a single Mountain bulbul, absent from my list since probably late October. The Mountain bulbuls must be a selective 'fruitivore', just like those Emerald doves in the area, quite the opposite of the much commoner bulbul species found there. Something more, I found a moulting Yellow-browed leaf warbler, a life experience I must admit.
The fourth week of March is possibly the peak of courtship activities among local birds. The whiskered bulbuls were seen pairing here and there, and a flock of Grey-throated minivets, while feeding themselves with worms and insects, made good use of the chance of the moment to show interest in their target mates. A male bird found a particularly tasteful green moth, kept it in its bill, moved sideways on a level branch of a tree to approach a hen bird. It's offering was evidently accepted and taken, reminding me of human males showing off his cattle to their prospective female marriage partners before a formal proposal.
The thirty-first and last species recorded was a Crested serpent eagle, again the calls coming from the part of sky overhanging between the Pass and Grasshill, at half-past ten. A punctual bird, I credited it.
It was a birwatching morning with good flavours, though without a lot of varitey, I told myself with satisfaction.
S L Tai
[ Last edited by tsheunglai at 26/03/2012 12:04 ]