LAST day out, I wrote of a walk by the Strule River. During the recent cold snap, I took the same route: within a short period, I saw a kingfisher, dipper, three grey herons, six cormorants and some mallard, an impressive gathering along such a short section of river, and fortuitous timing for me.
Both the dipper and kingfisher, metres apart, speared across the width of water while the three herons rose unsteadily as they sought to gain height.
The cormorants, perched on the upper branches of a beech on the far bank of the river, coughed out their guttural calls which carried through the clear air, while the ducks moved around beneath on the much calmer water.
Despite the icy landscape, this activity stirred thoughts of spring and the inevitable awakenings soon to begin.
Later, in the day, I encountered Ireland’s smallest bird, the goldcrest, a male moving quickly between branches in a tall thorn hedge near home, releasing a high-pitched song, its bright yellow crown stripe, tinged with orange and edged with black, just about visible.
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An inability to hear the call of the goldcrest is, I’m told, the first sign of hearing decline, so I was glad I could still pick up its high notes.
Both male and female are olive green above and greyish underneath, with a white wingbar, but the female crown stripe is bright yellow, lacking the orange hue.
Irish names for goldcrest, Cíorbhuí, ‘yellow crest’, and Caipín dearg, ‘red, glowing cap’, both reference the distinctive crown. Its scientific name, Regulus regulus, from the Latin ‘rex/regulus’ meaning ‘little king or prince’, also hints at the colourful crown and regal appearance.
Feeding mostly on insects and other invertebrates, it’s difficult to comprehend how a bird, just nine centimetres long and weighing only around five grams, can survive the very harsh, cold weather, especially at night when temperatures plummet.
Irish names for goldcrest, Cíorbhuí, ‘yellow crest’, and Caipín dearg, ‘red, glowing cap’, both reference the distinctive crown
A resident here, the tiny bird is found in a variety of habitats, including hedgerows, broad-leaved woodland, gardens and coniferous forests.
It’s believed an ancient legend written by Greek philosophers Aristotle and Pliny led to the bird acquiring the title, ‘King of birds’, a label awarded to the bird which could fly highest.
Most automatically thought that, with its strength and powerful wings, the eagle would easily win such a contest. As the majestic bird rose higher and higher into the sky, with no others in sight, it seemed the eagle would clearly win.
Hidden under the eagle’s tail feathers, however, was a small bird which emerged from the plumage to fly even higher as the large raptor tired, and so it claimed the honour. The goldcrest had cleverly hidden in the feathers, hitching a lift to win the competition.
Some versions of the tale suggest the wren was the cunning bird, a likely consequence of the oft used old name, ‘gold-crested wren’ for the goldcrest.
This, the name used for the 19th century poem of Charles Tennyson on the bird, where he writes: “The memory of thy delicate gold crest/ Shall plead for one last touch, the crown of Art.”
During the winter months, our resident species are joined by migrants from northern Europe. On the journey across the North Sea, they were often found resting on fishing boats earning the name ‘Herring Spink’, from local English fishermen.
Watching the minuteness and endeavour of the goldcrest, I applauded his resilience, edging towards spring full of expectation.
With darkness closing in, I held the hope that along with the kingfisher, dipper and other birds, he’ll now see it through to the breeding season.
