Tag Archives: Swifts

Summer swifts

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Last weekend we had a night in Ross-on-Wye and two nights in Pembrokeshire. Unfortunately the weather stopped us getting across to Ramsey Island but we did have some great views of swifts. Ross is a very swift town with screaming parties all around the town centre. I also know a great spot just above the Cathedral in St David’s to do a bit of late evening swift watching.

One evening we watched the swifts circle about the valley and come into their nests in a house high above the cathedral. I don’t recall ever seeing them at their nest sites before and it was quite startling just how fast they fly up to their holes and enter with a thud.

Sadly, they’ll be gone soon and sightings have already dropped off around our house. We had a screaming party of 30 last week but I’ve only seen three or four birds at one time so far since we returns from Wales.

A cooler wander down the track

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After the recent heat, and the generally great summer weather we’ve been having for the past few weeks, today is a bit cooler. The land seems more dull now, with the crops having been cut and the lack of significant rain parching the plants. The skies are a lot quieter too with the passing of the breeding season and the departure of the swifts. The latter is a particular sad moment for me as I love them and long all autumn and winter to see them again.

…but this time of year does have its benefits…

A midsummer moment

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Like many may have lately, we have looked at some of Dr Michael Mosely’s books. This morning I took one bit of his advice and headed out for an early walk down the lane and then around part of the village.

It was a cracking start to the day with not a single cloud in the sky and very little chill in the air. The bright sun intensified the colours of the scenery and the only sounds were of an array of birds and my feet treading on the sandy track and village tarmac.

I was rewarded with a very special moment. Walking up one of the little villages lanes, the ironstone church was lit up, almost orange in the sun. Flying and chasing around the steeple were ten or so swifts. At first they flew silently, sometimes slowly on their flickering wings and other times chasing in small packs circling the tower. Then came their screams; the sound I long for all winter and which lasts in our skies for far too few summer weeks. I stood there for a few minutes lost in the screams and effortless wings; a short spell cast by this perfect midsummer moment.