Handsome but never flashy, the Old World Buntings are a fascinating family of birds. There are no fewer than 45 of them, of which I’ve been lucky enough to have seen 25. To get the set I would have to travel extensively in Asia, for several have a decidedly eastern distribution. (Regular readers of 10,000 Birds will be familiar with Kai Pflug’s great photographs of the variety of buntings that migrate through Shanghai). Quite a number of buntings have tiny ranges (such as the Socotra Bunting, endemic to the island of Socotra, and the Tibetan Bunting, found only in Tibet). Only four species breed in Britain – the Yellowhammer, Reed Bunting, Corn Bunting and Cirl Bunting, but there are rather more in Europe, of which my favourite is the Black-headed Bunting. This is a Balkan special, and a bird I know well from Greece, Bulgaria and Cyprus. It a late migrant, not returning until the end of April or early May from its wintering grounds in India.
My thoughts turned to buntings because of an unexpected encounter earlier this month. I was staying in Dorset, on what is known as the Jurassic Coast (it’s great place to find fossils), when I glanced at a bird sitting on the top of a bush. Thanks to its distinctive striped head, identification was instant: it was a fine adult Cirl Bunting. This is by far the rarest of the Emberiza buntings that breed in England, and until recently its range was restricted to the southern coast of the neighbouring county of Devon. Once it was more widespread in southern England, though W.H.Hudson, writing in his book British Birds (1895), tells us that “it is restricted to the southern and western counties of England, and exceedingly local in distribution. It is, moreover, of a shy disposition, and hides from sight in tall trees; consequently it is seldom seen, and is known to few persons.”
According to the Birds of Dorset (a fine and comprehensive county avifauna, written by George Green, published in 2004), the last recorded breeding record of Cirl Buntings in the county was in 1971, after which it became “a rare passage migrant and winter visitor”. However, a check on the internet of more recent records shows that this handsome little bird is now recorded far more often, and has recently started breeding again in the county.
It’s easy to explain its upturn in fortunes. Thirty years ago the RSPB turned its attention to halting the decline of Devon’s Cirl Buntings, with the Cirl Bunting Recovery Programme helping farmers to provide the right habitat for these sun-loving birds. To thrive they need dense hedgerows, invertebrate rich grasslands and a winter seed source, such as winter stubbles. This was followed by an ambitious captive-rearing and re-introduction project. Cirl Buntings are difficult to breed in captivity, so it was decided to take broods of young buntings from wild nests, rear them in captivity, then release them into suitable sites outside their core range in Devon. The site chosen for the reintroduction was Cornwall, not far along the coast from the existing Devon population. This technique proved highly successful. Releases took place from 2008 to 2016, eventually establishing a viable population of around 50 pairs in the county. Today both Devon and Cornwall have growing numbers of Cirl Buntings, and the expanding population is moving east, into Dorset, in search of new territories.
Cirl buntings are late breeders, as they feed their young principally on grasshoppers. The cock bird in my photograph (above) was clearly catching grasshoppers for his chicks. It was a hurried shot as I didn’t want to disturb him, though I suspect he was used to people walking along the path. Having taken my photograph, I left him in peace.
While the Cirl Bunting is making something off a comeback in Britain, its larger cousin the Corn Bunting is suffering from loss of habitat and is in steep decline; it has featured on the UK Red List (birds of conservation concern) since 1996. In my home county of Suffolk this species is a highly localised resident, and not a bird I see often. In many ways the Corn Bunting is a somewhat aberrant member of the family, for there is no sexual dimorphism as both sexes are identical, while unusually for a passerine, it is a polygamous breeder, with a cock having several mates. As far as I am aware, no other bunting is polygamous. Plain, brown and rather plump, the Corn Bunting would be easy to overlook if it wasn’t for the cock’s habit of sitting on a prominent perch – often a telegraph wire – and singing its simple but far-carrying song.
It’s the song of the Yellowhammer that usually reveals its presence. Like all the buntings, the song is a simple one, and usually described as a little bit of bread and no cheese. Yellowhammers sing late into the summer, so in early August, when almost every other bird has stopped singing, you can still hear these beautiful buntings singing. They remain widespread birds in Britain, and can be found from Cornwall to Caithness (top to bottom of the UK), but they are also Red Listed, having suffered a population decline of 62% from 1967 to 2020. They breed quite commonly here in the Brecks, and in cold winters it’s not unusual to see flocks of a hundred or more on a farm a couple of miles from my house.
Though Yellowhammers rarely come into my garden, in summer I often hear them singing nearby. The bunting that does regularly visit my garden is the Reed Bunting, but only in late winter and early spring. Last winter was mild, so only a couple of cocks visited regularly, but if the weather turns cold, more will come. The cock, with his black head and bib, is easily recognised, but his more dowdy wife is often overlooked. Reed Buntings nest on farmland, but as their name suggests, they do like reeds, and they nest in my local fen, less than a mile from my garden.
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