Throughout the winter I read Internet blogs and bird watching sites where the whole of the UK seemed to be Waxwing paradise. Too busy with other things, too tight to spend my meagre income on petrol money, or some might say holding vainglorious thoughts of moral superiority, I resisted the temptation to dash off and see the hordes of bohemian wanderers.
Finally my wait was over, patience rewarded when 15 turned up in Hambleton village on April 2nd, a couple of miles away from home alongside a route I travel almost daily. “Definitely not twitching then” I reasoned, exempting myself with the excuse that I had spent the afternoon catching Wheatears on a local patch. The car found its own way to Hambleton, “Waxwing and Wheatear, a good April double” I fantasised.
It was late in the sunny day as the Waxwings sat in tall trees alongside the busy road, intermittently launching themselves into a dark garden on the opposite side of the road, where a single Cotoneaster sat close to the front door of the property. It was the same species of Cotoneaster I planted in profusion in my garden 10 years ago, the trees the Blackbirds strip bare by September, leaving no berries for Waxwings. But in Hambleton in the shady seclusion of someone else’s front garden, their Cotoneaster had lots of still red, edible berries.
The evening was clear; I think the Waxwings continued north that night as I readied my ringing gear for another early start.
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