Provence in Summer

 

Day One

There are moments of serendipitous connection throughout life, but I’m convinced we miss most of them by dismissing them or retreating into a dour spirit, that sneering anti-joy of being worldly-wise and refusing to see the sweetness of moments where the architecture of fortune can be glimpsed.

When I booked our family holiday I accidentally stumbled on a location that would give us access to art, history, beaches, good food, mountains, sunshine, a pool and most importantly (for me), birds.  I have savoured this moment of random luck and it’s made me determined to see more connections like this, even if it’s deluded and my grim, streetwise self knows “better”.  This good fortune was only possible with the risk of driving in France for the first time, but the driving experience there was positive and simple.

Driving to our gite on a working plum, pomegranate and olive farm near Saint Martin de Crau I was struck by how similar the terrain is to southern Spain where I have family.

The area around the gite is a brilliant mixture of arid semi-desert grassland and large lakes, the nearest of which was Étang d’Entressen just 10 minutes’ drive away.  Though there are no paths around the lake there are half a dozen viewpoints to stand still and let the birds come to you.  The edge of the almost-desert at des Coussouls de Crau was less than a 10 minute drive from the accommodation and I adopted a 2 mile triangle walk as my local patch for the week, walking it 4 mornings and 3 evenings.

This holiday was not a birding trip, and there was probably a total of 20ish hours spent actively birding (mostly before teenage child was awake), so almost all of the wildlife we saw were on combination trips (such as Eagle Owl at sunset at Baux de Provence).

On that first day, with a cold beer in hand in the garden of the gite and the temperature topping 30 degrees Celsius, it was my pleasure to watch a Montagu’s Harrier quarter over the grassland and a pair of Black Kites twist in the heat haze.  A Serin sang it’s almost familiar song (like hearing a Dutch person speak - I always feel like I should be able to understand it even though I really can’t) from a treetop and flocks of Glossy Ibis drifted over towards their evening roost.  If I’m painting an idyllic picture, it’s intentional - it was idyllic.  The 44 separate mosquito bites on my legs I woke up with the following day were decidedly not, and along with one of those Mediterranean storms that sound and feel like artillery, mine and my son’s reaction to those bites shaped the next couple of days.

Day Two

With the risk of rain in the air, and my legs throbbing with bites and swelling badly, I woke early and drove to Étang d’Entressen to ease the humidity and ache.  Back in the gite, though I wasn’t aware at the time, my son was fever dreaming and feeling very sick from the bites.  I could see the weather front moving towards me as I drove; the booms of distant thunder beginning to flush birds from the far wetland at 6.30am.

But when I parked and began to scan, the bird life at first glance was just absent.  A huge lake, reedbeds all around it, and nothing to be seen.  And then it was like someone threw a switch.  A kingfisher flew above a Little Bittern in the opposite direction; three Purple Herons erupted out of the reedbed and egrets swooped to perches in the lake centre to irritate Grey Herons.  At least eight Bitterns flew in short hops across the vegetation and White Storks began to drift over.  A roost of 20 Black Kites stirred from a tree opposite and they caused repeated scares of small birds like Great Reed Warbler and Sedge Warbler.  Caspian, Common and Whiskered Terns fished in twos and threes, Golden Oriole, Cuckoo, Nightingale sang from various trees and a Melodious Warbler scattered in front of me along a tree-lined fishing platform.

The thunder growing louder and closer, lightning visible now, and a wall of rain approaching over the distant Alpilles, I packed up ready to retreat to my car.  A final artillery-piece blast of thunder was loud enough to flush birds from a mile of wetland meadow and the sky was briefly full from end to end of herons and storks, egrets and terns, passerines in their thousands.  I didn’t know where to look.  A small part of my mind was desperately pushing the “lift binoculars” button, but I was just stunned.  Instead of focusing on any particular area of the flock, I just let the whole experience wash over me.  It was glorious; a total overload of the senses.  The smell of the storm over the water, the sound of thunder louder than anything I’ve ever heard, the birds and the mountain backdrop, the heat on my shoulders even at that early hour… and then the first huge raindrop splashed my arm and it jolted me.  I ran to the car, narrowly avoided an absolutely biblical soaking, and drove back to the gite.

The rest of the day was spent finding medicine, including anti-malarials, for my son, and so birds were far from mind for a while.  The storm passed, my boy slept and slowly recovered.  The sun returned and we drove south to the beach at Fos-Sur-Mer, just to have the sun on our skin for a little while.  Mediterranean Gulls and Sandwich Terns were busy in the evening light, and my son broke his fever in a blanket on the sand.

Day 3

While the attention had been on my son’s bites and illness, my own had become infected and I woke up at 4am to a raging headache, a temperature and as much desire to walk in wetlands as you’d expect.  However, I am nothing if not pig-headed stubborn, and so I took paracetamol and covered myself up as best I could and took myself off to check out a promising looking path to the edge of the major nature reserve des Coussouls de Crau, famous for Little Bustard, Pin-tailed Sandgrouse and Tawny Pipit, amongst others.  The ground was still wet from the torrential rain, but on parking the car a Honey Buzzard, Golden Oriole and three Rollers sharing a tree seemed a decent sign of good birds to come.

I walked and waded through alarmingly deep puddles, the rising sun already warm enough to begin to dry me off.  Serins called all around me and Nightingale contact calls dominated the soundscape.  A warbler song I didn’t recognise had me reaching for Merlin and it quickly confirmed Sardinian Warbler at exactly the same moment that the male popped out of the centre of a scrubby bush and sat exposed in a single ray of sun for three seconds; enough time to lift the camera and focus the camera but not to actually take the photo… 

The walk took me along a canal where two pairs of Black Kite squabbled and floated above evergreens, mobbed by Rollers and driving Turtle Doves before them.  Corn Buntings lined up along the hedge rows and Skylarks and their rarer, Crested cousins began to sing above and dash past in the grassland opposite.  Zitting Cisticola was new for me and I watched them lurk and then fly low over scrub, to repeat their call, drop, fly behaviour.  A kestrel shot past and flew into the field, and then landed on a thistle head.  Surely a Lesser Kestrel?  I got the binoculars on it and sure enough, the full grey cheek and unmarked brick red of the Lesser male filled my vision.  Sadly too far for the camera to get anything but the most record of record shots, the long wings were still obvious to the naked eye as this little predator streaked away, flushed by an overflying Hobby.

A single Hoopoe and a calling Stone Curlew were good experiences, but I hadn’t seen any of the famed specialist birds on offer in des Coussouls and my legs were struggling to cope with the bites and the heat.  Reluctantly, I turned back, and as I did, a Tawny Pipit dashed across my field of view.  I got better views of them on other days, but I was elated that I’d picked up one of the desert birds of France!  Had I known that only half a mile further along that track I’d have struck Crau gold, I’d have pushed myself a little harder.  

On my slow return to the gite, I dozed in the sun at the side of the pool allowing my legs to recover for most of the day while the kids played in the water and pestered me for chocolate crepes. 

At 7pm, in the cool of evening, I brought the kids back to the same walk and we were counting dragonflies and butterflies, when my daughter asked me what these birds were that were flying over us.  As I’d been focused on the bright blue of a dragonfly, six Pin-tailed Sandgrouse were flying overhead in a loose formation.  I whooped and picked up my eight-year-old; crepes for breakfast was very much on the menu for tomorrow.

Day 4

The call of the Alpilles was strong for us as the heat rose past 32C, and the breeze in the lowlands dropped off.  We set off for Baux de Provence early and still ended up queueing for parking - think Eryri and the National Park - below the imposing chateau.  Super touristy though Baux is, the surrounding area has a huge variety of mountain birds and forest wildlife, and though the day was very much about the promised crepes (over a cliff top view) and buying tourist items, I was still hopeful of seeing raptors and some upland birds.

Alpine Swift was everywhere, huge and fast, those distinctive white underparts picking them out amongst common Swift.  Crag Martins were harder to get eyes on, but had their own subtle beauty against the yellow-white of the cliffs Golden Oriole sang from a garden over the valley, Raven, Jackdaw and various pigeons squabbled over tourist leftovers.  But not one raptor.  Not a single bird of prey in sight at all, in six hours.  The Black Redstart that kept flicking out to land only eight feet away was beautiful, but I left disappointed.  The view was as gorgeous as any I’ve ever seen, but the wildlife was sparse, and if I’m honest, the older I get, the less inclined I am to spend any time in towns with crowds of people.

It was only on posting on Twitter where we’d been that I received a message suggesting an easy place to see Eagle Owl, and so we resolved to return the next night at sunset to see them on the cliffs at Baux.

Day 5

But first, Pont du Gau in the Camargue proper.  A peach of a reserve, and with birds so close to us that even my non-birding family could enjoy them.  Greater Flamingo, three Egret species, Grey and Purple Herons, Glossy Ibis, Black-winged Stilts, White Stork, Tree Sparrow, Red-rumped Swallow all from the first viewpoint.  A shout went up from a French birder as we rounded the first corner, “Aigle!”  Above us was a Booted Eagle, floating on a thermal before suddenly accelerating away across the vanishing point of the deep blue heavens.

Bee-eater, Common Sandpiper, Lapwing, Gull-billed Terns all flew over us and both Coypu and Beaver were active in the water.  Rounding a corner to find a picture of Western Swamphen and a sign, “have you seen this bird?” made me almost choke in disbelief as the Swamphen itself stood not six feet from its own portrait.  As shocked as I was, the Swamphen was more surprised and beat a hasty retreat into the reeds.  

Walking the second half of the reserve alone so that the family could sit in shade and drink cold drinks in the 35C heat, I quickly picked up Moustached Warbler on Merlin and got a number of good views.  Curlew Sandpiper flew over and landed in front of the main hide, number 16, and as I scanned my binoculars to see the summer plumage of one of my favourite waders, I glimpsed a pair of Kentish Plovers on the waters’ edge.  Black-tailed Godwits, a single Bar-tailed, and twenty plus Spotted Redshanks formed the main crowd, along with Curlew, Avocet and Shelduck.  And then a pale wader with an elegant bill, a neat cap on its head and a good supercilium caught my attention.  

Marsh Sandpiper!  I wasn’t expecting to see these, and the moult threw me a little.  Scanning more widely, I found eight individual birds, none of them associating with each other, but all keeping fairly close to groups of Spotted or Common Redshank.  A single Wood Sandpiper offered good comparison opportunities and I watched as long as I could before I thought my family would be getting bored and fractious.

An afternoon on the beautiful beaches of Saintes Marie de la Mer brought Slender-billed Gull on a little wander to some pools north of Plage l’Est, Marsh Harrier overhead, and Little and Sandwich Terns fishing off the coast.

In the evening we returned to a glorious sunset at the Chateau of Baux de Provence.  Minus the crowds it was utterly beautiful - I can see why various royalty have had their summer homes in the breeze at the height of the peak.  The site for Eagle Owl was spot on to the metre, and at 9.40pm two birds were very active, calling and flying across the cliffs.  I’ve never seen these giants in the wild, and their wingspan against the rock and scree was enormous.  It’s always such a privilege to witness owls and the seven species I’ve seen this year have all brought joy.  Driving back to the gite in the dark I reflected on how I would go back to patch watching in the face of the wealth of gorgeous birds in the south of France.  I consoled myself that, all things considered, there would still be owls, and, this being the case, my local patch would still be fine.

Day 6

Awake early again, I set off to catch the dawn chorus at Coussouls des Crau.  I reasoned that I might see birds come down to water at the shrinking puddles that remained from the thunder storms 4 days previous, and this was (remarkably) exactly what happened.  With Merlin running constantly, and sitting absolutely still on a branch that hid me with a view of the pond, I recorded Nightingale, Blackbird, Wren, Robin, Roller, Hoopoe, Golden oriole, Scops Owl (flushed by Rollers), Blackcap, Cetti’s warbler, Woodlark, Zitting cisticola, Sardinian warbler, Serin, Whitethroat, Melodious warbler and Tree Sparrow.  Varying views of all these ended when I tried to lift the camera to get a shot of a Western Bonelli’s Warbler on a low branch over the puddle and accidentally dropped my phone and keys, making so much noise I’ll be surprised if any birds have returned to that path even now.  Still, Merlin now has some creative northern English swear words recorded for their algorithm in Provence to analyse, and I’d seen so much that my poor fieldcraft didn’t get me down too much.

A Green Woodpecker alarm called above me as I continued on my way, and a Turtle Dove purred.  I pushed on past where I’d stopped on previous visits, and the land opened up.  Huge flocks of starlings, at least six Stone Curlew (one with a snake in its beak!), Red-legged Partridge, and mixed flocks of larks, Calandra and Sky (thanks Merlin) flew over.  I got eyes on the larks further down the trail, but I really wanted the Little Bustards and was having no luck at all.  I’d already dipped on Squacco Heron (which I still want to see) and thought that if they didn’t show, “Bustards” might be a starting point for an appropriate way of further educating the Merlin app on contemporary curse words of the working Manchester resident.

A Yellow Wagtail buzzed past me and I laid eyes on a large raptor in a dead tree ahead.  Pale-bellied, brown-backed.  Owlish head.  Yellow eye.  All visible from a distance.  My camera pulsing shots, I stayed as far back and concealed as possible in such an open environment.  A local had told me there was a Short-toed Snake Eagle hunting here recently.  I avoided direct scrutiny of this raptor as long as I could to keep it from spooking - I felt I was already too close to the bird when I realised it was there - and then a car with a badly damaged exhaust rattled past on the farm road to my left and the eagle took to the air in a beat of broad wings and with a single reproachful look at me.  I see you, it seemed to say.  I see you.

Lesser Kestrels darted past like arrowheads detached from the shafts, all fletch and steely grey heads.  Black Kites were ubiquitous, riding every thermal.  I watched them as I caught sight of the Snake Eagle again, distantly, and then it happened - a Little Bustard broke cover and ran, then flew low, looking up at the threat (real or imagined) of eagle and kite and vanished into the long grass before I could even creatively swear.  I lingered there for an hour, hoping for better views, but no further movement happened and I was very late to take the family to Saint Remy.  As I got back to my car, the Snake Eagle was perched 15 metres back in the brush and tolerated me taking 20 seconds worth of photos before hopping out of view in the same tree, and turning its back on me.

Saint Remy was beautiful, but I suspect that early morning walk won’t be surpassed in my memory for some time.

Day 7

A second visit to Pont du Gau had exactly the same selection of birds, and with the mercury rising to 36C and no breeze, I abandoned birding and joined my family for ice cream on the beach.

That evening, eating dinner outside on the terrace, a thermal was attracting large numbers of raptors.  Camera battery completely dead, binoculars only, here were almost all my raptors for the week in one view.  Buzzard, Black Kite, Marsh Harrier, Montagus Harrier, Sparrowhawk, a lone Red Kite, Hobby, and then, separated by 15 minutes or so, two big, broad winged eagles descended from high up.  One of them I never managed to identify.  The other was almost certainly a Bonelli’s Eagle (though with a lack of experience or photos to check I can’t be 100% sure) that I watched for the best part of 20 minutes, circling back over us time and again, while the other, bigger eagle stayed high up and never gave a clinching clue to its identity.  Whatever they were, they were incredible to watch, and dinner abandoned as a sacrifice on the altar of eagle watching, I laughed with the mirth of the incredibly lucky, grateful to have seen so much.

The overall list for the trip stands at 139 species, of which 16 were completely new birds for me.  A dozen herons/storks; a dozen raptors; six terns and best of all, the Eagle Owls.  This account makes it sound like I was birding a lot, but in reality only on one day did I do more than 2 hours birding.  I missed out on visiting more than 20 outstanding locations for birding, and I believe that timing a visit in April/May would be incredibly productive.  Or maybe a winter visit - Wallcreeper at Baux sounds like a good combination.