Swallow

The eventual arrival of some pleasant weather last week encouraged me to head for Steinish where a whitethroat had been seen close to the river at the end of the village.
I had never photographed this elusive warbler and was glad to find that the ideal conditions of the day had continued into the early evening as I reached my destination.
Wading laboriously through the head high nettles and thistles the thought occurred that a machete would have been more practical than the camera that swung heavily from my neck, however, I had not travelled far, when the distinct char char, alarm call uttered from the depths of the thick vegetation and brambles confirmed that I was indeed in whitethroat territory. An Apache would have approved of my stealth movements as I crept forward slowly, rested the camera on a convenient fence post and stood silently waiting for the bird to appear. It was during this time of silent contemplation that I became aware of other sounds surrounding me and as a familiar twittering began to register another summer visitor caught my eye.
The perfect summer evening was complete as the graceful swallows skimmed crops and meadows for insects and flies and as I watched them now I recalled my boyhood days on the local farm watching them return from Africa each spring to breed.
Their nests constructed of mud and straw are built on rafters or ledges in byres and outbuildings in May and after a period of two weeks the five or six white heavy speckled eggs hatch. The parents feed the chicks constantly, returning with their meals from the fields through a doorway or broken window until three weeks after hatching the chicks fledge. I have never witnessed this event usually finding the nest empty suddenly one morning. A hint of their imminent flight is preceded with a period of wing excercises where they flap their wings enthusiastically while jostling for space.
Often the blood-sucking larvae of the blue bottle flies attack the nestlings and sometimes this can kill most of the brood. I remember on one occasion finding the remains of a young swallow heavily infested but cannot say if this happened after death or if it was the cause of its demise. In autumn they join the adults on trees or telephone wires in large numbers before gradually flock after flock flies south. The youngsters can be recognised at this time by their shorter tails and can be seen taking off on short flights preparing for the long journey ahead.
Strangely, apart from lone individuals spotted occasionally in spring, this is the only time of year I have observed them in Lochs where I live when sometimes a family pause for a week or two before moving on.
The sudden appearance of the whitethroat jolted me back to the present as it perched on a branch not far from where I stood, the white patch of feathers under its beak bristling as it performed its short sweet song. Focusing the lens, I thought how aptly the bird had been named but it disappeared before the shutter could be released and I left realising that it too would soon join the swallows on their long journey south. It would be next spring before I would get a chance like that again.