Sunny days bring more of us out into the garden but it is already too late now to enjoy such a richness of birdsong as we did in the Spring.
June always seems uncannily quiet on the bird front because, although summer has hardly started, many species have already ‘done the business’ and are shutting up shop in the music department.
Nature’s orchestra plays its best tunes all too briefly and leading singers of the dawn chorus soon rest their voices.
The more familiar birds with an extended breeding season, such as Wood Pigeons, Collared Doves, and Robins, are still vocally active this month.
But, along with many summer visitors, the Song Thrush has sadly worn itself out.
Some of my favourites – the male Cuckoos – have served their purpose and are already flying south on an amazing journey taking them over the Alps to a dozen or more African countries.
If they survive then they will return in 2026 to where they sang this year and may even use the same tree as a singing post.
But whatever birds you record in your garden there is one that you are unlikely to ever hear or even see. And that is surely crazy – because it is called the Garden Warbler. In this country you just do not get Garden Warblers in gardens! Well, hardly ever. How crazy is that?
I wonder what the naming authorities were ‘on’ when they gave it such a title. Presumably, they were in a huge garden with a dense overgrown area sprouting brambles and prickly bushes. That is the Garden Warbler’s world while it is with us.
Now I’ve encountered over 100 species in my present garden and over this period of 38 years there are a few birds I’ve only ever seen or heard once. And that includes the Garden Warbler. It stayed less than half an hour.
This west African summer visitor is normally a skulker and around the third week of April usually betrays its arrival with a long burst of jumbled fluty warbling from deep in the vegetation.
Its rich song causes confusion with the more common migrant Blackcap, found in similar habitats, but is somewhat deeper and continues for longer. Many experienced birders have to think twice about what they are hearing. I recommend being patient long enough to confirm the shy Garden Warbler’s presence with a decent look.
It is likely to eventually pop up to the top of its preferred bush to give observers a brief view – revealing its plumage is less inspiring than its song.
Tubbier than the similar sized Blackcap, which is seen a couple of weeks earlier, it is a somewhat plain bird. It looks rather beige when in sunlight without the greenish, grey and brown tones depicted in some books.
A stubby dark bill, white eye ring and dark legs complete the picture and I reckon they are smart in appearance and behaviour.
I don’t think their Latin name – Sylvia borin – does them any favours. Boring they are certainly not. Any small bird that can defy the odds, clocking up thousands of miles to us as it navigates from Nigeria or Ghana every year, deserves huge respect.
Geographically, the Garden Warbler’s world is huge. It breeds from western Europe into the west of Siberia and winters across Africa.
One bird, ringed in Ewhurst, then went on to cross the Sahara Desert eight times before its luck finally ran out four years later when it was found dead – in Tonsberg, Norway.
To fatten up in preparation for its strength sapping journeys it would have done what all Garden Warblers do – supplement its diet of summer insects with fat-building fruit and berries.
And that provides a clue to why they are so named. In southern European countries the species is particularly fond of eating nutritious figs to keep up its energy and as a consequence may not be so welcome in people’s gardens there as it is here.
