Sea Eagles v's Buzzards

Woken by what sounded like a Big Bird argument outside my window, I scooted out of bed and across to the window. The morning was fair and bright, the autumn reds and golds spread like musical notes across the hills on the far side of the sea-loch. Below me on Tommy’s field I found the cause of the cafuffle, and with my heart in my mouth, grabbed my neat little bedroom sized binoculars and clamped them to my eyeballs.

Before I had a visual on this intercourse, I had heard crows swearing and cursing as an undertone, with the keening cry of one or two buzzards as top notes, although it was hard to be clear through early-morning ears. I did know it was worth finding out, for sometimes, the bickering of crows tells me that His Majesty is in the area with his huge wing span and his white tail and his royal glide across the sky.

Not this time, though.

The sky was empty of all songbirds, so I knew a predator was nearby; and I was right.

On the grass below me a fight was about to begin over the carcass of a large rabbit. Standing over it was, what looked like, a rough-legged buzzard, although I know it would be a rare thing for one such bird of prey to be here on the island; and I can be highly confused by the different garb these wild things take on as juveniles, females, males, adults in winter, adults in summer, juveniles in winter and so on………

Anyway, back to the battle.

The crows lunged and squawked at the buzzard, like louts, juking back pretty quick as the beak came down like an axe over their heads. Positioning themselves on opposite sides of the focus of their attack, they harried and parried and behaved much like the thugs we know them to be, wearing him down until he tired out and flew off, leaving breakfast for them. Crows can do this for hours I know, so I turned to find some clothes to wear for just a moment. Suddenly the noise level escalated into riot size and I was back, and this time, no need of my neat little bedroom sized binoculars.

A second buzzard of uncertain family tree had landed what looked like inches away from the other and the two huge birds took their positions for battle, wings slightly out, necks thrust forward, feet two square on the grass. Needless to say, the crows bounced off a few yards and watched quietly. Not me, by this time. Now I am shrieking for Richard to watch, and my mouth is wide open, my heart pounding in my breast.

For some minutes, the buzzards lunge at each other, claws lashing and rising off the ground a little higher every time. The crows jigged about like hoodlums, calling out now, excited by this clash of the Cuin Titans. The sky, suddenly emptied of all songbirds when the buzzard first appeared, were back, looping across the morning sky to land on the fences and among the hazel scrub, spectators for the show. The excitement was so electric, I couldn’t even leave to brush my teeth.

One of the buzzards lunged at the prey and tried to fly, but the weight of it defeated him and he only managed to rise a couple of feet off the ground. Buzzard number two hurtled across and caught the other end of the rabbit in his beak. Then all hell broke loose and the two of them rolled each other over and over, and all I could see was a tangle of claws and wings, browns whites, blacks and the dull grey feathering of the onlookers.

Defeated, one of the protagonists rose into the sky and disappeared over the loch. For a while, the winner tried over and over to lift the carcass, whilst the crows, bored now of their hoodlum antics, and of watching the big boy bounce up and down and never leave, wandered away to peck among the cow pats. Exhausted and beaten, the buzzard lifted into the wind and, with a sharp cry, wheeled away and out of sight.

Wow, I thought, what a gift. Better than any tv!

Crows cackled again, so I walked back to look and nearly fell out the window.

There, right outside my window and rising together, one with the carcass held firmly in his massive claws, were two sea eagles. As I watched, they lifted effortlessly and silently together into an empty sky and were gone.

Later, as I sat down to paint my face all the colours of the rainbow, I saw the buzzard, alone now on the grass, searching for his kill.

Judy (SLS Mum)