Raptor Magic

I heard a really loud bird call on Monday afternoon that didn’t quite sound like a hadeda but what else could it have been? There was a rather distorted “ha” but no “de da”. So I went out down to the pond to investigate. Sure enough, a hadeda flew off so I decided that that’s what it must have been.

About 20 minutes later, I left to take the dogs for a walk and stopped dead in my tracks just outside the gate. An avian acrobat was at work on the thatched roof of our neighbours’ house – and it certainly wasn’t a hadeda.

Large grey body, black and white bands across the tail, long yellow legs, yellow face. There was no mistaking the African harrier-hawk flapping its large wings as it balanced on the angled roof. I watched with curiosity for a few minutes and guessed it was either on a kill or was stripping the thatch.

Not having my binoculars, I couldn’t really see what it was doing, though. And so the mystery would have remained if I hadn’t seen the damage to the thatch when I returned an hour and a half later. Poor neighbours. It’s wonderful to have wildlife on your roof, but not if it’s going to cost you a few thousand to repair the damage.

We’ve seen this beautiful bird of prey a few times lately. One recent Sunday, after a heavy lunch with Siegie’s mother, the three of us walked down to the pond to check out the koi. I threw some pellets on to the water and we watched idly as the fish lazily rose to the surface. With no algae in the water, we marvelled at its crystal clarity.

And so it was that all of us saw it at the same time. The reflection of an African harrier-hawk floated across the water, spreading its magnificent barred tail as it turned on the gentle breeze. 

We looked up and there it was, just metres above our heads. “Gymnogene!” Siegie and I both exclaimed, before remembering that this is one of the victims of South Africa’s recent fascination with name changes. It turned its big grey body and we clearly saw the bare yellow facial skin that is diagnostic.

It passed just above the trees on our boundary and landed in our neighbour’s palm tree. “Maybe it’s nesting there,” said Siegie hopefully, “like the one we saw in Kruger.”

Ah yes. We were in the Kruger National Park in January and spent a day up in the far north along the Luvhuvhu River. An African harrier-hawk on a nest in a palm tree was one of our treasured spots.

But this bird was more than likely scouting out nesting material rather than nesting in our neighbours’ garden. After a few minutes, it took off, skimmed the rooftop and headed off towards Constantia Nek.

And that is more than likely where it’s nesting, in one of the tall pines of Cecilia Plantation. Indeed, a week or so later Siegie and I saw a couple soaring just above the treetops at the start of the footpath leading up to the Back Table.

According to our bird book, September-October is peak breeding season for the African harrier-hawk, a bird that’s more likely to be found in the Cedarberg. Is it possible that we might have a breeding pair at the top of our beautiful valley? It would be a real treat to see more of these big raptors in our skies.

Goose Bumps

Late one afternoon I was crossing the lawn when I was distracted by a high-pitched piping call. A lost gosling appeared from the undergrowth, calling for help but receiving no response. I picked it up and searched the garden for an adult Egyptian goose in vain. 

Resolving to take it to the World of Birds first thing the next morning, I tried feeding it a mushy cereal, but it wasn’t interested. I put it in a cardboard box lined with a towel and closed it in the spare bedroom so that our cat couldn’t get at it.

I left it there with a saucer of water – foolishly. In the morning, the poor little thing was cold and wet and barely alive. Rushing to the car, I cursed myself for not thinking of the importance of keeping it warm and dry. Sadly, it died before I reached the end of the road.

Yes, many goslings do die, but Egyptian geese are still one of the most abundant birds around. Give them a patch of water with grassy fields nearby and they’ll thrive. What could be better than the Hout Bay River, flanked with grassy open spaces and bodies of water like the holding pond above Longkloof Weir.

Peak breeding season is approaching and there’s no peace in our valley these days. At first light the cacophony starts up, rises to a haggling crescendo, then drops down to a steady, monotonous “kaah, kaah, kaah, kaah.”

The other morning we were idly watching two geese involved in an aerial dogfight and I wondered aloud why they don’t land on our roof. “Probably don’t like corrugated iron,” said Siegie. “There’s no grip for their feet.”

Instead, they land on our neighbour’s nice tiled roof. One does just that around 8am and soon starts advertising her presence. Honking loudly, she marches along the top edge, stopping now and then to cock her head and listen, shaking her tail. Shameless hussy.

Both male and female geese look alike, but I know it’s a “she” because of her loud mouth. Like a fishwife, she shouts out and others shout back at her from the pine trees on the other side of the river.

If our mother goose is lucky, her mate will land beside her to join her rooftop patrol. Stretching out his neck, his rasping hiss is a far more genteel style of communication.

Once the goslings appear and the geese settle into being attentive parents, I know I’ll forget all about those annoying wake-up calls. If I’m lucky, I’ll watch in wonder as mum and dad herd their brood of tiny fluffy brown creatures towards our koi pond.

Such vulnerable babes need vigilant parents’ in order to survive the rough ride to adulthood. Goshawks and other birds of prey can’t wait to get their talons into them, not to mention the threat posed by domestic pets.

You really can’t blame Mr and Mrs Goose for honking and hissing then. After all, we get in a flap too if our kids are threatened. It’s enough to give you goose bumps …