Steve and his wife Audrey were just two of the many regular faces who turned up each year to devote a week or so of their time to warden the then much smaller and geographically restricted Welsh kite population.
CAPTURED BY KITES by Steve Kirk
In 1985, my retirement year, through the RSPB, I volunteered for protection work with Red Kites. My acceptance came despite the fact that this was a species new to me. Full of optimism on an early spring day, whilst heading up through Mid-Wales, a spectacularly beautiful bird drifted across the road ahead of the car.
Recognition was immediate, brakes jammed on and binoculars grabbed to enjoy the obliging Red Kite perched some 40 yards away. From that moment this species went into top place on my favourite bird list, a position it still holds.
A farm at Hafod, Cwmystwyth, the HQ and living accommodation of the protection team, was found easily. Whilst reporting my earlier sighting a mug of tea was thrust at me. My briefing had barely started and the tea drunk before we all scrambled to drive off to a grass fire. Next morning the warden gave me a tour of the most accessible nesting sites. After a quick coffee I set off on foot with my 21/2” map, binoculars and notebook to find more possible breeding spots.
This early in the season nest-robbers were not a likely concern but other human disturbance, whether deliberate or accidental, was to be dealt with firmly but tactfully. Soon my notebook pages were being filled with all kinds of information apart from the actual signs of breeding activity - cars parked in unusual places, presence of likely predators plus anything else thought to be useful for the warden.
Food and sleeping accommodation was basic, at least the slate-roofed barn was dry but hail during the night would not fail to wake me. Whenever possible I ate my meals outside where the peacocks, owned by Fred and Irene at the farm, soon became friends.
Bacon rinds went down with great relish. This species was not added to my mounting list of birds spotted during the week but there were plenty that were. Raven and Wheatear were ever present but Ring Ousel, Goshawk and Chough were amongst some notable entries. Patrols were frequent.
Early mornings often found the kites ground-feeding on fields, having worms for breakfast. One afternoon a kite took off from a lambing field trailing a long string of afterbirth. Towards evening a breeze often allowed me to indulge in views of the birds hanging, almost motionless, head on into the wind. Of major importance was noting signs of pairings, nest repairing and sitting birds.
The experience of watching these spectacular birds was matched by that of meeting several interesting characters who dropped in at the barn. Peter Davis, to me always Mr. Kite, was soon around and one day I joined his small team touring nest sites. His mirror-on-a-pole technique of counting eggs in the nest was highly effective in reducing disturbance to the birds.
Some sites still needed a climber which brings me to another personality, Tony Cross, who now adds literary skills to tree climbing. He was but a youth when I first met him at Hafod. To add to our interest he built a convalescence cage for an injured Raven he was nursing. John Davis was another man steeped in kite experience; he read wing-tags before I could even see them. These and many others taught me so much about kites.
Before the week ended my decision to volunteer again for the following year was already made, in fact I returned seven more times. My wife, Audrey, joined me on later visits. On the first of these occasions she was accommodated with Jenny Beard at Hafod Lodge in the lap of luxury! Later she experienced the joys of the old caravan parked in the farmyard and then later we were able to enjoy a house in the village.
The latter was handy for the village shop and bakery. Audrey and I spent much of one week observing a pair of kites who were hosting a false egg fitted with a thermo-couple, one of the investigations into the reason for the Welsh kites’ poor breeding success compared with their continental cousins.
This nest, in a Beech tree just as the leaves were breaking, led us to find an artist to capture the scene for us.
