Chiffchaff

Just in the last few days we've passed another of the waymarkers of spring, the arrival of the first warblers. I had it in my mind that this was usually the willow warblers, with their glorious song, the notes cascading downwards like a small waterfall, but this year it's definitely the chiffchaffs. Their call is very distinctive - chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff - and gives rise to their onomatopoeic name; and they've arrived in good numbers, so it's difficult to walk up into the forestry at the back of the house without hearing one or more almost constantly.

This little ball of feathers weighing a few grammes is a real traveller, spending its winters around the western Mediterranean coasts of Europe and North Africa and its summers with us. The birds we're hearing at the moment, from the top of a tree in the centre of their territory, are the males, who arrive two to three weeks before the females.

These moments when I hear or see the first of a returning species are becoming increasingly precious to me, for I cannot be certain that I will have them again. It's not just that I'm getting old but also that many of these species are facing a real crisis in our changing world, so we do have to accept that, come next March, we may not hear the call of the chiffchaff. Fortunately, this species is reported to be doing well.