|Black Vulture drying its plumage (Martin Kelsey)|
It has been an extraordinary transformation. Just over two weeks ago the horrendous drought broke and we have barely had a day since when it has not rained. Indeed, in this month alone (and we are only half way through it) we have received over 65% of the rain that fell in the whole of last year. Rivers that had ceased flowing last spring have come back to life, with water thundering down their watercourses.
|Almonte River in November 2017 (Martin Kelsey)|
|Almonte River in March 2018 (Martin Kelsey)|
Pools have appeared on the plains and following rain, whole slopes glisten with the run-off, tracing the routes taken by livestock. Land that had been grey and weather-beaten, bereft of hardly any growth apart from resilient sand crocuses, are once again green and spangled by daisies, marigolds and crucifers. Grim visages have been shed and even the most dour of those who live from the land exalt the promise of a spectacular spring.
|Rain-filled pool on the plains of Extremadura (Martin Kelsey)|
During this period, the rain has been accompanied by Atlantic winds, sweeping across the meseta of south-western Spain. Banks of heavy clouds unroll above us, dramatic and daunting. Birding is challenging in such windswept and wet conditions, but during lulls the birds respond. Respites offer opportunities for feeding, song and mating, or simply drying their plumage, giving those of us who have braved the conditions the reward of witnessing these peaks of activity. Two days ago, during a brief moment of calmer weather beside the Alcollarín Reservoir, a Common Cuckoo called from the oak dehesa, a newly arrived Woodchat Shrike sat on a clump of brambles and an Iberian Chiffchaff sang its hesitant, jumpy song, culminating in joyful "sweeet" notes. It interspersed its song with anxious foraging, hovering and flitting through the foliage, sometimes sharing the same small tree with its Common Chiffchaff cousin.
Alcollarín was the site on 6th March where I stood watching the hordes of Barn Swallows fluttering hard low over the water against the head wind and noticed an interesting-looking gull swimming, making short flights and returning to the water again. It was a first-winter Kittiwake, the first I had ever seen in Extremadura and far from its usual winter habitat: the high seas. I had heard that the storms had brought Kittiwakes into inshore waters in southern Spain and I confess that when I set out that morning, I half-wondered whether something like a Kittiwake might have been blown-in to my local reservoir, but there had been no records of any inland.
|First-winter Kittiwake at Alcollarín (Martin Kelsey)|
Two days later, standing on the massive dam of the Sierra Brava reservoir, buffeted by the wind, with the mass of choppy water in front of me, it felt just like being on a sea-front. And as we stood, gliding past on stiff wings, we saw another Kittiwake, this time an adult. The Alcollarín youngster has not been relocated, but the adult at Sierra Brava was still present at least until yesterday, entertaining birders with its zooming flypasts at the dam, as if it was homing into a coastal cliff. These two birds remain the only ones reported from the interior of Spain, yet it is inconceivable that there are not others at reservoirs elsewhere.
|Adult Kittiwake Sierra Brava Reservoir (Thomas Reickmann)|