Threat level – intense

More from Seaton Carew’s little tern colony

Horus, the Egyptian god of sun and sky, is depicted as a falcon. Sometimes he is almost a man, but bird-headed, and sometimes he is fully bird. In his hieroglyph he is a falcon perched in profile, but in decorative icons he takes on the silhouette of a hovering raptor, wings outspread. I never understood the awe and terror this shape could inspire – not until the kestrel came.

It had been two days since my first stint with the little tern wardens at Seaton Carew, and I was looking forward to another afternoon of watching fluffy chicks bimble on their wibbly legs, and chatting to the passing public. I’d muted the warden WhatsApp group for a bit, so I’d missed the first avalanche of notifications. Kestrel attack. Chick taken. Kestrel attack. Chick taken. Kestrel attack. Adult taken. Kestrel attack, attack, attack.

Attempts had been coming around every twenty minutes all through the long hours of June sunlight. With chicks of his own to feed, the male kestrel had been taking advantage of perfect visibility and a concentrated population of chicks at their most vulnerable stage, hatchlings mostly unable to take cover under the pipes and pallets provided. The sheer speed of the predation was shocking to witness, and the decision was made in the warden chat group to stop the blow-by-blow reports of loss in favour of a slightly less traumatising end-of-day round-up. But as the numbers mounted, it was difficult not to think darkly – if this rate of attrition were to continue, would any chicks survive to fledge and escape along their migration route to Africa?

Wardens are well aware of all the ways these little birds can be taken. Gulls can smash and gobble eggs, dogs can chase and catch fledglings when they first head to the water’s edge. By night, foxes try their luck and are seen off with laser pens, as is the little white cat that night warden Dean has nicknamed Ghost. Even hedgehogs get in on the action, swimming through shallow tidal pools to get to the prize of an egg. But nothing is quite like the kestrel.

Other threats can be seen coming and counteracted by the human guardians with laser and air horn, or with screeching and mobbing by the feisty little terns. Although as the UK’s smallest seabird they seldom land any pecking blows, clouds of dozens of birds are usually successful in bothering the lumbering herring gulls away. But nothing is quite like the kestrel!

As soon as I get out of the car, I can hear the absence of bird chatter. Anyone who’s seen a sparrowhawk strike in their garden will know the stunned hush that follows it, often for days, as the survivors hunker away in fear. For the little terns there is nowhere to hide, and a real air of exhaustion and despair has washed over the colony. Whatever they do to deflect the kestrel, he simply ignores them, swinging round again and again with indestructible focus for the hunt. The raids have been so frequent that the mobs of defenders, small and intimidated in the first place, have now dwindled into desultory attempts by half a dozen or less against an undeflected foe.

The kestrel watches from a distant roof, unseen as a sniper. The kestrel moves neither gaze nor intent. The kestrel circles higher and higher until it is a dot, and then a trick of the eye a blue mile above. The kestrel slides in front of the sun; and I see it then! How Horus came into the minds of people a millennia ago, majesty and death and the blinding brightness of a god! But I can no longer see the real bird.

We are still craning upwards in fear, lost in the heat-thin clouds, when he strafes in low over the perimeter fence. It’s a split second, but by the time we turn and cry out, he is already making the horrifying grip-and-yank gesture of feeding. Another chick is lost, and there are five more hours of daylight left. More hours again tomorrow as the year builds to its solstice. No respite from the intensity of this threat.

Can the colony rally? Will any chicks make it to adulthood? The next few days will prove critical, as fledging begins…

More to come soon!

You can support the work of the Tees Valley Wildlife Trust by subscribing as a member here, or perhaps by volunteering your time to the little tern crew – or one of the many other conservation projects the Trust runs. Not in Teesside? Wildlife Trusts exist across the UK, have a look for your local opportunities!