Windhovers

Mynyddoedd y Preseli from the North West

Last week I saw a Kestrel, hovering for prey over the moors of the Preseli Hills. It brought to mind the feral wanderings of my childhood: building fires in the abandoned quarry near our house, camping in the scrub fields that are now a retail park, hunting for insects on the dune beaches of Northumberland…

Kestrels were more common then, but they held a special allure. My grandfather used to call them windhovers, regarding them as the ultimate sight hunter. Ironically, he was clinically blind, and if we came across one on our walks, I’d have to give him a running commentary on its position, kill success or failure. I liked them too, for their association with Ken Loach’s film Kes and even wondered if I might tame one as Billy, its protagonist, had done.

Thinking back, many aspects of my childhood adventures would be frowned on now. I spent days (and nights) unsupervised, had friends with air rifles, others who collected birds’ eggs; we knew little and cared less about conservation. And yet, I’m grateful for the education it gave me, and convinced that we have lost something in our sometimes over supervision and curation of the outdoors.

What’s more, my love of mountains and coast is inextricably linked to their wider ecology, much of which I learned as a boy. There’s not a walk I take when I don’t at least mentally record the flowers, birds and insects I’ve seen. My library of reference books is full of notes that are as much a record of my wanderings as my powers of observation.

Talking of which, did you know that Kestrels can see ultraviolet light, allowing them to track the urine trails of their prey? Further evidence that these magnificent birds exist in a world we can never fully understand, let alone experience. Which is perhaps why, decades on from my childhood encounters, seeing one over the moors near my house remains such a treat.