Starlings

At Cabragh Wetlands we love the autumnal appearances of those huge flocks of hundreds of thousands of starlings, which swirl and sweep across the evening sky in massive grey-black clouds before settling into the reedbeds to roost for the night. But at this time of year we see a different side of this little fellow, as they busily set about nesting and breeding.



They love to build their nests in the eaves of our houses, landing on the guttering and finding gaps up into the roof space through which they can squeeze. For weeks now our garden has been festooned with little yellow tufts of soft material, like cotton wool. This is (or was) our precious roof insulation, dragged out and casually tossed away by the fussy starlings, who work very hard to clear out unwanted debris and create a nest as soft and clean as they can manage. A few days ago a skeleton appeared on the lawn, the dessicated remains of one of last year’s brood that did not survive infancy. Thrown out of the nest to create space for the class of 2010 and stripped of everything unpleasant, the bones now make an interesting exhibit for children to study on visits to Cabragh.



With its speckled feathers glinting in the sun, the starling is a truly beautiful bird. In summer and autumn a purple plumage on the chest makes him even more impressive, especially if you can put up with the noise. Almost from hatching they hold forth with a variety of indescribable noises, clicking, gurgling and whistling but never managing the mellifluous sounds of the blackbird or thrush. They are also great mimics, not least of human sounds. They have been known to imitate cats, frogs, owls and chickens; at least one dog has been driven mad as it dutifully tried to respond to its owner’s whistle, and people have rushed indoors to answer phones that weren’t ringing. Nowadays mobile ring tones are a favourite. Mozart’s pet starling is supposed to have inspired his G-major Piano Concerto, and certainly Mozart and the starling share a reputation for being brash, aggressive and generally obnoxious.



They are considered dirty and unhealthy (she-who-has-to-clean-the-windows would agree), but are good friends of sheep, pecking off ovine ticks in their fleece. The sites where they roost in the autumn can be devastated, vegetation broken down and killed by acidic guano from vast numbers of individuals answering the call of nature; in such death and decay mould and fungi flourish. Introduced to North America in the 1890’s, they are regarded there as a serious and invasive pest, with millions of dollars spent trying to eradicate them from Alaska to Mexico. In contrast the Russians love them, seeing them as a friend of the farmer (think of the number of insects a large flock will eat) and the harbinger of spring. Under the communists, the state provided 22.5 million nestboxes to encourage starlings, with children given school projects to record their usage.



The collective noun for a flock of starlings is a “murmuration”, which memorably evokes the sweeping rhythm of a million starlings on the wing, but certainly not the raucous cacophony coming from our roof spaces at this time of year.