How I fell prey to a kestrel

And how it led me to start this newsletter

Beckenham Place Park bluebells, April 2020

In autumn 2019, I moved into a small flat next to a big park in South East London. My dog walks quickly became the highlight of my day – getting me outside, easing my anxieties and even - shock, horror - encouraging me to interact with other humans. But when the UK went into lockdown in 2020, the most calming part of my day suddenly became the most anxiety-inducing. The sunshine brought people out in droves and it seemed like every single person in South London had taken up jogging overnight. The park became much busier and I had to learn to share it in a new way.

I began filming bits of my dog walks and sharing them on Instagram Stories for people who couldn’t get outside, or who didn’t feel close to nature. The Ravensbourne River babbling along, parakeets screeching overhead and trees swaying in the gentle breeze all helped bring some much-needed calm. Slowly but surely I altered my mindset and found different ways to enjoy nature in order to ease my anxiety.

I’d always been a nature lover, but during that time, the natural world became more important to me than ever. In short, I don’t know how I would have coped without my green sanctuary.

A found rainbow, Beckenham Place Park, April 2020

In 2021, during the third UK lockdown, I witnessed something spectacular. One snowy afternoon, a kestrel swooped down right in front of me, caught some prey and flew off into the distance. From that day on, I became obsessed with kestrels.

I soon realised that I was seeing not just one bird in my local park, but a breeding pair. I watched them for months: dumbfounded at their ability to hover for such a long time, chuffed at my ability to spot them regally perched in a tree and even feeling like a peeping Tom on the occasions I witnessed them mating.

Eventually, after speaking to local RSPB volunteers, I realised I had been seeing a pair of hobbies too. I even found their nest, high up in a tree, thanks to a pair of old binoculars my mum donated to me weeks before that first UK lockdown. 

Paying attention to those kestrels led me to not only notice another breed of falcon, but start to become curious about the other birds around me too. I learnt more about trees and I connected with the seasons in a way I never had before. I became so desperate to learn all I could about the things I was seeing on my daily walks that I enrolled in a foraging course and a nature connection course.

And that’s why I believe that connecting with nature starts with noticing just one thing. By paying attention to those kestrels I noticed more about the world around me. The more I noticed, the more I cared, and the more I became determined to do my bit to protect ‘my’ patch of nature.

And that’s what I hope to help you with too. Maybe you can’t get out and see a kestrel where you live, but my prompt for you this week is to simply get outside (or just look out of your window) and notice one new thing. Pay attention and see what catches your eye. There’s more going on out there than you may think!

Epilogue

In 2022 we moved out of South London and further into Kent, to a house on the edge of Maidstone. I was so sad to say goodbye to the park and the kestrels that kicked off my fascination with nature, but I soon realised there’s so much wildlife to be discovered near my new home and, within a week or so, we spotted a kestrel along the lane we often walk our dog, Noushi.

The logo for this newsletter is based on the photo above (taken by my partner) of one of our new local kestrels. This week, the day after I sent the first Nature Notice Board email out, I had the most magical kestrel experience.

I’d not seen a kestrel for a little while, until yesterday, when I spotted one for a split second, swooping down behind a hedge. It soon appeared again, hovering far in the distance, and I stood to admire it for a while. I continued my walk, then circled back, hoping I might catch a glimpse of it again. A man appeared, who I often see along the lane, but have only ever shared a passing “hello” with. He was pointing at the sky, with a smile on his face. “There’s a kestrel,” I nodded, beaming back.

The man told me he thought the bird might be a sparrowhawk, so I was pleased to be able to share some of my limited nature knowledge, confidently confirming it was definitely a kestrel: “You can tell because it’s hovering like that, sparrowhawks don’t hover”. The stranger went on to tell me about a sparrowhawk he witnessed rip a collared dove to shreds in his small garden: “And I’m a vegetarian, so it was even more horrific,” he said.

We went on to talk about the red kites you can see over the motorway in Oxford, and I told him about the red kite feeding station near my mum’s house in Dumfries where women in their 80s stand in the middle of a field holding dead chicks in the air until gigantic birds of prey swoop in from all angles, ready to tuck in. Despite his vegetarianism, the man briefly considered a change in career as a red-kite-enticer in Scotland before we waved goodbye.

Walking back in the direction of home, I found the kestrel right in front of me, hovering the lowest I’d ever seen one, for what felt like hours (but was probably a couple of minutes). I sat on a rock and watched it hunting, using the oncoming wind to help it hover and keep its head completely still.

I started that windy walk feeling like I wanted to get it out of the way as quickly as possible, but I ended it grinning ear to ear. Not only did I have a near-perfect kestrel sighting, but I’d connected with another human being because of it. And that’s what I hope this newsletter will be all about - connecting with others, sharing knowledge… and once in a while experiencing something spectacular.

P.S. Male kestrels have grey heads and female kestrels look quite different, so I really should know by now who I’m seeing, but without my binoculars I’m never sure (or at least I never consider to check in the moment). In my painting above I decided to paint it as a male, as I think that’s what we saw that day… Still not sure it’s particularly accurate though!

I want this to be a collaborative space, and one where you feel part of a community of nature enthusiasts. Why not introduce yourself in the comments? Perhaps you can share where you live, something you’ve noticed in nature recently or something you want to learn more about…

Thanks for being here!

Zabby