How Photographing A Cruel Cuckoo Chick Inspired A New Painting & A Lasting Respect for Mothers

The shrill call of a young cuckoo is a sound that I don’t hear that often but when I do I recognise it immediately. It has long been an ambition of mine to photograph the chick of this unusual parasitic bird, which flies all the way from Africa to lay its egg in another bird’s nest. I last had the chance 20 years ago. (Read about that experience by clicking here.) And then again during a recent visit to Scotland.

Cuckoo Painting, by Robert E Fuller

As is so often the case with wildlife watching, I wasn’t even thinking about cuckoos at the time. I was looking for deer. I had spotted some fields which had been cut for hay. The fresh growth was attracting roe and red deer out from the forest and into the open. So I set off one evening to try to photograph them. Straightaway I spotted a roe doe and its fawn. They were walking away from me, so I headed around a knoll of land and sat down to wait for them. They didn’t appear. I cautiously went round the corner to see what was happening. But there was no sign of them. I gave up and set off in the direction of some boxing hares on the other side of the field. Only then did the deer break cover – they had been lying in some grass just metres from where I was standing. So that was the end of that.

I decided to try my luck with the hares instead. But as I made my approach my attention was diverted by a young bird call. It stopped me in my tracks. It sounded like a young cuckoo. The high-pitched trill imitates the sound a whole clutch of chicks makes and is intended to get the cuckoo's surrogate parents to feed it as much and as quickly as possible. My hunch was confirmed when I saw the cuckoo chick fly up from the ground and into a large Scot’s pine on the edge of the field. It was being followed frantically by two meadow pipits – these were its surrogate parents.

Each cuckoo specialises in targeting one species. Meadow pipits are the cuckoo’s favourite host species in the Highlands, whilst elsewhere in the country it’s pied wagtails, reed warblers and dunnocks on the hit list. One cuckoo can lay a single egg in up to a dozen different nests during one season. And by some stroke of genius the cuckoo can match the colour of the egg to the host species. The hatching cuckoo is mercenary from birth. It is hardwired to set about removing all trace of other eggs or chicks as soon as it is born. Whilst it is still blind, it rolls them out of the nest on its back. I feel sorry for the targeted surrogate birds that will not only have to raise the intruder but also lose their own clutch in the process.

Reed Warbler Feeding a Cuckoo Chick, painted by Robert E Fuller

I was getting fantastic views of the meadow pipits feeding the much larger cuckoo chick but I was not close enough for a photograph. Each time as I got nearer the meadow pipits would call out their alarm, warning the cuckoo of danger, and the cuckoo would fly on to the next tree. I could tell the cuckoo had been out of the nest for quite a while as its tail was fully grown and it was fast and agile in flight. In the past, I’ve found newly fledged chicks to be quite clumsy and easily approached. I was going to have my work cut out with this one. The meadow pipits had their work cut out too. They were frantically trying to keep pace as well as catching insects to quench this chick’s insurmountable appetite.

The cuckoo flew down onto the ground and caught its own caterpillar. It was a sign of its growing independence and that it would shortly be departing for Africa, completing the breeding cycle. Its constant shrill call let both the meadow pipits and me keep track of it through the trees. I followed it for over an hour with great sightings but no photographs. I stayed with the cuckoo until it was nearly dark. It settled down for the night so I had it pinpointed for another try the following morning.

I set my alarm clock for dawn. I knew I was going to have to adopt a different approach if I was going to get close enough. So, out of my suitcase came my full camouflage suit and a large sheet of camouflage netting which I duly attached to my tripod. The next morning there were six roe deer grazing on the field. I didn’t want to get distracted by them today. But they reminded me that I needed to adopt the same stealth stalking technique I use when approaching these beautiful mammals for the cuckoo.

After a short walk I heard the shrill call of the cuckoo not far from where I had left it the evening before. I approached the tree where I thought the sound was emanating from but fell down a hole and felt my ankle twist and my knee crack. My camera tumbled to the ground and, more annoyingly, the cuckoo took flight. I got back on my feet, albeit with a limp, and started my stalk again. This time I got closer but again the cuckoo flew off, just as I focused the camera.

The second time I got near, it was completely obscured by branches.  I waited for it to move on to the next tree and as it flew I tracked its movement with my binoculars. I repeated this process frustratingly for an hour. If I was in thick cover I could get closer but if it was on an open branch it was much more wary and would fly on.  I was determined to capture the moments when the meadow pipits feed this oversized chick so I passed under some power lines stretching across the undulating moor and open forest. On the wires were dozens of meadow pipits. They had finished breeding and were gathering into large flocks – quite a contrast to the rather harassed pipits I had seen that were still ‘bringing up baby’.

The cuckoo then took a long flight hundreds of yards into a wood on the other side of the field. I was just wondering whether it was possible to take a photograph before a dog walker flushed it and it flew back over my head with the meadow pipits giving chase to try and guide it back towards the moorland. But the cuckoo would not be swayed it landed next to the road into a copse of magnificent beech and horse chestnut trees. I caught up with it eventually and could hear its call. But here the trees were too big and dense to see it. I waited for 20 minutes with no sightings of the cuckoo and only the occasional view of one of the meadow pipits.

It was 8am by now and the road adjacent to the field was starting to get busier with traffic. A lorry came down at speed and frightened the cuckoo away. It flew back across the field and back into the tree that I first saw it in that morning three hours ago. It landed on an open branch and with my binoculars I could see the meadow pipits feeding it every few minutes. And if that wasn’t enough for the poor little pipits each time the cuckoo received a beak full of insects it would lash out in frustration and make a grab for the pipit itself as if to say ‘not enough – now, get back to work’. To avoid this, the pipit would sometimes land on the cuckoo’s back to feed it over its shoulder.

I approached across the field hidden behind my camouflage netting. I was finally close enough to get some good shots. I took the opportunity to get closer still when the cuckoo was distracted by being fed by one of its surrogate parents. As it continued to move through the trees I adopted this new technique and made sure I knew where it was exactly in each tree as I approached it. Sometimes I even waited for the pipits to pinpoint it for me as they went in to feed it. Once located I used branches and other trees to disguise my approach and finally nearly four hours later I was just 12 metres away and getting frame filling photographs.

 

I arrived back at my holiday cottage content and enjoyed a well-earned full English breakfast all the more knowing I had captured this miracle of nature. I couldn't wait to return to my studio to begin paintng the cuckoo chick I had watched.

Read about the previous time I watched a cuckoo this time being raised by a reed warbler and how the experience inspired a new respect for nature's most devoted mothers below:

https://www.robertefuller.com/mother-nature-reed-warbler-mothering-a-cuckoo-chick/