Written by Lucy Brzoska
The landscape was overwhelmingly beautiful but unforgiving. After stepping out of the car, my face soon numbed and toes froze. What would we find alive out here?
A steep crag rose out of the snow, facing the sun, gathering warmth. Four sets of binoculars scanned the rocks, and almost immediately we noticed restless flocks of brown-backed birds, briskly foraging among stones and plants, even digging in patches of snow. Up went the telescopes, and you could see orange bills and contrasting black and white tails. Then every so often, a group would sweep off the ridge – a flurry of white birds magnified against the bluest of skies, clearly visible with the naked eye.
The snowfinch (Montifringilla nivalis) is in fact grouped with the sparrows, as suggested by the Spanish name, Gorrion Alpino. Like the urban House sparrow, it’s learnt to take advantage of humans and, since home is above 1500 metres, looks for feeding opportunities at ski stations.
As well as snowfinches we saw Alpine accentors (Prunella collaris) and, very surprisingly, a wallcreeper (Tichodroma muraria), first spotted by sharp-eyed Max. Our eyes were squinting and weeping with the glare, but as Mike said, sunglasses aren’t much use when birdwatching.
All kinds of intriguing tracks patterned the snow, some leading directly towards the snowfinches’ crag. A chamois in a thick winter coat of brown and cream was grazing its way upwards. Already at the top was a fox, surveying the land like a ginger cat.
If we tired of craning up at the rock, we could look the other way towards blue islands – Montserrat, and further away still, Collserola, with the minuscule needle of the Norman Foster tower. The world was in reverse to my normal view from the coast. Sometimes a Griffon vulture would float past or mount a thermal. The snow-muffled silence was broken by the bark of a raven, the powerful light revealing contrasting shades of black on its wings, normally unnoticed. Lower down we’d seen crossbills, just next to the sign indicating the Ruta del Trencapinyes (Route of the Crossbills).
Back down in the valley, in Bagà, trees and rooves were dripping fast in full mid-afternoon thaw and the village cats sunned themselves in a spot freshly cleared of snow. A dipper (Cinclus cinclus) probed the water under the medieval bridge. The crooked shapes of Montserrat filled the horizon as we drove home.
What does a professional bird guide do when not working? Go bird-watching of course. Stephen Christopher of www.catalanbirdtours.com was intent on photographing the snowfinches, bad weather having thwarted his previous attempt a few days before. The difficult light and restless nature of the birds meant he couldn’t secure a good shot. He did get the following image, however: a Snow bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis), very rarely recorded in Catalunya. Not bad for your day off.