![]() ![]() Shakespeare would have witnessed many kites gliding over London. In centuries past, when it was commonly found in urban settings, the raptor’s taste for refuse and carrion earned it the name shitehawk. But the bird did not always hold such cherished status. What a majestic addition to our skies! I long for their return. The kite, now relegated to rural landscapes, was once a common sight in cities. We have stepped back, stepped in, stayed home, and they have taken their rightful place as masters of the soundscape. I’ve heard birdsong in the city like never before. I wonder what they think of our predicament, for surely they have noticed. In my garden the sparrows chatter laughingly from the honeysuckle. If life ever starts to feel overwhelming, lie on the grass and look skyward. Do they pity us, prisoners of the land? The freedom of dancing across all planes, ascribing no meaning to distance, to swallow vast landscapes in a glance. ![]() We foist an ego of importance upon ourselves and our busy human lives. Endless blue, the sky more vast than comprehension. I will find no kites here, but there is still satisfaction in gazing up at the avian kingdom. I still live in Wales, but have exchanged the rolling hills of Powys for Cardiff’s urban streets. A magnificent volte-face for both this stately bird and for our skies.ĭuring lockdown I find pleasure in lying on the lawn of my small city garden and staring at the sky. As I write now it is gratifying to know that the number of breeding pairs in Wales has risen from one hundred at the time of that school visit, to over a thousand today. Each year, their range and numbers are slowly expanding. A re-introduction programme started in 1989 and has helped to establish red kites in several areas of England and Scotland. More sophisticated nest protection succeeded in reducing the proportion of nests robbed, and blessedly this is no longer regarded as a serious problem.ĭue to the low rate of chick production, the Welsh population appeared to be unable to spread beyond the border to recolonise its former range. Nest thieves were responsible for taking up to a quarter of all kite eggs, perversely making future thefts even more valued as they drove the species’ scarcity. The rarity of the red kite had made it a prime target for egg collectors. The story began in 1903 with the formation of the Kite Committee, a garrison of individuals who initiated the first nest protection schemes. But eventually we stopped seeing them altogether… As the sun set on the fate of local red squirrels, it rose for the red kings of the sky kites bred themselves into a conservation success story. ![]() As their numbers diminished through the years, each sighting felt more remarkable. According to official maps they had been wiped out in this area. Every time my brother and I would visit, we would look out for them. Near my Dad’s house, there lived a family of red squirrels. What draws us to rarity? If gold were as common as iron would we still find it beautiful? If kites were as numerous as crows, would they still inspire? It felt a privilege to witness a creature that remained nothing but pictures in books for so many others. I had always wondered at buzzards, a common sight on the farm – but now a kite! Sleeker, more refined, a maestro conducting the wind. Balanced on dying sunlight, she whirlpools, wingtips stretched out to caress the air, the whole world turning below. Keen eyes take in whole valleys and hillsides in the long, slow dusk of summer. From below I see patches of white at the end of her wings, black primary feathers reaching out of them like black fingers from a pale palm. From above, she boasts a shimmer of feathers, tobacco and rust, a phoenix echo as they catch the fire of sunset. Master of the wind, motionless but for the gentle tilt of her pronged tail. When one day I spotted one, the excitement was palpable. Day after day I searched the skies above my childhood farm. At the time this august creature was on the global endangered list. She told us that there were only one hundred breeding pairs left in Wales. The conservationist showed us photos of sleek-bodied kites and spoke with passion about this charismatic raptor. Any traveller coming to this part of the world will pass the stamp of a red bird with forked tail on crossing the Powys border. The kite is the national bird of Wales and the symbol of our county. These rolling hills, this verdant patch of land, the place we call home, is the last bastion of hope for a rare master of the sky. A bird that had been driven to extinction in England and Scotland, but had clung to survival in the oakwoods of mid-Wales. Silence fell as she began to describe the red kite. We awaited our visitor with great expectation: a local conservationist. I remember the day we were ushered into the school assembly room, a small gaggle of excited children. ![]()
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