Die Smaragdeidechse (Lacerta viridis) ist mit bis zu 40 Zentimeter Länge die größte Eidechsenart Mitteleuropas. Die Tiere werden bis zu 40 Zentimeter lang, allerdings misst allein der Schwanz etwa 26 Zentimeter. Im Mai findet die Paarungszeit statt, bei der sowohl Männchen als auch Weibchen mehrere Partner haben können.

Tags:   Smaragdeidechse Kaiserstuhl Lumix G9II Lacerta viridis

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Am 3. Urlaubstag konnten wir den Wiedehopf beobachten, der für das brütende Weibchen eine Maulwurfsgrille brachte. Wahrscheinlich schlief sie noch denn es dauerte mehrere Versuche bis er sie endlich los wurde.

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IMPORTANT: for non-pro users who read the info on a computer, just enlarge your screen to 120% (or more), then the full text will appear below the photo with a white background - which makes reading so much easier.

THE VIDEO OF THE WOODPECKERS IN MY GARDEN: www.youtube.com/watch?v=lE_Dk3S3B3Q
MY BEST PHOTOS (MOSTLY NOT YET ON FLICKR): www.lacerta-bilineata.com/ticino-best-photos-of-southern-...

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO:
The great spotted woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) is probably my favorite bird to photograph, but that fella had me waiting even longer than the elusive jay: It took me well over a year to finally get a shot form a close enough distance, and it literally required help from the heavens - but more on that later.

Ever since I saved a young woodpecker as a kid - the little guy had gotten himself entangled in one of the nets our local farmer had put over his cherry trees - I've had a particular affinity for this beautiful species, and when I decided to feed the birds in my garden in early 2023 (for reasons you can read all about here: www.flickr.com/photos/191055893@N07/52994208987/in/datepo... ), I naturally hoped I would also get a visit from Mr. or Mrs. D. Major.

But no member of the Picidae family showed up that winter, and when spring arrived and I laid out some cherries in my epic struggle to capture the Eurasian jay (a tale you can find here: www.flickr.com/photos/191055893@N07/54147481326/in/datepo... ), I again harbored the hope the fruit might do the trick and also attract a great spotted woodpecker. Alas, the species simply never came close enough to my garden to even see my buffet for birds.

I didn't blame them; there was just nothing on my premises to attract them from afar: no old trees nor any dead wood that could have competed with the gorgeous chestnut forest around our village, and so 2023 went by without a visit of either Mr. or Mrs. Woodpecker.

Cut to spring 2024, which brought some major changes to my garden. For one, our whole region was drowning in seemingly endless rain, and the upper part of my garden looked like the world's dirtiest swimming pool. After a winter that had been catastrophically dry, in late February heaven's floodgates suddenly opened and then hardly ever closed again until the beginning of June.

We'd often had prolonged rainfalls in spring in the past, but this was a whole new dimension, and the effect on nature was quite drastic. There were floods and landslides all over, and the pollination of many plants simply didn't happen, because the constant downpour had taken a terrible toll on insect life (I had to pollinate the zucchini plants in my garden myself with a cotton swab, because even when the sun was out, there were hardly any bees to be seen).

For many birds in our region this spelled doom, because the cold and damp weather conditions coincided with their breeding season. I noticed there were more species than usual coming to my garden, because in their desperate search for food, even otherwise rather shy birds left the forest and flew farther distances.

And thus it happened that in May 2024 a pair of great spotted woodpeckers - a male and a female - finally came to check out my garden. I shamefully admit I was over the moon (after all, the reason for their visit was certainly nothing to be joyful about). To my surprise they ignored the cherries I had laid out on the tree trunk in front of my shed: what they instead went absolutely crazy for were hazelnuts.

Observing the couple was so much fun - and incredibly fascinating. They first "chiseled" a few tiny holes into my fig tree with their impressive beaks (and, as I later discovered, also into the wooden table underneath my pergola 😂 ), then they would each collect a single hazelnut from the tree trunk and hammer it with great precision into one of the holes. Once the nut was in place, they would hack it into little pieces which they would then gobble up.

This, however, did not go unnoticed by the ever attentive local jay. The clever fella liked my buffet for birds well enough, but he knew I was lurking behind the shed's wall next to the tree trunk where I fed the birds, and THAT he didn't like.

But now all he had to do was wait until the woodpeckers carried a hazelnut to the fig tree, where it was at a much safer distance from the nasty human, and as soon as the nut was fixed in its hole and ready for the taking, he would bully away the rightful owner who had done all the work and cheekily steal it (I was even able to film this behavior once, it happens at the 1minute-10seconds mark: www.youtube.com/watch?v=lE_Dk3S3B3Q ).

Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. D. Major didn't let such rude behavior from the locals deter them from my garden; as long as I made sure there were always enough hazelnuts to go around, they accepted the fact that they would lose one to the jay every once in a while and kept coming - and thus I got lots of opportunities to photograph them.

After two weeks, the pair even surprised me with the most wonderful gift: they brought Junior along and fed him in the fig tree (which you can also see in the clip I linked above: Junior is the one with the red "cap").

It seems my garden is now an integral part of their territory even when I don't feed them, and they visit it every day. But this may also have to do with another change that occurred in my garden in spring '24, namely that I - among many other things - dragged at least two dozen old tree stumps into it, which the woodpeckers love.

The only downside is that they feel so territorial about my garden now that they chase away any green woodpeckers that want to come near, which means I don't have a chance to get a photo of those beautiful birds - but I don't wanna complain; I'm more than happy, and I know you just can't win them all. 😊

As always, many thanks for reading and commenting: have a great start into the new week everyone! ❤🙏😊

Tags:   Dendrocopos Major Great Spotted Woodpecker Buntspecht Ticino Nature Switzerland Sony DSC-RX10M4 pico picapinos Pic épeiche picchio rosso maggiore woodpecker picchio pic pico animal animals bilineata gogoschka lacerta lacerta bilineata Malcantone Monteggio rx10m4 Schweiz Sony Sony DSC-RX10 Mark IV sony rx10m4 suisse svizzera swiss Tessin wildlife bird bird photography Birds uccello oiseau aves avian photography vogel Vogelfotografie pájaro

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IMPORTANT: for non-pro users who read the anecdote on a computer, just enlarge your screen to 120% (or more), then the full text will appear below the photo with a white background - which makes reading so much easier.

My best photos (mostly not on Flickr) are here: www.lacerta-bilineata.com/ticino-best-photos-of-southern-...

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO:
The photo above is far from perfect - believe me, I'm aware. But I'm still very proud of the shot: because getting it was such an excruciatingly long process that it drove me to the brink of insanity. I'm afraid the anecdote that follows is equally long (though hopefully only half as excruciating 😉), but especially for birders it might be interesting.

To provide some context: In the winter of '23 I started feeding the birds in my garden on a huge tree trunk which I'd dragged underneath the fig tree right opposite my wooden shed. And it was through a small hole in that shed's wall that I was then able to photograph my unsuspecting avian guests from a distance of not even two meters (that's a story in and of itself, you can read all about here: www.flickr.com/photos/191055893@N07/52994208987/in/datepo... )

Using the shed as a blind was a game-changer for me; I hadn't managed to produce more than a single usable bird photo in the years before, and now within only a few weeks I succeeded in capturing most of the regular visitors to my garden (nuthatch, blue tit, great tit, marsh tit, dunnock, Italian sparrow and many more) up close and in great detail - yet I wasn't satisfied.

The reason for that was simple: the most beautiful bird in the neighborhood - a Eurasian jay - had so far eluded my camera. I was hell-bent on capturing that fella, but he stubbornly and consistently refused to play along. I'm aware not all jays of the species Garrulus glandarius are that difficult to photograph, but unlucky for me, mine was a regular diva and obvious VIB (that's short for Very Important Bird - in case you wondered 😉), and he behaved as such.

On the few occasions that Mr. Jay did grace my garden with his presence - and I could observe this through a window from the house - he would fly onto a branch of the fig tree right above my buffet for birds, sit there for maybe twenty seconds contemplating what was on display below, only to then fly away again (and I swear I could see him wrinkle his nose - or rather beak - before he took off 😉).

To be fair, it probably wasn't just the menu that didn't convince him; I'm pretty sure this jay knew something fishy (or worse: human) was going on in the shed, and my sunflower seeds and peanuts - which he could probably also get from birdhouses nearby where no paparazzi were lurking - just weren't good enough for him to be willing to take a risk.

Naturally I also tried other delicacies, ranging from fresh apples to grapes to raisins and other dried fruit, but nothing worked; Mr. VIB remained suspicious, which was more than a little frustrating.

Now at this point it might be worth mentioning what probably every birder already knows, namely that Eurasian jays are incredibly clever. If they don't want to have their picture taken and you insist, well, then it becomes a battle of wills between you and the smartest guy in the woods.

It becomes a game of chess, but one where you're up against a grandmaster: only you don't know it yet (unbeknownst to many, every insane asylum comes with a special wing that is reserved for wildlife photographers who tried to get a jay photo - the so called "Jay Wing" - where only the toughest and most experienced psychiatrists are allowed to treat the poor souls 😉).

I had no luck with the jay all winter, but I wasn't ready to give up (nor was I ready to have myself admitted to the "Jay Wing" - yet 😉). Once spring arrived, I hoped to attract Mr. Bluewings with a special treat. Growing up near a fruit orchard, I knew how much Eurasian jays loved cherries, and in May I could finally get the first fresh ones - still imports - from the store.

That timing was crucial, because the cherry trees around my village didn't bear any ripe fruit yet that could have competed with mine - though they would be soon. So there was now this very small window of time where I was able to offer our local "star" the kind of exclusive VIB-treatment that he clearly demanded.

And it worked... almost. It took a few days, during which the jay probably observed the tree trunk from afar (I imagined him with binoculars, in a trench-coat and with a fedora hat like a private eye from the 1940s 😉 ), but eventually he couldn't resist the juicy bribe, and he indeed came to collect the cherries.

The only problem was: the clever devil timed his raids on the buffet so perfectly that I was never in the shed when he did it. It was crazy, but I never even saw him from the house; once the cherries started disappearing, I just assumed it had to be him, because the other birds showed zero interest in anything other than the nuts and the seeds.

For almost a week the same story kept repeating itself (with slight variations): sometime during the day - and never at the same time - the cherries were being collected. The thief never took more than four or five, and it always happened within a time frame of around ten minutes (this I deducted because I checked the tree trunk at pretty close intervals) - and without exception during a moment when I wasn't there to witness it.

By now it was obvious that the jay had the house and the shed under constant surveillance, probably from a high vantage point up in the trees outside my garden where he could even see me through the windows, while I couldn't see him. It drove me nuts: the meticulousness and stealth with which this fella went about his cherry-thieving business were simply unreal!

He might have been a diva, but he showed incredible discipline: once he'd had his fill, he didn't come back, and the rest of the cherries remained untouched until the evening. It was hopeless: if I wasn't willing to observe the tree trunk non-stop or hire a private detective (and I admit I considered the latter for a moment 😉), it was clear I wouldn't see as much as a tail feather. But then I had an idea.

You have to know that I didn't want the bird food to be visible in my photos, so right from the start, I had put three somewhat photogenic looking logs of firewood in a little triangle on the tree trunk, and I'd always "hidden" the bird food in their midst (a bit of a cheat, I know, but all's fair in love and photography 😁).

This meant that while I could see those logs through the window from my house, I couldn't see the cherries and thus never had a visual clue when they started to go missing. The next day I put a single cherry on one of the logs, the remaining ones I put in the space between, like I had done before.

I went back into the house and made myself comfortable with my laptop on the sofa next to the window. Every once in a while I would turn my head to see whether the cherry was still there. After maybe two hours, it finally happened: A moment before I had still seen its silhouette clearly, and now the cherry had disappeared.

I jumped up and quickly (but silently) snuck into the shed where my camera was already mounted on the tripod and ready. The adrenaline started to kick in: I had no idea if my plan would work. The logic behind my idea was: if the jay went for the most exposed cherry first and was then busy for a minute or so eating it somewhere, maybe he wouldn't notice me sneak into the shed.

The suspense was nearly unbearable; sweat was dripping from my brow into my eye, and I didn't dare to move, for fear the slightest noise (like my clothes rustling) would give my position away to the jay. I looked through the viewfinder, eyes squinted, frozen like a statue, for what felt like eternity (but in reality couldn't have been more than a minute or two), when out of nowhere he appeared: the master thief materialized on one of the logs like some sort of magic trick.

And yes: it was the jay - and he looked magnificent. He made a quick movement with his head, and then he was gone. I was stunned. It all had happened so fast that I hadn't even tried to get him in focus - I just stood there, almost shocked. I had never had a chance to get a shot. A minute later, while I was still silently cursing myself, my prized bird appeared again. I fumbled on my camera - he was gone before I could do so much as adjust the direction of the lens.

I started cursing loudly now - I just couldn't help it - but the jay didn't seem to mind. Within the next three minutes he came back two more times, and all I had to show for in the end was a perfectly focused - albeit entirely birdless - photo of the logs on the tree trunk (well, that and some very nice clumps of my own hair in my hands 😆). I hoped against hope he would appear one more time, but he didn't; he'd taken his usual five cherries, and the raid was over for the day.

I have to say that despite my anger (mostly at myself), I was impressed: the speed with which my adversary acted was incredible - no wonder I had never seen him. But there was simply no way I could shoot this lightning fast creature the way I usually do, which is by selecting the smallest focus and then only aiming for the eye. If I wanted to capture Mr. Bluewings at all, I had to switch to auto and continuous shooting mode, hoping one of the photos would end up being in focus.

I enacted my new strategy the next day, and thankfully the trick with the single exposed cherry on the log worked again: the jay went for it first, and I was again able to quickly sneak into the shed, apparently undetected. As had happened the day before, Master Garrulus glandarius appeared out of nowhere - and again was gone before I could even think of pressing the trigger.

But after the third attempt, my timing was finally right; I aimed and shuttered in rapid fire as if I were working a machine gun; the camera went "trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" (yes, that's my best imitation of that sound 😂 ), and I could see immediately how that noise irritated the jay. Weirdly enough, he seemed to be much more bothered by the camera noise than he was by my constant muttering and swearing.

This time, he didn't come back for a fifth and final cherry. But I couldn't have cared less (and as a nature lover it embarrasses me to admit this); I was in a reckless, almost feverish "hunter mode", and the only thing that mattered now was my photographic prize.

I was euphoric, because I knew I had captured the jay. Still in the shed, I immediately went through the photos, fingers trembling with excitement (I know this must sound exaggerated and very ridiculous to most people, but I bet you photographers out there know exactly what I'm talking about 😄).

My euphoria dissipated quicker than you could utter the words "Jay Wing". Even on the small camera screen it became instantly apparent the pictures were unusable. They were out of focus at best and a total blur at worst. I scanned my surroundings for a suitable object or surface where I could bash my head in. I wanted to scream (and maybe I did - my neighbors looked at me funny later that day, but then they often do that 😂).

So far it was 3:0 for the bird. I had failed at every attempt, and he had outplayed me on every level. To make matters worse, I didn't dare to apply the continuous shooting mode again: the noise was just too loud, and I was afraid I would scare the jay away for good (plus the results - due to my ineptitude - weren't likely to improve).

I was used to photographing reptiles, insects and roe deer, and none of them moved as fast as the Eurasian jay: I needed more time. Just a few seconds would have been enough, but I realized the clever bird would never give me those. The situation seemed hopeless - until I had an unexpected Eureka moment. All of a sudden I knew how I might get an extra second (or two) with Mr. VIB (provided he did come back after my loud shuttering).

The following morning I went to the tree trunk once more, and again I put a single cherry on one of the logs, but the rest - you know: the ones that I always put into the middle of this log triangle - I covered with some thin twigs. Not too many - after all, the bait had to remain visible underneath the twigs - but enough that a single picking motion wouldn't be enough to snatch a cherry.

"Your move, Mr. Jay," I thought as I went into the house. I lay down on the sofa, then I waited. The jay didn't come. All day long I regularly peered out the window: the silhouette of the lone cherry on the log remained in place, like some weird little statue, mocking me.

I became convinced the intense camera noise the previous day had disgruntled the jay to the point where he'd had enough of my shenanigans. Hard as it was, I had to get ready to accept the fact that my trophy shot of this beautiful bird just wasn't gonna happen. Then, sometime during the late afternoon, I suddenly noticed the cherry was gone. Ten seconds later I was in the shed - and ready.

The look on the jay's face when he landed on one of the logs was almost comical. He apparently hadn't noticed the twigs before, and his short moment of hesitation was all I needed to get a first shot. He heard the noise and looked right at me - click! - and that was my second shot, which nicely captured the bewildered look on his face (you can see that photo here: www.flickr.com/photos/191055893@N07/52994208987/in/datepo... ).

It only took Mr. Bluewings two seconds to adjust to the new situation; he quickly threw out a few twigs with his beak, picked up a cherry - click! (my third shot, that you can see above) - and off he flew. But it was clear the jay knew exactly he was being photographed, and he didn't like it one bit. The annoyed expression on his face had been unmistakable: he looked like Sean Penn when he's confronted with a paparazzo.

Meanwhile I was over the moon: it had worked (and a quick check on the tiny camera screen confirmed this); I had at least two acceptable photos. The few extra seconds the twigs bought me had done the trick.

All's well that ends well, as the saying goes, and if the 'Tale Of The Jay' were to conclude here (and it could), this would indeed be a happy ending. After all, I had eventually outsmarted the clever bird and gotten my desired photos. But there is a short epilogue to the story, and I believe it's worth telling (and if you made it to this point, you might as well continue reading 😉).

You see, I was only able to pull off the "single-cherry/twigs strategy" one more time (the very next day, and you can see those photos here: www.lacerta-bilineata.com/western-green-lizard-lacerta-bi... ) - and then never again. Two days later, the single cherry was still visible on the log at nightfall, and so I assumed the jay hadn't come. But when I went to check - big surprise! - five of the other cherries were gone.

"Well," I thought, "That's pure coincidence." In my mind there was no way the jay could have realized the exposed cherry on the log disappearing was my visual clue that his stealth "attack" had started: no animal was that smart. And yet I have no other explanation, because believe it or not: he never went for the single cherry again. Ever.

In all my subsequent attempts, my visual clue remained untouched, while the jay cheekily collected the other cherries. And soon after, the cherry trees around the village were starting to bear ripe fruit, and the jay's visits to my garden stopped. In fact for the entire remainder of the year, there were no more photos for me of Mr. Garrulus glandarius.

So in the end - who REALLY won this game of chess between me and the jay? If you ask me, I'd have to call it a draw (and that's probably still being generous to myself) - but you be the judge. 😉

P.S. This year I photographed and filmed a Eurasian jay in my garden (I have no idea if it was the same fella as last year), and this clip here might give you an idea just how quick these guys are: www.youtube.com/watch?v=OA9s_bciA-Y - I timed the cherry theft: it takes the jay not even two seconds to land, snatch his prize and take off again (you can also watch it in slow-mo), so I guess I shouldn't be too hard on myself. 😂

Many thanks for looking and reading, and have a wonderful weekend everyone 🙏 😊 ❤ - and as always, let me know what you think in the comments (I'd be particularly interested if anyone had similar experiences with jays or other clever corvids - or was outsmarted by any other wild animal the way I was).

Tags:   Garrulus glandarius Eurasian Jay Eichelhäher Switzerland Ticino Nature Sony DSC-RX10M4 ghiandaia Geai des chênes gogoschka Tessin Schweiz vogel oiseau bird Birds uccello lacerta bilineata lacerta bilineata svizzera suisse suiza avian photography bird photography Vogelfotografie Vögel beim Fressen birds feeding kirsche cherry jay bluejay arrendajo euroasiático aves arrendajo animal wildlife

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