Bearded Tit (Panurus biarmicus)

Sometimes it takes just a short observation to change your impression of a bird completely. When you were a child, you probably thought that ducks were gentle until you saw them fighting over bread. Similarly, you think a Moorhen is a water bird until you see one in a tree, and you think that Buzzards are fearsome aerial predators until you watch them catching worms, getting their feet wet on muddy farmland fields.

Until a few years ago I had formed a pretty standard opinion of Bearded Tits. It was doubtless the same impression that everybody gets. From personal experience it was clear that they are pretty difficult to see well, with their habit of first calling loudly from the depths of reedbeds in order to tease you, and then showing for a micro-second in a wing-whirring dash over the wavy tops, tails trailing. I had gathered that they were sociable and that they could often be seen in family units. I had read that they eat insects from the reed beds and environs in summer, and reed seeds in winter, and in order to cope with the latter diet their intestines expand in size and the birds ingests hundreds of small stones. From any casual observation, it was clear that Bearded Tits occurred only in large expanses of reed swamp, and could be found in the same places all year round. You almost always hear them before seeing them, and they have a “tching” call, a bit like the sound of a mini cash register.

Bearded Tit (male), Radipole Lake, Dorset, UK (Dave Kjaer)

I hope you will conclude that this is a fairly reasonable working knowledge of the bird that most people know as a Bearded Tit (granted that it is not a tit, but an outlying member of an Asian bird family known as the Parrotbills). It’s nothing special, but adequate to encompass most observations. Yet in autumn 1998 something happened that completely altered my perception of this attractive and intriguing bird. It was the day when it rained. The encounter as described here was quick and over in a flash, but what I hope you will appreciate is that it was a revelation, as well as an observation.

The scene was Titchwell, on the North Norfolk Coast. If you’ve been there, you can imagine it. There’s a reed bed just north of the Visitor Centre along the main drag that is well known for Bearded Tits, and the path was overflowing, as ever, with excited optics-laden visitors. Some stood and waited, including my own party, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Beardies, while other birders weaved past us on their way out towards the sea. It’s part of birding lore that the very best conditions for seeing Bearded Tits are those that are meteorologically still and calm, when there isn’t a breath of wind; today, tranquil and with bright sunlight, was promising.

It wasn’t long before we heard that distinctive “tching” call, indicating Bearded Tit activity in the reeds. Another tenet of birding lore is that, for many species, a call precedes some kind of disturbance, be it induced by a threat, or by an internal communication between the birds themselves. Thus, forty pairs of hopeful eyes became concentrated upon the golden reeds with their blonde tops, in the general direction of where we expected the callers to be. That, by the way, is another point about watching Beardies. Their calls have a ventriloquial quality that makes pinpointing them difficult. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when a few minutes passed and nothing showed at all.

They soon called again, however, and hope rose. Yet this time it was even more difficult to tell where the birds were, for the calls were oddly muffled and distant. Perhaps we were looking in the wrong place. Something didn’t seem quite right.

Then came the epiphany. Several of us realised all at once that, far from being in the reedbeds ahead, the Bearded Tits were in the air above us, and almost as suddenly as we looked up, there was a shower of small, long-tailed bodies. A handful of birds simply plummeted down from above our heads, and disappeared into the nearest reeds, calling all the while. The experience lasted mere seconds, but enough for us all to look at each other another and ask: “What on earth was going on?” We estimated that the birds had been at least 40 metres above us and, assuming that they had been in the air throughout the time we had been searching, they had been up there aloft for at least five minutes.

What were Bearded Tits doing miles up in the air above the reeds?

At the time we probably all assumed that the Bearded Tits were migrant individuals that were arriving into Titchwell from somewhere else. It was only after a little research that I learned about “High Flying”, and the remarkable dispersive behaviour of the Bearded Tit.
What we had seen is frequent among Bearded Tit parties in the autumn. Groups of mixed adults and juveniles first make excited call notes within the reeds and, sufficiently rallied, they suddenly rise steeply as one into the air up as high as 60 metres. Here, strengthened by continuous calling, they fly to and fro above their swampland home for a few minutes before cascading down again – just as we had witnessed. This behaviour may be repeated many times in a day and for some weeks during the autumn. Eventually, especially in late October, smaller parties will indulge in one more High Flying exercise and, rather than falling back as usual, actually fly away and out of sight, their destination another reed bed many kilometres, sometimes hundreds of kilometres, away.

Thus, this unusual, and quite spectacular High Flying behaviour serves to prelude the dispersal of Bearded Tits from one region to another. It is known that the movements are stimulated by high population pressure. Just as people often like to move away from the crowded city into the country, so Bearded Tits do the same; the difference is that, if a population of birds becomes too crowded, they will run out of resources and starve. So the pioneers leave their home reedbed in search of a new and under-used marshland.

One of the more fascinating aspects of these dispersal movements is that the migratory units are usually even numbers, with birds seemingly preferring to travel in pairs – and not necessarily pre-breeding pairs, but some brothers and sisters too. In many ways it is sensible, because it will balance the sex ratio. But sending out two-by-two is highly unusual nonetheless.

But the most interesting question that arose from our observation on that November day at Titchwell is – why do they High Fly at all? Whatever could be the value of taking off up into the sky – and remember, for skulking reedbed birds a high flight would be a trip well out of their comfort zone – and then dropping back down again repeatedly? Could it simply be a display with social and ceremonial meaning, inducing birds to make the flight? Could they somehow be sorting out who will stay in the home reedbed and who will depart for a new location? Could the High Flights be a test of aptitude and fitness? Could the Bearded Tits be rising so high that they have a chance of seeing a new reedbed, or guessing the best and safest direction of flight? And given that some birds can detect very low-pitched sounds (infra-sounds), could they be lifting up to listen to their environment, to give them a clue where to go?

As far as I’m aware, the answers to these questions aren’t yet fully known. What is known is that they do the High Flying. And I guess we will continue to speculate upon the cause until, one day, a scientist at the right place at the right time, has their own epiphany moment.