Meng and Melinda Chan, together with two other photographers, were out around the Lim Chu Kang cemetery area on the morning of 6th March 2005 to document the arrival of the male Black-shouldered Kite (Elanus caeruleus) bringing food to the female who was usually sitting in the nest incubating her eggs. The large nest of twigs sat firmly lodged between the end branches of a tall tree, totally exposed all around.

What they witnessed was a sad spectacle. The presumably female bird was perched on a branch near her nest, calling loudly.

This was unusual, as she was always in the nest, guarding her eggs from the constant threat posed by the many House Crows (Corvus splendens) that were around.

The bird then flew to a further branch to join its newly arrived mate. They remained there, not returning to the nest. This was again strange, as they seldom, if ever, left the nest and its contents unguarded. Were the birds stressed in any way? They must have been!

As Melinda described it later, “Our hearts sank when we watched helplessly what was unfolding in front of us.” A gang of four House Crows suddenly appeared. As there were no adult kites around, the crows launched a concerted attach. In Meng’s words, “The crows came in waves, like Japanese kamikazi pilots flying their planes in a series of attacks.”

The crows swarmed over the nest, screaming loudly. They zoomed in one by one to fly off with the contents, including a fully formed embryo and egg shells.

Meng and Melinda then realised that the adult kite they saw earlier, crying out loudly, was in fact crying in sorrow, knowing that the eggs would not complete their cycle and they would not see any nestlings.

Not too long later, when Ming and Melinda returned to the scene, they found the abandoned nest collapsed. But eight months later (November 2005), they found a pair, possibly the same pair, nesting again at the same location, but on a different tree. The crows were a constant threat and the kites had to fight them off all the time. As it was the rainy season then, they did not have much chance to monitor the nesting. The very last time they saw the nest, it was abandoned and was in a bad condition, probably another failed attempt at nesting.

Our bird specialist, R. Subaraj has this to say: These are fantastic dramatic shots that show clear proof of the threat the introduced House Crows pose on native birds. A flock of crows is quite capable of driving a kite off it’s nest to raid it. From one of the image, you can see that the Black-shouldered Kite is actually quite a small raptor compared to the corvid. As our grasslands shrink and the crow population increases, it becomes more and more difficult for the Black-winged Kites to successfully raise a brood. This in turn is a serious threat to the species in the long run.

Note: A detailed account of these kites and their antics when the parent birds arrive with food is given elsewhere by Hilary Hoe.

Text and images by Meng and Melinda Chan.

On 2nd April 2006, Johnny Wee was at Venus Drive when he spotted a White-throated Kingfisher (Halcyon smyrnensis) perching on a branch of a nearby tree. Apparently it was intensely eying a lizard on the ground nearby.

Johnny continued: “Its head feathers were fluffed erect and the pupils of its eyes were dilated to the maximum such that the eyes appeared white. Then suddenly the bird launched towards its prey. I was not able to see exactly what happened as my vision was blocked by the grass around. The bird then picked the dead lizard and returned to a nearby perch.

“The lizard was most possibly dead when the bird brought it back to the nearby perch. After all, its body was clearly pierced through by the bird’s beak as a result of the initial attack. The bird then flew off with the lizard between its beak.”

This kingfisher is a typical sit-and-wait predator spending long periods perched on a branch high above ground. While surveying the surrounding for prey, its head may be bobbing or its tail wagging. Once a potential prey is spotted, the bird swoops down to the ground, landing feet first, seizes the animal and return to the same perch or a nearby perch.

Text and image by Johnny Wee.

“I was just looking at the information regarding the Lesser Coucal (Centropus bengalensis) from Ria Tan’s webpage. This is one bird that I have not seen in a long time.

“When I first moved to Loyang in 1987, it’s distinctive three-note call was what haunted me. It was a sound that I used to hear as a kid in my grandma’s place that came from the sprawling field of lallang grass (Imperata cylindrica) beyond the boundary of our large colonial bungalow. It was beyond my territory.

“Looking out from my bedroom window in Loyang Valley, a similar big expanse of lallang filled the landscape that was part of the old Selarang Camp. A few dead trees in the middle of the lallang and that was all there was. You can even hear the lallang blades swishing in the wind. It was here that I caught my first sight of the coucal. The final link of the haunting call to the bird was when I saw it call from the dead tree in the middle of the patch.

“I really liked the graceful way the bird flies – effortlessly, just above the lallang and then just dropping right into the thick of it and disappearing.

“Since then, whenever I hear that haunting three-note call, I would park myself at the window, scanning the lallang for a fleeting glimpse of the coucal.

“After they cleared the lallang and rebuilt the camp, I heard the call no more.

“Years passed. In 1999 I was on a cab from Changi Airport on the East Coast Parkway heading towards town. Just as we reached the point where Tanah Merah Golf Club and Laguna Golf Club border the ECP, I saw a bird attempting to fly across the expressway heading for Tanah Merah’s side of the ECP. The distinctive gracefulness of the flight was unmistakable, as well as its tendency to stay low even in flight. That was its mistake.

“From the back seat of the cab, I was crossing my fingers. Its projected flight path took it right into the path of the taxi. I knew it was not going to make it. Anxious seconds passed. This was closest I had ever been to a coucal and yet I wished it was further away. The bird never knew what hit it. It hit the top right corner of the windscreen and as I turned back I wished it had hit harder. The poor bird was in its last throes of death right in the middle of the ECP. Its bright chestnut plumage that I so admired was a tangled mess flapping in the centre of the road. I wished its last moments had not been so drawn out.

“It was about that time that I had first thought of realising my lifelong dream of becoming a pilot. I sat in the taxi and thought that the bird’s dramatic end was a sign for me to forget about becoming a pilot, that you are definitely not going to make it. If it was some pigeon or mynah, I might not have taken it seriously. And if it was a crow I probably would have gone straightaway to buy a lottery ticket. But the coucal, a bird that I so admired and have not seen in ages, was a different story.”

Contributed by Jeremy Lee, image by Ashley Ng.

Following Si Guim’s account of his encounter with House Crows (Corvus splendens) when he simply looked at the injured bird, Timothy Pwee had a similar but more serious experience:

“Saturday (22nd April) was Earth Day and I spent the afternoon helping the Singapore Environment Council’s Waste to Wow! interschool competition. After the competition at around 6pm, I was headed down Victoria Street to the newly reopened National Museum of Singapore for a movie (Film Festival). That was when I got hit from the back! Now, I’ve been dive bombed by crows before, but this is the first time I’m been hit full force by one. Retreating to a safe distance, I tried to spot the nest (which I presumed the silly crows were defending) in the trees. It took me a while before I spotted a third crow in the bushes near the ground.

“Watching the crows, I realised they were attacking every other pedestrian. Especially loved the sight of a large tough-looking young man who got hit. He stood there for several minutes glaring at the crows. Several tourists exiting a nearby hotel got attacked too.

“I tried several times to grab the grounded crow which I suspect is a fledgling. However, I was driven back each time by the two guardian crows who would repeatedly attack my head and shoulders. Think I was hit about a dozen times. At least one of the strikes on my shoulders left a stinging cut though no blood was drawn. My shoulders have another three or four red lines that don’t hurt. My scalp was a different story. There I have at least two cuts though I didn’t realise it till much later when I found my hair had little scattered clots.

“Around nightfall, I made a final attempt at the bird with the help of a manager from the nearby hotel. While the manager fended off the attacks, I tried to grab the grounded crow with a tee-shirt. However, the bushes were too thick and I got tangled in the branches. The grounded crow promptly hopped out onto the road and immediately got rolled over - Ouch!

“Should I have left it alone? Well, its guardians were attacking passers-by initially - at least my attempts to catch the grounded crow made the crows concentrate their attacks on me, sparing the passing people. Also, after nightfall, I’m sure the grounded crow would have fallen prey to a sewer rat.

“Well, it’s now destined to become a specimen so its death has some meaning at least.”

Note:“I forgot to add that after the crow got run over, one of its guardians landed to check it for a moment before flying back into the trees. I then waited for the next break in the traffic to grab the corpse - and promptly got attacked again. On the other side of the road, I put the corpse into a plastic bag and walked back across the road, expecting to get attacked again. However, the other crows seemed to have lost interest once the corpse was bagged.”

Text and images (left fledgling, right adult) by Timothy Pwee. You may wish to check Tim’s link.

Comment by YC: This is an exciting account of sustained attacks by crows on passersby. I am sure Tim has the dubious honour of taking the most number of hits by these crows. Unlike Si Guim’s experience, extremely mild, to say the least, these crows assumed that anyone and everyone who were around were potential enemy. No body language involved here. Thanks Tim for an exciting account. Must have been exciting for you too.

Goh Si Guim had a most interesting encounter recently with House Crows (Corvus splendens). While he was walking along Lorong 4 Toa Payoh, he noticed an injured crow hopping on the ground with one wing limp. Being a naturalist that he is, he turned his head to take a second look. The next moment he was startled by a loud squawk and a smack on his head. A diving crow succeeded in its mission of distracting him from its injured comrade. In the interim, the injured crow rejoined the others who were all screeching around it in a protective way.

Si Guim was relieved that there was no loss of his hair nor did the strike draw blood.

The interesting thing was that there were many other people around the injured bird, all not paying attention to it except Si Guim.

From this experience, Si Guim now believes that crows are very protective of their kind. He wonders whether these crows can read body language. Did they interpret his looking at the injured bird as a sign that he was going to do it harm? After all, they left the others alone, those people who simply ignored the injured bird.

His other experience was at the Bukit Timah Nature Reserve where he was once pounced upon by a Greater Racket-tailed Drongo (Dicrurus paradisus). But that did not end in a bull’s-eye.

Note: My experience with a House Crow’s attack was when I handled an Asian Koel’s (Eudynamys scolopacea) fledgling (left) that emerged from a pair of crows’ nest in my garden. The fledgling landed on the ground during its initial attempt at flight and I managed to catch it to take a close-up shot. It was then released but its loud screaming attracted about a dozen crows overhead, all screaming loudly, so much so that all the neighbours came out to investigate what was happening. My further attempt at photographing the fledgling while on the ground was thwarted when the crows dive-bombed me, one missing my head by centimeters. Wisely I retreated indoors and the fledgling went into hiding. The screaming crows eventually left the scene and peace prevailed. YC

Thanks, Si Guim for this most interesting account. Images by YC.