DOMINIC COUZENS ON THE...
They’re showy songsters themselves, but it turns out these warblers are a big fan of the beetles, writes Dominic Couzens
Did you ever wonder what use Britain has for such a profusion of native beetles – more than 4,000 species at the last count? It turns out that they are the chief prescribed food for the (Common) Whitethroat, one of our liveliest and most delightful summer visitors. The Whitethroat goes where beetles like to wallow; in the long grass, the stems of herbs, the leaves of dense bushes and the shady ground layer. This is a secret world, hidden from human eyes, full of invertebrate forms that we hardly ever see. Skulking in the tangled undergrowth, the Whitethroat simply gleans what it sees, and much of what it comes across has shiny elytra, the hardened wings of beetles.
The Whitethroat is officially a skulker, but this effervescent character suffers from the twin aff lictions of insatiable curiosity and itchy feet, which somewhat undermines its attempts at privacy. While Garden Warblers and Lesser Whitethroats revel in keeping hidden and making birders’ lives a misery, shrouded by layers of leaves and shade, the Whitethroat cannot help but investigate its surroundings, f lirting with the undergrowth edge, twitching the foliage curtains. If you f lush a Whitethroat, stay awhile and it will come to investigate you, needing to look. It will fuss, making its slightly odd, croaking call, muttering at your impertinence.
Similarly, while many related warblers are perfectly content to sing while concealed, the Whitethroat always shows itself, perching on a bush-top, or even an overhead wire. The song is typically very short and scratchy, with an attack at the beginning, quickly petering out, lasting about a second and a half, in all. It is hardly musical, but it provides a soundtrack to the verdant visual feast of wild roses or Hawthorn blossom at spring’s zenith. It will sing in most weathers, and the wind often seems to catch its tail on a breezy day, overbalancing it a little, but it prefers the reticent spring sunshine and will sing incessantly with warmth on its back. It rarely joins any dawn chorus, instead rising a little later, but soon launching its scratchy refrain. If you get a good view of a male singing, you can appreciate the origin of the name. The bird puffs out its prominent white throat, making it look as though it has just covered it with shaving fo
