Lapwings are still lingering at their wintering grounds, while woodcocks, unfortunately, remain steadfastly silent. However, the days are gradually lengthening, and the weather at the wintering sites seems to have improved somewhat compared to December. As a result, we can already see from the data received that the transmitters on the lapwings are charging a bit better. At present, we are in regular contact with 11 lapwings. Sadly, the remaining ones are either dead (5) or their transmitters have stopped functioning properly without the last transmitted data indicating death (4). Let’s hope that the lengthening days and increased sunlight will reactivate at least some of them.
As mentioned in our previous blog and as some of you may have followed on social media, the highlight of our research activities in January was a great journey to visit our lapwings. After all, we missed them, and more importantly, we seized the opportunity to gain deeper insights into their lives at the wintering sites. We know lapwings well from our breeding grounds, but how do they behave in winter? Do they stay in small groups or form large flocks? Do they associate with other species, or do they keep to themselves? Do they choose similar habitats as in our region? And above all, how are they doing there? So, as soon as we recovered from the holiday celebrations, we jumped into a car and set off to find them.
The travel plan was relatively simple: cross France from east to west and back, while attempting to observe as many lapwings as possible (including our tagged individuals). Specifically, we focused on areas where we expected to find lapwings with transmitters or where we had a significant amount of historical data from the autumn. However, we carefully examined the entire route, counting every lapwing we spotted. For each observation, we recorded the number of individuals, habitat type (crop type, density, and height of vegetation), and other notable details. In this slightly longer post, we will delve into lapwing life and habits in places where some of them spend even more time than at their breeding sites in our country.
Before searching for “our” lapwings in wintering flocks, we had an unpleasant duty to attend to: attempting to locate the remains (or at least the transmitters) of Etoša and Růža at their last known positions. Honestly, we weren’t so much concerned with retrieving the transmitters themselves, as they were unlikely to function after months in damp soil with dead batteries. However, if we could locate them, it would likely be possible to determine the cause of death. Just as detectives in crime films look for fingerprints or shoe prints, forensic telemetry has its own methods. Sometimes, fox teeth marks are visible on a transmitter, or the antenna may be bent after being handled by a raptor’s beak. Other times, the position of the carcass (e.g., near a road) or specific injuries caused by wire collisions can provide clues.
Unfortunately, as an astute reader might have guessed from the evasive tone of the previous paragraph, our forensic investigation was unsuccessful. We likely arrived too late at the site where Růža met her fate. Much of the area marked by post-mortem locations bore clear signs of recent flooding from a local stream. Additionally, a combination of numerous raptor droppings, the pervasive scent of foxes, and several carelessly discarded hunting cartridges did not narrow down the list of possible murders. At Etoša’s last resting place, we couldn’t blame flooding, but that didn’t change the fact that after two hours of searching the densely overgrown area, we had to give up. A possible clue was a fox that ran into the thicket as we arrived, suggesting it had a den there. Interestingly, according to the transmitter data, Etoša died about an hour before sunset. While hunting in daylight is not unheard of for French foxes (we saw them hunting at least five times during our trip, an unprecedented observation for us), the question remains how they managed to catch a fully-fledged, flying lapwing in daylight. Etoša had completed several flights even on the day of her death, as shown by the data. Perhaps weather conditions played a role—who knows?
Ironically, we also lost the chance to locate and examine the site where Drahuš died. She was about 100 meters from a road we traveled along, where we meticulously mapped crops, but at that time, her transmitter was silent. It was only later, while writing these lines from the comfort of home, that we learned of her death around December 20.
But let’s move to living lapwings. We counted approximately 23,000 of them during our journey—more than the entire breeding population in the Czech Republic. These 23,000 lapwings were divided into 77 groups (see Fig. 1), ranging from a single bird to an incredible 4,000! In addition, there were significant numbers of golden plovers mixed into the lapwing flocks. These 77 observations were spread along a route of over 2,000 kilometers. It was not uncommon to drive dozens of kilometers without seeing a single lapwing crest. Mapping our observations revealed that flock sizes decreased from east to west. Indeed, the largest wintering communities were found in eastern France, in the Champagne region, which we have previously identified as a crucial area for the Czech lapwing population. After leaving these vast fields stretching to the horizon, we never saw such high lapwing densities again.
Figure 1: Map of the positions of all observed lapwing groups and their sizes.
As for habitat, just like during the breeding season in our country, lapwings were found almost exclusively in agricultural landscapes. More than half of the observed flocks (53%) were in winter crops, 21% in plowed or tilled fields, and 10% in unplowed stubble fields. Other habitat types (rape, pastures, or clover fields) were represented individually. We frequently observed lapwings in partially flooded fields, and there were many flooded areas along our route, likely due to recent heavy rains.
Tracking down our tagged companions proved to be far more challenging than expected. Despite the advanced technology of the transmitters, which collect and send data multiple times a day, it was nearly impossible to locate a tagged lapwing unless we arrived at the site immediately after receiving fresh data. Although lapwings may appear stationary on the tracking map, this is not entirely true. Some flocks move over vast areas spanning dozens of square kilometers daily, and some lapwings cover tens of kilometers each day (see Fig. 3). The flocks themselves do not seem very cohesive, acting more like large communities from which variously sized groups break away and rejoin, often moving independently across wider areas. Observing frequent conflicts within some flocks gave us the impression that lapwings, much like humans, don’t always get along and sometimes need space from each other.
In eastern France, where cloudy weather and short days made the transmitters function less reliably, tracking individual lapwings was particularly difficult. Thus, we spent several hours scanning a nearly 3,000-heads flock for Fifinka at her last known location, only to later discover that she was hiding in another group we had briefly observed and counted 15 kilometers earlier. Similarly, we spent an entire morning unsuccessfully searching for Gracie near her last reported location, only to find out in the evening—hundreds of kilometers away—that she had moved 20 kilometers to a new area where she remains to this day. According to the map, she now inhabits a picturesque landscape full of ponds, which would have been a pleasant contrast to the vast, monotonous French fields we had been exploring.
Figure 2: a) Golden plovers are often mixed within lapwing flocks, b) Belinda at the wintering ground, c) a typical scene of the French countryside, d) the most typical lapwing habitat at the wintering site is winter crops, e) earthworm hunting, f) a sky full of lapwings.
We had better luck with Jezinka, whose sighting was one of the most peculiar experiences of our trip. We were fortunate that she transmitted data when we were only a few kilometers away, mapping crops in areas she had previously visited. Without hesitation, and with little regard for traffic regulations, we rushed to her location—only to find an empty field between a road and a forest at dusk. However, later that night, Jezinka transmitted new data indicating that she was still at the same site, just meters from the road. Since we were staying only a few villages away, we returned at dawn for a more thorough search. Just as we began to suspect that something had happened to her, a single lapwing took off from the field—Jezinka. She circled above, calling out, and soon, lapwings from the surrounding fields began to join her, one by one. In the end, six lapwings gathered and disappeared beyond the horizon against the rising sun. This was a stark contrast to the massive, tightly packed flocks of thousands we had observed preparing to roost just days earlier. This sighting was particularly surprising because flocking behavior is usually considered an effective anti-predator strategy. When a thousand birds sleep in a tight cluster, the chances of a fox being spotted and the flock being alerted are high. However, a single lapwing standing guard seems to be much riskier scenario.
The highlight of our search for tagged lapwings was finding Belinda, though her discovery was not easy. We were lucky with sunny weather, which recharged her transmitter enough to send data every half hour. Even when we arrived at the location where she had recently reported from—and indeed found a small group of lapwings—she was not among them. Fortunately, the next data set revealed that she had moved several kilometers away. This time, Belinda was waiting for us. She was feeding in a group of about 200 lapwings on an abandoned pasture, and after some careful searching, we were finally able to capture a satisfying photograph (see Fig. 2b).
Our final challenge was tracking Lulu, who metaphorically schooled us despite her fully charged transmitter providing regular data updates. Due to her busy daily schedule, she led us across half the county (see Fig. 3). At our third stop, we finally caught up with her flock, but the bright backlight and large distance prevented us from spotting her small transmitter, despite our best efforts and high-quality equipment.
Figure 3: Lulu's busy daily schedule on January 15 and the numbered locations we visited while tracking her.
After this, our brief stay at the French wintering grounds came to an end, and we faced the long and tedious journey home—“enlivened” only by a dreadful traffic jam around Paris. Despite the setbacks detailed above, we returned from France with invaluable experiences and, most importantly, firsthand knowledge of how our lapwings behave at their wintering sites—something that cannot be learned from books. Since we consider such hands-on experiences essential for research, we hope to embark on an inspection of wintering sites on the Iberian Peninsula next year.