LESVOS!!! Part 6; More Golden Birding!

Friday 25th April

This would be our last planned excursion of the week. Not quite the early start that we made the last time we headed west but we still left the hotel before first light. We were back on the new highway towards Sigri, this time aiming for Ipsilou Monastery. I barely noticed the ancient building placed high up on a rocky hill when we passed it earlier in the week but I knew from my own research and from what others had said that, because of the lush vegetation and tree lined slopes, and its isolation, the site acts as a magnet for both resident breeding and migrant birds.

When we approached the barrier that denoted that the road ahead was closed, instead of turning off and following the old twisty road through the hills, Paul steered his car around the barricade. Obviously I followed suit and we sped onwards. The light was flooding in to what promised to be another warm and sunny day. The reason for the road closure was a huge landslide that brought mud and rocks down onto the new road and that had been cleared up but the road blockade hadn't yet been taken away. However, locals and other folk in the know had apparently been ignoring the diversion for weeks. On Lesvos just about everything goes on the road and signs are consistently ignored.

With nothing on the road to hold us up we pulled off at the bottom of the monastery hill in good time. It was a lovely fresh start to the day, the clearness, and cleanness, of the air was a delight to breathe in. And the bird song was incredible! There were birds singing from all directions, and mostly tunes that I didn't recognise. It was absolutely delightful to stand immersed in such a melody of gentle sounds. We just don't get dawn choruses like that at home anymore, and certainly not where I live. Even the morning bird sing-song in a Scottish forest or a Welsh oak woodland, wouldn't rival what we were hearing. Without being able to pin down most of the songs down to species, I knew that some belonged to Buntings, others to Wheatears and Chats. One I did recognise however, and the single song that excited me more than all the others was the flutey song of several Golden Orioles. This promised to be a fantastic few hours.

Ipsilou Monastery

There were many special birds to find in the area of the monastery but the first bird we noticed was a familiar, (Northern) Wheatear which was perched on a rock nearby and singing its heart out. Our regular Wheatear that we see at home isn't the most common of the family on Lesvos but there are still a few breeding in the rocky hinterlands.

Northern Wheatear

It was clear that our friends had pulled up at the start of the track that leads up to the monastery because they were looking for a specific bird. although they hadn't yet shared  with us what the bird may be. I did have a good idea though. Those with scopes were carefully scanning the rocky slope below us. I admit I wasn't too attentive because my head was whirling with all that bird song, and the Golden Orioles especially had me looking everywhere for them. After seeing "Goldies" at Faneromeni at the start of the trip, I had been eagerly anticipating seeing some more. I was stood next to Paul when he said that he could hear a Cinereous Bunting singing, proving that my suspicion was correct, and that was the bird that they were looking for.

The Cinereous Bunting would of course, be another lifer for Mrs Caley and myself. So when the singing male was located about fifty metres away down the slope I was delighted. It seemed that almost every day here on Lesvos, we scored with a new bird in the first hour or so of birding. The bunting was, like most birds in this habitat, perched on top of a rock and singing heartily. Its yellow-green head and throat were evident, the rest of the bird looking a plain greyish colour. The song, admittedly I had to strain to hear it because of the distance it was away, sounded like the first few notes of a Yellowhammer song but lacked the final flourish. No cheese indeed. Up to that point I thought that the "Cinereous" tag referred to the yellow colours on the bird. I later learned that it actually means "ashy-grey" coloured, so refers to the overall greyness of the bird. Live and learn. Far better than ignorance.

Cinereous Bunting

When the Cinereous Bunting flew off, we all scanned the hillside for more birds. An Eastern Black-eared Wheatear briefly appeared on the rocks where the one way road system split, and a Rock Nuthatch flew across the road. I could still hear the Golden Orioles singing way above us but I still hadn't located any. Another, or the same, (Northern) Wheatear popped up reasonably close and sang away for a few moments.

Northern Wheatear

The Cinereous Bunting reappeared closer to us too. It struck almost the same pose as the Wheatear as it sang its morning welcome refrain. I like birds that have subdued plumage so the Cinereous Bunting was firmly placed close to the top of my imaginary "Bunting ladder". I still think though, contradictory I know, that nothing can beat the very colourful Yellowhammer in that particular family (of the ones that I've seen. Listening to the Cinereous Bunting on a beautiful still morning was another life affirming joy. Lesvos was definitely good for the soul.

I was still scanning around looking for the Golden Orioles that were singing. The song, usually composed of a melancholy three note, "fuh, fuh, fiuhhh", was echoing off the rocky outcrop. The only familiar bird that sounds anything like that Oriole song is the Blackbird, and as good as their song is, it just isn't as sweet as the Oriole's. I eventually found the male bird responsible for the singing, perched up on the highest branch of a tree not far from the monastery building, and earned congratulations all round for doing so. Golden Orioles excite all birders. I really couldn't wait to get up there!

Golden Oriole

Before we left for the drive up the narrow, but thoughtfully one-way, road to the summit, there was still time to grab some views of a smart male Eastern Black-eared Wheatear. In fact there were several in the vicinity of the road junction. Another Rock Nuthatch flew over us as well.

Eastern Black-eared Wheatear

Paul stopped his car quite soon after heading uphill. There was room to park safely, so we all clambered out and stood listening to my ears, another unfamiliar song. Jason told me that the rapid chipping tune belonged to an Eastern Bonelli's Warbler, a species (split into Eastern & Western forms) that I'd been hoping to see in the UK by now but never had. The bird was singing from relatively dense trees on the slope above us and proved to be really difficult to see. Eventually it did show itself but hardly ever stopped moving so photography was impossible. However, it did momentarily stop on occasion, like a Wood Warbler would, to sing so we were able to snatch a few quick views of the rather grey bird. When it did flit through the trees though, the yellow wings and rump signified its identity. Hopefully we'd find others and I'd get some photos. In the same area was one of the speciality mammals of the area, in the shape of a Persian Squirrel. It didn't stay in view for long, and sadly I was too slow to get a photo, and we didn't see another either.

We followed the others, just the six of us today since Andy & Hannah were birding elsewhere, to the empty carpark at the top of the hill and just fifty metres away from the monastery doors. From this lofty position we had commanding views all the way around and could even see the track in the Meladia Valley that we'd bumped our way along a few days before.

I stood with Mrs Caley leaning against a low wall. The inhabitants of the monastery had everything they required at close hand. There were cultivated gardens which sported a fine selection of vegetables. I could hear chickens nearby too. We took in the rarified air and silence for a while, and then I began looking for  the Golden Orioles again. I should have titled this blog like the song, "I just can't help myself". When I found the exact the tree top that the male had been singing from, it was sadly vacant. It was also mystifyingly a fair way away from the top of the hill, when it had looked like it was right near the top. Golden Orioles were still singing, and some sounded to be in the near vicinity so I kept looking. And I found a couple! Not very close, but close enough for a couple of photos of two female birds. More scrutiny revealed at least six more of the birds in a single tree, all of which were males and which appeared to be having their own version of a Glee singing contest. I reckoned in all that there must have been over twenty of the glorious Goldies on the hill.

Mrs Caley and I were aware of somebody quietly beckoning us. We turned to see a monk/friar/abbot (whichever) calling, 'Please, come in, come in', and gesturing for us to come hither. He repeated it several times so we thought we should do as he bid to be polite. When we walked into a magnificent courtyard festooned with many flowering shrubs, we could see that he'd already ensnared Paul & Vicky as well. He was very keen that we should all follow him up a short flight of stairs. Not for anything sinister of course but to view the monastery museum. I am far from a culture vulture, and really wanted to pin down some of the Golden Orioles but couldn't be so rude as to refuse so we climbed the stairs and entered the room that housed some impressively ancient artefacts. There were books and robes and other paraphernalia associated with the monastery that were over five hundred years old. I was more interested in the tiles that were embedded into the brickwork of the building (busman's holiday interest) and the sections of petrified wood that were placed around the courtyard. 

We were "saved" by Jason who waved us towards a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard. A short walk through a covered walkway led to a small rocky garden that offered more commanding views over the surrounding countryside. There was barely a breath of wind, and the bird song was still audible, although mostly came from the slopes below us. Jason had seen a Blue Rock Thrush by looking over a low wall and onto a steep slope on the southern side of the building. The only Blue Rock Thrush we'd seen before was the famous Stow-on-the-Wold bird found over Christmas back in 2016 so we were more than eager to see another. The bird had disappeared but had apparently been seen carrying food to a nest in the monastery walls so would doubtless reappear.

I noticed a movement in the closest tree, about thirty feet away. I focussed onto a gap in the foliage where the motion had been, and was looking straight down the barrel at, not a Blue Rock Thrush, but a superb male Golden Oriole! I couldn't believe my luck. The Oriole was just perched there, its own interest captivated by something lower down in the tree. The opportunity I had waited for, for so long, was there within my grasp. I slowly raised the camera and fired away. I took maybe thirty frames but realised that for some reason the camera wasn't focussing where I wanted it to. In the low light of the interior of the tree, and despite there being a bright shining jewel of a bird for the lens to focus on, it flatly refused to. I changed the settings and took a few more. They were slightly better but still not sharp. The bird flew off and I was left incredibly frustrated by the results. Sometimes, quite a lot of times it seems, I just can't get the camera to do what I want. But I know that it's down to my own errors, not the gear. A poor tradesman and all that. A more proficient photographer would have got some of the best Golden Orioles photos ever. I just got the best Golden Oriole photos that I've ever taken.

A Blue Rock Thrush appeared in the same tree, but wasn't the bright blue male that Jason had seen but a brown-grey female. I assumed that it was the object of concern for the Golden Oriole moments before, and as if to qualify that, the male Golden Oriole briefly chased the other bird around the tree. The female Blue Rock Thrush settled back on the same branch, clearly determined to deliver the juicy spider meal to the hatchlings in its nest. Of course now the subject wasn't a Golden Oriole, the camera behaved itself far better.

Blue Rock Thrush (female)

The Thrush plucked up the courage to take the food into the nest and then flew out and away down the slope. But the fun didn't stop there. We were stood at one of the best viewpoints that I've ever watched birds from. Further evidence of that assessment was provided when a small grey and white bird with a black cap appeared in a gnarled old tree next to the monastery walls. The Sombre Tit is so called because of the drabness of its plumage, but by character it was as lively as all of its congeners that we are so familiar with in our gardens. Good photos of it were hard to obtain, owing to my consistent lack of ability of getting the focus to work in shadowy areas when the ambient lighting was so bright and sharp. The Sombre Tit represented another lifer for us, and I certainly didn't feel at all sombre despite my camera failings.

Sombre Tit

The female Blue Rock Thrush appeared again on the exact same branch as before, this time carrying a bee to take to its chicks. Then a flash of electric blue announced that the male of the pair had arrived. It too was carrying food for the chicks, but had a much larger delivery containing a selection of protein packed snacks. In the Collins field guide, the adult male Blue Rock Thrush is described as being dull blue coloured. An assertion that I totally failed to comprehend as I watched the bright blue bird in front of me. Maybe the authors didn't see the bird on a lovely sunny day as I did. The pair of Thrushes made a number of sorties, always returning with food for the, what must have been, very well fed brood. I selfishly wanted to see the male without its face stuffed with stuff, in order to get a different, "cleaner" photo but hey those chicks needed feeding more than my pathetic egomania did.

It was a wrench to pull ourselves away from that spot. I would happily have stayed all day, hoping for more quality birding. The slopes below the monastery demanded some attention though and we were all keen to explore further. Besides, the Golden Orioles had left the spot by the monastery but were still singing in the general area. We walked back through the courtyard of the building and emerged back on the paved path that led back to the carpark. A couple of other birders had arrived signalling that the day was pressing on. At a gateway set into the wall next to the path, we idled in the sunshine. Until I spotted some more Golden Orioles cavorting around the trees in a walled off garden area about fifty metres away. I got the rest of our group onto the birds and then made my own way down the rough hewn path that nudged me closer to the where the Orioles were. 

Initially the Golden Orioles, mostly males again, were tricky to see within the tree but after a few minutes, a couple of them showed really well. They weren't as close to me as the one that I'd had such trouble with trying to photograph earlier but my results with the camera were better owing to the birds being illuminated by the sun shining directly on them. One bird in particular perched on open branch and sang for a while. I was definitely starstruck with the Orioles. Certainly my top bird of the whole trip and a huge candidate for my bird of the year.

I continued to watch the Golden Orioles, getting Mrs Caley and the rest of our group onto them once more when they'd joined me. I guess, apart from my wife, that they'd all seen lots of Goldies on Lesvos before so weren't quite as engrossed as me. I didn't want to take my eyes off them. A male flew into an another tree, lower down the slope, and provided stunning views of the back of the black wing feathers. Set into the unusual bright yellow body plumage, and coupled with the pink bill, these birds really are impressive and very tropical looking. Just a shame that they've all but disappeared from the UK except as rare passage birds.

The other birds that we'd seen earlier were still in attendance too. In truth we were now directly under the southern wall of the monastery so we just had the opposite directional view of the nesting Blue Rock Thrushes and the Sombre Tit, albeit from a bit further away. The Thrushes were still delivering food for their chicks, the female had a sizeable lizard in her bill. Both birds were using flag and telegraph poles as staging posts before attending the nest. The male was almost perfectly camouflaged against the deep blue sky!

In what seemed to be a moment of madness to me at the time, and even more so afterwards, Peter and my wife decided to carry on walking down the steep path, rather than walk back up the hundred metres or so to the car, and wait at the bottom for us to collect them when we drove down. Jason and Paul wanted to explore a very secluded garden area that they'd found a few years before and which promised to yield some more good birds. It was however, an animal of a different kind that grabbed my attention within the garden, when I spotted a lizard basking on a stone wall. This was my first really good close look at a Starred Agama, apparently the only species of Agama that can be found in Europe. There was another one on a rock up against the skyline too. In fact they were likely thousands of them because after that initial sighting I'd go on to see loads.

Starred Agama

In truth there was actually little of further interest in the hidden garden. We did briefly see a Subalpine Warbler, and a (Common) Cuckoo set the pulse racing when it dived into a bush at speed. We thought it may have been a Goshawk on the hunt but they don't sing in Cuckoo fashion and don't look like them either, evident when the same bird showed itself a few moments later. A Black Stork flew over. A few days ago that would have been very exciting, but now, although still a thrill, I was expecting Storks to be in the air wherever I went. Back at the path we saw a Tree Pipit, and a Woodlark alighted briefly on the stone wall before continuing on northwards. 

Black Stork

We returned to the summit, and I realised why Peter had chosen the path down rather than up. It was very steep and hard going. Funny how you don't notice just how steep a path is when going downhill, and when there are Golden Orioles to captivate your entire attention. We stopped for a breather, well me mostly, Jason, Vicky & Paul are much fitter, and noticed two small warblers flitting around a tree by the path. We were pretty sure one was a Bonelli's Warbler, but it was incredibly elusive amongst the leaves and proved impossible to get a good view of. The other bird moved more slowly so could be followed much easier, and turned out to be a fine Wood Warbler. I'd be looking for Wood Warblers in a Welsh woodland the following week once back home again. I bet the weather would be different.

Wood Warbler

The female Blue Rock Thrush was perched on the flagpole again, and once more had her bill stuffed full of food. There was obviously no room available for the flying insect that passed within a whisker of her nose. I hadn't managed to gain a photo of either of the Thrushes without a full bill, in fact I hadn't seen either without food.

Near the top of the path, I stopped to admire a lovely female Eastern Black-eared Wheatear. She appeared to be anxious at something close by. A few metres away and heading in her direction was another Starred Agama. I guessed that the Agamas are fond of bird eggs for a snack and will hunt out the nests. The Wheatear was doing her best to attract the lizard's attention away from that particular rocky wall. Another good photo opportunity for me to capture some more Lesvos rusty fence shots.

At the carpark we watched a high-flying flock of swifts and hirundines, hoping to pick an Alpine Swift or two out. Paul & Vicky were safely back in their car but Jason and I were still watching the birds when we became acutely aware of a buzzing noise that was becoming louder by the second. It took a few moments however,  for us to realise that there was a swarm of bees approaching us, and that swarm was suddenly upon us before we had a chance to leg it. None of the bees seemed to be in angry mode though and I watched them from the, admittedly furthest edge of the carpark. I even attempted to take a video of them via my mobile phone, although that turned out be useless as usual. I'm astounded by how some people manage to take decent photos and videos on their phones. Interestingly the flock of insect hunting birds descended quickly and were rapidly swooping around the carpark picking off as many bees as they could. There were at least two Alpine Swifts and a large number of Red-rumped Swallows amongst the House Martins. As the swarm began swirling all around us, both Jason and myself decided that discretion was the better part of valour and retreated to our vehicles. Wise man doesn't get stung. I drove away singing lyrics from "Bloodbuzz, Ohio" by The National; "I was married in a swarm of bees….".

I collected Mrs Caley from the bottom of the hill, she told me that she'd seen a superb male Subalpine Warbler singing from the tree, under which her and Peter had taken refuge from the sun. In return I told her about the swarming bees. She was glad she'd seen the warbler. We reconvened again at the Australia taverna where we'd eaten after visiting the Faneromeni Ford three days before. The Moussaka was excellent and the Lemonade far better than the coffee. Unfortunately I've become a sucker for a proper Flat White in my old age and normal coffee (or the sweet sticky stuff that passes for it on Lesvos) just doesn't cut it for me anymore. After the sojourn, we headed back to the aforementioned ford; really just to see what was there, but because it was now past midday, we weren't expecting much but there's always the hope. Close to where we'd left the car was a small beach, over which a fine adult Yellow-legged Gull stood guard. 

Yellow-legged Gull

And thus it proved, with just a few birds feeding above the river and a few more dropping in for a drink. Certainly not anywhere near the level of activity on our previous visit. Having said that, in the half hour that we stayed, a Tree Pipit appeared on the river bed stones, Great Reed Warblers showed at the river edges, and Nightingales sang as before. Almost expectedly, a Black Stork sailed over. The six of us were the only people there and it was an enjoyable time, relaxing while watching and listening.

Tree Pipit

A very active female Pied Flycatcher proved to be my main focus of attention. It would perch on a bare twig that leant over the river and then dart out to snare a flying snack. I took to trying to catch it in flight with the camera, with varying results. Most of the images were awful but a couple were worth keeping. 

Pied Flycatcher

Unfortunately Mrs Caley began to feel a little unwell, the walk down that hill in the heat earlier had clearly taken its toll. We decided it'd be best to head home and get her some rest. On the drive back past the fields we saw the (now) usual Red-backed & Woodchat Shrikes, and also our first Common Redstart of the trip. As we wound down through the gorge by the monastery, another bird with a bright red tail flew across the front of the car. It was bigger than a Redstart though, and had a blue head and back. Just before it disappeared against a rock face, I made out a white patch on the back as well. The only bird fitting that description is a (Common) Rock Thrush. Andy had found one a couple of days at the bottom of the Ipsilou hill. The species is however, considered quite unusual on Lesvos, but I guess that a few must be passing through in the spring. I was confident of my identification.

Mrs Caley and I needed that afternoon relaxing, asleep even. It had been pretty much nonstop since the hectic travelling to get to Lesvos in the first place, and we had clearly become over tired. A few hours sleep sorted out that fatigue, and the headaches, so feeling refreshed we ventured out in the evening for a leisurely drive to the Tsiknias River. We headed there via the narrow track out of Skala Kalloni, the same route that we'd taken on our first evening on the island. The Squacco Heron that we'd seen late on, on Wednesday, was still frequenting the trees that dipped into the water on the far bank, still in pretty much the same position too. We watched it do nothing for a few minutes and then drove towards the ford.

Squacco Heron

The ford was deserted. Most other birders would be in the tavernas at this time of day, and since the Baillon's Crake had seemingly moved on, interest in the river there had flagged a little. We got out of the car and had a look anyway. The reedy channel was still proving attractive to other crakes, with at least three Little Crakes present. With the sunlight dipping down behind us, I was able to gain my best photos of the species so far. The warm evening light showing the subtle colours of the birds, all females once again, to their best.

Little Crake

Strangely, there were no Wood Sandpipers there this time, their numbers must be thinning out as they moved northwards to breed. There were other birds though. A Common Sandpiper fed in mid-channel, and Black-headed Wagtails chased flies around on the muddy edges. It was noticeable how much the river had receded during our six days there; it was maybe only three-quarters of the previous width, and was flowing ever slower. In the summer, the Tsiknias would likely be reduced to a trickle over a bed of rounded rocks. Warblers were represented in the reeds by both Sedge and Reed.

Common Sandpiper

Black-headed Yellow Wagtail

Sedge Warbler

The main interest though was provided by the Little Crakes. Whenever they met, there would inevitably be confrontation and disagreement, and often a squabble with one bird giving way and running off rapidly into the reeds. Crakes are birds that lead secretive lives, so I guess are not fond of having intruders on their patch, whether breeding or while on migration.

I took the car over to the other side of the river where the male Black-headed Bunting, that had taken up territory, was still singing happily from the lone bush that stood there. It appeared to be absolutely unconcerned by us and our car, and stayed put even when I pulled up just metres away. I was told by our mates that Lesvos would provide countless photo opportunities, and they were certainly correct on that score. The fact that we were the only birders out on this evening meant that those opportunities were mine only.  That's when the value of taking photos really kicks in.

Black-headed Bunting

Just a few metres away from the Bunting, there was another Squacco Heron. Although the sun was now against us a little, the warm glow it cast over the bird illuminated it beautifully. We watched it stalk slowly through the floating algae and weeds. The Squacco was definitely aware of us up on the bank but still warily edged its way towards us. It was far more wary of a Grey Heron that was striding down the river towards it. 

The Squacco fluttered across a small stand of reeds and landed in a narrow rivulet right under our viewpoint. We've had really good views of Squacco Herons before, having seen a few in the UK but this encounter was excelling on those. The Squacco continued walking slowly and quietly from the impending danger it sensed. Eventually it became so nervous that it sprung into flight and headed away upriver.

We followed the Squacco Heron along the track to see if we could find it again, but stopped abruptly half a mile on when we noticed that some overhead wires were absolutely stuffed with Bee-eaters. There were more flying over the adjacent fields, and even more settling in a lone tree in the middle of one of them. Conservatively I reckoned there were around one hundred and twenty of the birds. Although we'd seen lots of Bee-eaters over the past few days, there was no way I was giving these birds a miss. I stood next to the car and aimed the camera. Getting the "feel" of a flock of bird is difficult in a single photo, or even in multiple shots. A video would have given the scene much more merit. The sound of so many Bee-eater chirruping at the same time was incredible, a sound that can't be replicated in photographs.

Bee-eaters

The sun was low in the sky with under an hour of daylight left, but that helped to accentuate the vibrant colours of the Bee-eaters. I took many photos of them for the next ten minutes even though the sensor was beginning to struggle to gain adequate brightness. I don't think you could ever see too many Bee-eaters.

The birds appeared to be getting ready to roost, and the tree in the field, as well as the bushes lining the roadside looked as likely as anywhere for the birds to spend the night. Amongst the leaves of a tree, the richly coloured birds could blend in extremely well. However, the whole flock suddenly flew up high and flew off towards the hills. Clearly they had made other plans for a roosting spot that night.

We drove up to the main road, crossed the bridge and then turned onto the track that runs along the western bank of the river and back towards the village of Skala Kalloni. With dusk falling, we could have been excused if we'd gone straight back to the hotel. But I drove slowly and as we reached the upper ford of the river, something on the opposite side of the river caught my eye. The advantage of driving a left-hand drive car that evening was that by driving anti-clockwise around the river, it meant that I was closest to it. I wound down the window and surveyed the weedy margin of the river through my binoculars. The slight movement that had piqued my interest proved to be a (Great) Bittern that was stealthily moving through the vegetation. I took a few photos before the Bittern melted away into the long grasses.

Bittern

There was still time for another surprise. We'd already seen a couple of Squacco Herons that evening, but then a few hundred metres downstream from the Bittern, we came across no fewer than six more in one loose group. One of the six may have been the one we watched earlier that had flown upstream, but even if it had joined the others that would still make seven in all, more than I'd ever seen in my life before! It was getting quite gloomy but I still couldn't resist taking a few photos. My lens wouldn't pan out enough to encompass all six birds since they were strung out across the river. A few of the shots also captured a strange photographic artefact with a bird stood closer than one behind it, looking much smaller. Father Ted would have had a bit of trouble explaining that to Dougal.

So the sun set on another bird filled day. One that I will never forget, mainly because of the incredible encounter with the Golden Orioles. We ended the day watching some small bats bombing around the balcony of our hotel room whilst listening to Nightingales. Lesvos is good.

Birds seen 25-04-2025; Eastern Black-eared Wheatear, 126) Cinereous Bunting, Rock Nuthatch, Golden Oriole, 127) Eastern Bonelli's Warbler, Eastern Subalpine Warbler, 128) Blue Rock Thrush, 129) Sombre Tit, Alpine Swift, Black Stork, (Common) Cuckoo, Wood Warbler, Red-rumped Swallow, Cretzschmar's Bunting, Cirl Bunting, Swallow, House Martin, Blackbird, Chaffinch, Raven, 130) Tree Pipit, 131) Woodlark, Pied Flycatcher, Great Reed Warbler, Wood Sandpiper, Reed Warbler, Nightingale, 132) Common Redstart, Red-backed Shrike, Woodchat Shrike, Corn Bunting, Crested Lark, 133) (Common) Rock Thrush, Squacco Heron, Little Crake, Black-headed Yellow Wagtail, Sedge Warbler, Black-headed Bunting, Common Sandpiper, Moorhen, Bittern, Bee-eater

Starred Agama, Persian Squirrel, Bat sp.