Returning to the trio of birding hotspots that the frequently-featured Adam and I visited over the wet season, this post focuses on our trip to the Hulda Reservoir this past December. With such astounding success at both Matash Ayalon and Tzora, it didn’t take much to inspire us to plan an adventure – but the frequent tantalising reports we had seen on eBird sure helped. Our visit to the Hulda reservoir began on a Thursday morning, with public transportation taking us there in the tedious way that it does, and depositing us at the proper bus stop just after 8am.

Disembarking across the road from Kibbutz Hulda, founded 1930, we checked our position with Google Maps and started walking down a long dirt road bearing southwest to our targeted reservoir. Presently, we were aware of the birds that both graced the power lines and pylons, as well as those in the fields, often being more heard than seen. Binocular-scanning repeatedly, we confirmed the usual species – and a trio of military helicopters – and kept walking, heading for the reservoir that was dead set ahead.

As we neared the sun-kissed waters, a flock of northern lapwings took flight – our first “interesting” species of the day. An even greater flock of great cormorants joined the aerial presentations and we found ourselves close enough to examine the reservoir. Whereas many, or even most, reservoirs have distinct man made appearances, this looked like a bonafide small lake, filled with all sorts of obstructing vegetation.

A large siege of great white herons seized our attention first, but then the scatterings of ducks caused us to shift focus. After our smashing success with new-to-us duck (and grebe) species, we were hoping to nab some more new ones at this promising hotspot. Sure enough, within minutes we found a few great crested grebes paddling near some more familiar shovelers and mallards.

This was the cause for some hushed excitement, only to be trumped by the discovery of some very elegant looking tufted ducks – another new species. While the sightings were exciting, unfortunately due the size of the reservoir, coupled with the unfortunate solar alignment of our lookout, it was quite difficult to take pictures. The vast majority of the duck and waterfowl photos served as our best option at identifying the paddling pond-loving birds.

A few marsh harriers cruised the reedy waters, looking for a weak and defenceless waterfowl to feed on, but nothing more exciting than that. We took leave of our impromptu lookout and attempted to circumnavigate the reservoir by means of the agricultural trails that crisscrossed the fields. The northern lapwings from before took flight once again as we startled them in one of the fields, and we passed some kestrels and a single black-shouldered kite who largely ignored us. There were reports of a merlin having been spotted on several occasions the days leading up to our visit, so our eyes were as peeled as could be, hoping that we too would spot the tiny falcon.

Our route took us along a great cauliflower field, which bordered the reservoir from the south, and a jackal made a surprise appearance beside the thick undergrowth beside the cruciferous field. Realising that there was no better vantage point thus far, we resigned to attempting a full loop but another surprise was in store. As we worked our way up the western side of the complex, we suddenly spotted a dark bird of prey on the grassy banks of the reservoir. A quick photo or two and there it was, a greater spotted eagle in all of its glory. Mere minutes later this subadult eagle thought it wise to take its glory elsewhere and flapped off posthaste, leaving us in the company of the everpresent marsh harriers.

While the merlin continued to elude us, more exciting finds were on the horizon. We scanned the waterfowl once again, this time from a greater distance but with better lighting due to our altered orientation. There were no new ducks, but the water looked a truly special shade of blue as it reflected the heavens. We tore ourselves away from the scenic view and continued the full loop that we had almost needlessly done. The trail proved to be quite popular with field-loving birds, with white wagtails, water pipits and crested larks walking up and down the dirt road, much to our enjoyment.

It was then that a small bird flitted into view and perched on a dead thistle at the upcoming fork. Its body was well shaded against the bright background – not a particularly helpful thing – yet I managed to squeeze off five distant record shots which then allowed me to announce something special. We had been looking for ages, and had plenty of close calls with lookalikes, but at last we had actually found a European serin. We were overjoyed, and the excitement of the new waterfowl became eclipsed in our minds. It’s one thing to “chance upon” a new species, but it’s exponentially more rewarding to have looked and looked before finding a target species after so long a wait.

With our loop complete and our stomachs rumbling we bid farewell to the wild, overgrown reservoir and began our walk back towards the main road. Having brought some choice sausages from Jerusalem in preparation for this moment, we found a good, safe spot to make a small campfire and gathered up some dead branches. While branch-gathering, Adam found some wild asparagus growing, and we realised that our trip was going to continue a little longer than anticipated.

Our sausages cooked beautifully over the gentle wood fire and when we had properly doused the coals, we packed up and began the search for asparagus shoots. There was a sizable tract of wooded land dividing the road and the fields and we canvassed it expertly, checking under every tree for asparagus plants. We plucked fresh shoots right and left, gleaning our joyous harvest from this bountiful copse. Needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise to bring home after a day’s outing, and cooked up deliciously with diced garlic and butter.