HIKING A HOOPLA

Breaking the silence came a piercing shriek from the old farm cemetry. Then another and another. Very distinctive though soft. A flash of burnt orange movement and I spotted the little guy. A Hoopoe fledgling shrilly calling to the parents. Hidden. But not far away. We were taking a very slow walk. My crutches have retired and my air-boot is packed away but my foot is not fully healed. Yet. I can't walk too far without pain. However, my love of walking our mountain homestead and our country roads on such a magnificent spring day is too much to ignore. Plus; I know those Hoopoes are out there. For a year they have evaded me. Whenever I'm out with my goats I see those faraway flashes of burnt orange. Their flight is very distinctive, like their colouring. Quietly we walked to our border where one of the pairs lives. The late winter veld flowers make the mountainside a picture.

Just where we were turning at our border gate, the little Hoopoe fledgling gave himself away. He was barely a metre away. Half hopping. Half flying around the old cemetery. Suddenly he launched on those little wings and flew a great distance for such a tiny creature. Safely landing in the thorn trees where another little Hoopoe fledgling sat. Clever. Getting to them would be. Well. Thorny.

Gingerly I picked my way through our fences and over dead thorn branches. Snapping photos as I could before the little fledglings would fly a short distance again. In the distant fig tree I spotted a parent.

After a week of gale force winds there was barely a warm breeze and the fledgling call carried far. It helped me find them while I pickled over and under the thorns. While the parent in the distant fig tree sang assuringly to the little Hoopoes.

For the untrained ear the Hoopoe call is almost like a dove but with a hoopla to it. No wonder they're called a Hoopoe. Their cheerful "hoop-hoop-hoop" filled my ears. Beautiful. The babies called their single shrill call back. Then silence.

Edging closer I snapped as many pictures as I could through the overgrowth of thorn branches. Suddenly a flash of black and white with a splash of burnt orange. Both parents flew at me. One diving up over my head and the other passed my face. Not alarmed just telling me time was up. Kids needed to get to bed. And mama-ratzi needed to stash the camera.

Ah but it was a delightful weekend. We walked slowly home through the colourful veld flowers. Behind us the "hoop-hoop-hoop" faded softly with the sun.