A small river runs swiftly along a high clay bank. A low snag juts out of the water, and perched on it is a tiny bird with bright, mottled plumage — startlingly vivid for the Moscow region. Flicking its short tail, the bird peers intently into the rushing current. Now and then it glances around, preens its feathers, then returns its stare to the river. And suddenly, like a stone, it drops into the water without even spreading its wings — only to rise again the very next second, a wriggling fish clasped in its long beak.
This is the common kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) — one of the most unusual and beautiful birds in our area. Known in folk tradition as “the kingfisher” or sometimes as “the iron bird,” it figures in many beliefs and legends. The ancient Greeks thought the kingfisher bred — “was born” — in winter, building floating nests on the open sea; this legend is what inspired its name, which later migrated into various languages.
Indeed, in Greece on the approach of winter these birds are often especially numerous. They make brief stopovers there on their migration from northern Europe back to tropical wintering grounds. Around that time the Aegean Sea grows uncharacteristically calm, and Greeks still call such quiet days “kingfisher days.” Of course, we now know that these warmth-loving birds breed in summer, not winter, and in earthen burrows rather than in “sea nests,” but their poetic name keeps that old legend alive.
This tiny bird can excavate burrows up to a meter long. Using its long, pointed bill it loosens the soil and flicks it outward with its feet. Its legs, however, are minute — suited only for perching. Kingfishers are not well adapted to walking or hopping.
Among the kingfisher specimens displayed in the Zoological Museum in central Moscow, the common kingfisher is indeed almost the smallest — no larger than a sparrow. Under the exhibit lights its plumage looks gray and dull; the full brilliance of its feathers appears only in refracted sunlight — an effect the museum cannot replicate.
According to old beliefs, a kingfisher feather sewn into clothing served as a talisman: it protected the wearer’s life and health and, for some reason, was thought to guard against lightning strikes. Our ancestors also believed the bird’s behavior could foreshadow the weather: if a kingfisher sat on the bank drying its wings, rain was expected.
But finding one in such a calm state is difficult, especially in the Moscow region. Almost as soon as they return from wintering grounds, kingfishers start selecting nesting sites, digging burrows, and raising their young. The whole summer is spent laying and incubating eggs, rearing and fledging chicks, and preparing for departure. And by early September it is time to leave — back to the tropics, where it is summer year-round.
In Moscow and the surrounding region the kingfisher is listed in the Red Book — not because it is threatened locally, but because the Moscow region lies at the northern edge of its range. There are virtually no natural enemies here; occasionally a snake may enter an unattended burrow, but such incidents are rare. Simply put, kingfishers are scarce there for natural reasons: they cannot live much farther north. Russia is a cold country, and only a few reach this latitude.
The situation is different in the tropics, where both kingfishers and their predators are far more diverse. Worldwide there are some seventy-five species of kingfisher, most of them inhabiting the Old World tropics: Africa, Southeast Asia, Australia, and Oceania. The two Americas are less fortunate — only six species occur there.
Overall, conditions in the Moscow region can be quite comfortable for the kingfisher. Poachers take little interest in this tiny “fisher.” For successful breeding a kingfisher needs a secure bank in which to dig a burrow. Many local rivers have recently shown a noticeable drop in water levels, exposing new sandy banks ideal for nesting. At the same time, reduced discharge of polluted wastewater into rivers has improved feeding and living conditions for the birds.
Kingfishers are not social birds. For several pairs to settle comfortably they require considerable space: each family maintains a private territory of roughly a quarter-kilometer radius around its burrow. Two pairs may border each other within that limit when they fly out to hunt, but their burrows are never right next to one another.
They return from wintering in late April, and about a month later the female takes up residence deep in the narrow burrow, warming a clutch of five or six large, round white eggs with her small body. During this period the male hunts for two. His prey includes not only fish but aquatic insects and even tiny froglets. While hunting, the kingfisher plunges from the air into the water in a single, compact dive. At the instant of the lightning-fast plunge he shields his eyes with transparent nictitating membranes — thin but sturdy eyelids that protect against accidental injury. It takes him only a second or two to seize his catch and emerge. Launching from underwater into flight, he displays a skill few other birds possess.
Back on the bank, after striking the struggling prey against a stone or branch, the kingfisher makes a few light tosses to adjust the catch and then swallows it whole. He always swallows fish head-first; stiff fins make it otherwise difficult. Frequently, however, you may see him carrying a fish tail-first — a sure sign he is flying to feed the female or his chicks.
Kingfishers are generally considered monogamous, forming the same pair bonds year after year. One legend holds that the Latin name Alcedo commemorates Alcyone, daughter of the god of winds, who drowned herself after her husband was lost at sea; moved by their devotion the gods transformed the lovers into kingfishers. For this reason the bird is a symbol of fidelity and loyalty in many cultures.
In reality, though, a male kingfisher may sometimes attend to several females in a single season. A polygynous male can raise as many as three broods in one summer, patiently tending each until all the young are capable of flight and independent feeding.
At summer’s end kingfishers disperse to their wintering grounds. From the Moscow region they go to the Black Sea area and the eastern Mediterranean; from Saint Petersburg — to southern France and Spain; from the Russian Far East — to Japan, Korea, and China.
Whether they return next year depends largely on people. Kingfishers tend to reuse old burrows — provided new cottages have not sprung up along the riverbank during winter. With the rapid development of the Moscow region, human recreational pressure on riverbanks has increased. The bird is well integrated into the ecosystems of small rivers, and if a riverbank is altered, its ecological balance changes as well.
If the “king of fishers” finds his old home gone, he will fly off in search of a new quiet stretch in which to live and raise chicks — and he will most likely find one. Yet if current trends continue, within just a few years the chances of encountering this rare, tropical-origin bird near Moscow may vanish altogether.
Text by Yulia Zemtsova
Cover photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh
Translated from Russian by Sofia Zemtsova
