On Monday (8 September 2025) morning I worked at our restored wetland in Kfar Ruppin, Amud Reservoir. I collected there data for a study we're doing with researchers from Ben Gurion University, looking at the biodiversity impact of our restoration work there, and linking it with environmental attributes of our site. It was a phenomenal morning, one to write home about. I arrived few minutes late, at first light. As soon as I stepped out of the car I witnessed thousands and thousands of birds already leaving their roosts in the reservoir, twirling in the air, flying at all directions - Little Egrets, Pygmy Cormorants, Glossy Ibis, Turtle Doves, Barn Swallows, and Western Yellow Wagtails. It was pretty chaotic. I worked especially hard to count them all - I really needed extra eyes and fingers but I was alone. I hope I did OK. I had to use estimates for some species. Of course I had no time to document this terrific rush of birds.
After the big numbers had left the roost, there were still thousands of birds in the reservoir. At this time of year, as is natural in Mediterranean wetlands this time of year, water levels are very low, creating large mud expanses and shallow water, that attracted loads of shorebirds, ducks, storks, herons, spoonbills etc. The reedbeds were teaming with warblers. In the following videos (taken through Swarovski Optik ATX85), turn the volume on a listen to all the bird sound in the background:
An Osprey was munching on a large fish it had caught:
As soon as there was enough light, I became aware of a true spectacle. Hundreds of Honey Buzzards roosted inside the reservoir, and several hundreds more in trees along the adjacent Jordan River. Many of them flew out of the vegetation onto the mud, some just loafed around, others drank some water before taking off.
When it heated up they start taking off, circling low over the reservoir, slowly picking up altitude in thermals as the air temperature rose. I stood there in the middle of their take-off, surrounded by Honey Buzzards of all colours and morphs, in all directions, some below me inside the reservoir, some above me, some so close I could hear their wingbeats and they flapped by. It was a powerful, almost transcendental experience.
