Episode 1. First Wave: Which birds fly away before the cold weather sets in?
September in the Korgalzhyn region is a time of special, heart-breaking beauty. The steppe wind turns cool, the grass finally takes on bronze hues, and the sky transforms into the busiest superhighway on the planet.
If you think birds fly south only when the first frost hits and the lakes freeze, nature has a surprise in store for you. The great autumn migration begins long before the first frost. Right now, while the sun still warms pleasantly, the first wave of migratory birds is already packing their bags and leaving Saryarka.
Who are these early birds, and why are they in such a hurry?
Why are they leaving when it's still warm?
It seems counterintuitive: there's plenty to eat and it's warm, so why waste energy on a dangerous flight thousands of kilometers? But birds have their own built-in "biological clock." The main signal for them isn't the air temperature, but the length of daylight. As soon as the days begin to shorten, a hormonal switch flips in the birds' bodies: "Time to go!"
The second reason is their diet. The first to leave Korgalzhyn are those that feed exclusively on flying insects. With the first cool nights, beetles, dragonflies, and butterflies become fewer, and the birds don't wait until they're completely hungry.
Main Characters of the Week: Kazakhstan's "Parrots" Fly to Africa
One of the most striking members of the first wave are the European bee-eaters. If you saw them on excursions with Aleboo this summer, you're unlikely to forget them. These incredibly beautiful, multicolored birds with a turquoise breast, golden back, and greenish tail. They look so exotic that people often mistake them for parrots that have escaped from a zoo.
Bee-eaters are unrivaled aerial hunters. Their Latin name translates as "bee-eaters" (they adore wasps, bees, and dragonflies).
Wow fact:
Before eating a bee, a bee-eater catches it in mid-flight, lands on a branch, and deftly rubs the insect's abdomen against the bark to remove the stinger and release the venom. Only then does it dine.
Now, in September, bee-eaters gather in huge, noisy flocks. You can hear their distinctive, melodic murmur high in the sky: "pryu-u... pryu-u." This sound means the squadron has formed. These little ones have a colossal journey ahead of them—flying across Asia to winter in sunny Africa, south of the Sahara Desert.
Along with them, in this first wave, are swallows, swifts, and graceful waders that had been feeding on our salty, muddy shores.
Is the steppe emptying? Absolutely not!
It might seem that once the first birds have flown away, there's nothing left to see in the steppe. But that's not how it works here. The autumn migration is a living conveyor belt. The place of the departed bee-eaters and waders is right now being taken by other travelers, making their way out of the harsh Siberian tundra. Our lakes are getting noisy.
Meanwhile, the most spectacular spectacle of autumn is unfolding on the reserve's main bodies of water. Thousands of pink giants are gathering in huge flocks, staging a veritable farewell ball before their grand flight south.
In the next episode: Why are pink flamingos and Dalmatian pelicans in no hurry to fly away? How do they determine the exact "X" day for departure, and what's it like to fly in a V formation when you weigh as much as a plump goose?
Don't switch over, the Korgalzhyn sky highway is getting wildly interesting!
