Zambujal with a Lanner

Castro Verde, August 2026

One of the rarest falcons you can see here is the Lanner (Falco biarmicus). Every year one tends to turn up in August, usually further down in the south of our little rectangle. This year was no exception, and on Tuesday, 11 August, one showed up in Castro Verde.

The Lanner was once on my list, but it ended up turning into something even rarer: a Saker Falcon (Falco cherrug). A curious story. Necas, the Sagres Lanner of 2017, turned out to be something else entirely (see Algarve 2017 – Necas, the Lanner). Only eight years later did its true identity come to light. 

Back to the Castro Verde's Lanner, although this is a species that generally doesn’t stay long in one place, this one hung on, and reports kept coming in until Friday. With birds, every case is a case.

With the falcon still being seen, I was already planning to do what had to be done: get up in the middle of the night and, with or without company, get there on Saturday as early as possible. In other words, the usual.

I was carefully thinking about the plan and life in general when my friend José Freitas phoned me to suggest we spend the weekend there. The proposal was far more tempting than a short, doctor's visit. We would be able to study the terrain and document the bird properly. That is, of course, if it cooperated.

I argued it would be hard to find lodging in August but, somehow, José found a room at Herdade do Zambujal, one of the best places to stay in the area, which I already knew, as well as its owners. The estate is an oasis within the oasis that is Castro Verde. Why not alternate the madness of a twitch with the calm of a dip in the pool and excellent meals? I couldn’t say no, and on Friday afternoon off we went, with high hopes.

Lanner (Falco biarmicus)

On the way we realised we would still arrive with daylight to spare. Barely, but still daylight. On top of that, the sighting location was only 15 minutes from where we were staying. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and, in this case, there was no risk at all. We had to go and clock in.

We got there around 8 pm and turned onto the dirt road with the electricity poles, where the Lanner had almost always been seen. We had gone barely fifty metres when we ran into Pedro Bravo, a local birder and guide. "Well, I’ve been here a couple of hours without results, but it’s a big place." We had been chatting for about five minutes when a car approached from the far end of the road. I assumed it was one of the farm workers from the property up ahead, but I was dead wrong. The car stopped and, to our astonishment, the two Spaniards inside told us they had just seen and photographed the biarmicus. We did not wanted to hear nothing else and jumped into the car as fast as we could, heading in the direction they’d pointed, just in time to hear that it had been on a pole and had flown off. Typical!

We drove on, scrutinising every pole carefully, in case it was hiding behind the metal framework. After a quarter of an hour, no falcon, but at least it was clear that stopping by had been a good idea. The bird was in the area. Night was falling and we were fast entering the twilight. It was the ideal time to head back to the lodgings.

The next day, Saturday, we planned to go first thing in search of our target. Before breakfast, barely past seven in the morning, we were already on the dirt road. The light was appearing, shyly. We went as far as the farm, a good few hundred metres away, and turned back. Nothing. We decided to take a break and wait a few minutes in a spot with decent visibility, a strategy that had paid off on other occasions. The sun wasn't up yet but the light was already reasonable.

I was standing by the car when, suddenly, thirty metres away, a silhouette appeared from behind a hill. It was clearly a falcon and after a couple of seconds I realised it was clearly bigger than the ubiquitous kestrels of the area. I shouted to José at the same time, in case he was distracted: “Look, that’s him!”. I had no doubt in my mind since the second second.

The very weak first record shot of the day, at sunrise

It seemed about to flee, but ended up landing on a pole about fifty metres away. I managed to take advantage of the situation and fire off a few record shots, the kind with gigantic ISOs. The photos had more grain than bird but, at least we had some evidence.

We decided to move a little closer, but the bird did not let us get closer even another five metres. It took off and off it went. We watched it speed away to the other side of the tarmac road, and we lost it. 

It was 7:26 when I put the news out on the cyberspace: "Lanner still at the same spot!". There would surely be a few souls on their way, and it was important they knew that, apparently, this wouldn’t be a wild goose chase.

We then went to another dirt track, on the side where it had disappeared. Stopped right at the start and soon after I picked up the bird in my binoculars, on a pole, about two hundred metres away. We hadn't advanced a single metre when it took off and vanished, close to the ground. What on earth is this bird's safety distance, I thought. Not exactly friendly, but that’s how it was. We had to accept it keep the information in mind for future appearances.

Soon after, other observers, or "sufferers" if you like, started arriving. Two cars from the Algarve, two from Lisbon and surroundings. I told the story again and again, of where it had appeared and where it had landed, where it had come from and where it had gone. And there they were, the typical tense, anxious faces, some already showing fatigue, even at that early hour. The search began and everyone spread out, each with their own strategy.

Meanwhile, José and I were already thinking about the hearty breakfast, scheduled for 9:30. At that point Rui Pereira, who was apparently hungry, said that if we brought him a croissant he'd buy us lunch. I warned him not to do it, that he'd loose money, but he stuck to his promise.

During the excellent breakfast, we made a point of making sure Rui would get his croissant. It was a free lunch opportunity not to be missed. Well, not completely free, because it cost a croissant and, truth be told, a stay in Zambujal. So the saying is right after all. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.

Lanner (Falco biarmicus), last record of the day

About the twitch, the bottomline is that before lunch everyone already had the Lanner in the bag. Around 11:30 the bird decided to do a prolonged flyover of the area we were in, and everyone went off to lunch with a full belly. The bird passed  close enough, but nothing out of this world. Perfect for observers, not so perfect for photographers. There’s always a critic, as we know...

We took the hint and did the same. We had a lunch that hit the spot. The weekend was already won.

There are some people that are always distracted ...
(photo Tiago Guerreiro)

We had already thought about going back in the late afternoon. Maybe the Lanner would show up again and allow better shots, since now we were acquainted. Around 5 pm there we were, back at the scene of the crime. We looked for the star everywhere, without luck. We covered the dirt road half a dozen times and went further along the tarmac road. No luck.

It was only around 7 pm, coming back from yet another trip up to the farm, that I finally spotted the bird with my binoculars, perched two poles ahead, against the light. Now we had to think about the best strategy for it to stay settled. Going further down the road was out of the question. Out of the blue, José suggests we could go through a gate 100 metres back and drive off-road across the field on the left.

"What gate? I didn’t see any gate."

"There’s one back there, open. I saw it."

"I didn’t see anything..."

With two stubborn men in the car, the argument went on until I agreed to reverse and go back to see this famous gate. Either way, we had nothing to lose. The viewing there was awful. Driving forward, we’d known since the morning, gave bad results. So why not look for a gate imagined by José?

Um dos registos médios de antes de almoço

Amazingly, we backed up about 50 metres and an open gate into a field materialised on the left.

"Well, look at that, it does exist after all...!
"Didn’t I tell you? Stubborn!"
"Fine, I’ll buy you a beer."
"A beer? Cheapskate! It should be at least a dinner."

Dusters are made for this. The terrain wasn’t too bad and we could take it easily. We gave it a margin of about 50 metres from the fence and began advancing, parallel to the road, until we saw the lanner on the pole. Apparently he was relaxed. We parked under a holm oak. The end-of-day light was perfect. We shot until we couldn’t shoot any more or, in this case, until he decided it was finally time for his dinner. Thank you, Mr. Lanner.

That beer had consequences. I spent the entire weekend hearing about it, and about how it should have been a dinner. Even now, José brings it up from time to time. Human cruelty knows no limits...

Finally, I want to thank Tiago Guerreiro for the photo that helps illustrate this chronicle and, above all, José Freitas, for the logistics that ended up giving us an unforgettable weekend.

#canaldoxofred