Exotic ‘lipsticked’ song bird spreads through south-west France
Sightings and hearings of the Rossignol du Japon have caused a Facebook sensation, especially in and around the Pyrenees
Leithroix lutea: bringing some bright surprise
luvbedi/Shutterstock
In the quiet of winter an unfamiliar birdsong has interrupted the season of silence in south-west France: a repetitive sweet melodic song interspersed with ‘cheep cheep cheep’ before returning to the melody.
Unlike Victorian children, the birds in question are heard, but often not seen, preferring to live in small flocks in dense vegetation.
However, birdsong identification apps and occasional glimpses reveal this to be leithroix lutea, a beautiful exotic-looking sparrow or robin-sized bird.
Many sightings and hearings have caused a Facebook sensation, especially in and around the Pyrenees.
It is secretive, preferring thick vegetation – brambles, evergreen trees and hedges, garden patches of bamboo – and is restless, hopping from perch to perch often close to the ground.
So it is not easy to spot. But if you catch sight of one it will bring a splash of bright glamour to your day.
Leiothrix – also known as the Chinese or Peking nightingale, Peking robin, Japanese hill robin, lipstick bird, or Rossignol du Japon (although it is not in fact native to Japan) in French – is a tiny brightly-coloured olive green and orange-yellow throated, vivid red-billed bird (hence ‘lipstick’ bird) originally from the Asian jungle highlands of India, Bhutan, Burma and China.
Established as a full-time inhabitant of parts of Italy, Portugal, Spain and France, it is considered an invasive species now - a non-native species, spreading rapidly and potentially to the detriment of local ecosystems.
Academic studies have revealed two hotspots – in north-west Italy and south-west France from Bordeaux southwards and spreading along the Pyrenees, where there are estimated to be at least 5,000, and probably more.
In fact, this comes from a 2014 study and it is likely the population has grown – maybe significantly – since.
Data showed a doubling of the bird’s range between 2000 and 2017.
The mild and damp conditions of south-west France seem to suit it particularly well, leading to what biologists call ‘self dispersal’.
There are other smaller, established populations in the far south-east of France around Nice and in woodlands north of Paris.
How has this exotic-looking bird come to be in France, and southern and central Europe at all? It seems to be as a result of the bird trade.
Leiothrix was a popular cage-bird with large numbers of wild caught birds imported into Britain and Europe in the late 19th and late 20th centuries. Its trade was finally controlled by listing on the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species treaty (CITES) in 1997.
Between then and the ban on the importation to Europe of wild caught exotic birds in 2005, more than 220,000 leiothrix were caught in the wild and traded for sale.
Escapes from captivity, and some deliberate releases to try to establish wild populations in Europe, explain its presence as a wild invader.
It seems to thrive particularly in areas with milder winters and less dry summers.
Its unfussy eating habits (across a range of insects and fruits) and longer breeding season than many native European songbirds seem to have helped it not just survive, but prosper.
Invasive species have become a threat to the ecological balance of many parts of the world.
Our highly connected and globalised society has brought all kinds of animals to places they should not be – in France for example, the North American signal crayfish and red swamp crayfish are pushing out native crayfish species and preying on amphibians, and the impact of the Asian hornet is well known.
The leiothrix in some parts of the world – particularly Hawaii – has been damaging, mainly because of food competition with native birds.
However, at the moment the addition of this delightful lipsticked songster does not seem to be causing harm in France – and brings some bright surprise, especially to these silent winter days.