As the leaves drop from the trees it becomes easier to spot sparrowhawks, sitting on a branch looking out for passing tit flocks or sweeping between the boughs before pouncing with their talons. The balance of advantage in winter probably remains the same: the hawks can see their prey more easily, but the tits can spot their enemy coming.
That gift for speeding between the branches of a tree also has a defensive use for the sparrowhawk, especially for the slightly smaller, blue male birds. Crows hate sparrowhawks and I once saw a pair pursuing a hawk across a woodland ride. The hawk shot into a tree, straight through it and out again on the other side. But the branches proved a very effective fence against the large, clumsy crows.
Another defensive manoeuvre against a crow by a sparrowhawk, which I have seen in a field, is for it simply to fly around in a circle. The crow cannot turn so nimbly and the hawk slips away.
Male sparrowhawks mainly hunt in woods, but the larger, brown females will go out over fields and catch skylarks and woodpigeons. One winter, crossing a field, I came across a hawthorn bush in which a female sparrowhawk and a redwing had become entangled. The redwing was upside down, intermittently screaming, and the sparrowhawk, which was sprawled on its side, had a light hold on the redwing with one of its talons.
The redwing could not pull itself free, but the hawk could not move without letting the redwing go. Then I saw a man with a dog approaching the bush. The sparrowhawk dragged itself up and sped away. A moment later the redwing flew out, miraculously unharmed.
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Redwings (wintering thrushes) have been pouring into Britain from Iceland and Scandinavia in the past few weeks. On just one day in October, for example, at Sandy in Bedfordshire, 33,000 of them were counted passing overhead.
It should be a good winter for sparrowhawks. Most of the redwings that they will be chasing will not be as lucky as mine was.