🎶Yellowhammer at Fjällmossen – Singing Across the Southern Bog

Yellowhammer at Fjällmossen – In the far south of Sweden, where the land dips into low, ancient wetlands, there lies Fjällmossen — the country’s southernmost bog. And on this quiet morning, above the tangled heather and sighing junipers, a single Yellowhammer lifted his song into the mist.

The Bog’s Brightest Voice

There’s a wild patience to bog landscapes. They hold water, memory, and silence in equal measure. But this little Yellowhammer, with his burst of lemon-yellow feathers and his quick, hopeful melody, cut through the stillness like a spring prayer.

High on the topmost branch, balanced between frost and bloom, he sang the simplest, clearest song: rising, dipping, lingering. A little bit of bread and no cheese, as the old folk saying goes.

And just like that, Fjällmossen wasn’t silent anymore.

Yellowhammer at Fjällmossen – Light in a Landscape of Stillness

To see a Yellowhammer at Fjällmossen is to witness contrast: bright life against a brooding land.
Here, in Sweden’s southern bog country, where slow-growing junipers stretch gnarled fingers skyward, the Yellowhammer’s colour and spirit feel almost surreal — a drop of sunlight where even trees hesitate.

These birds are not rare in Sweden, but to meet one like this — poised, singing, wild and undisturbed — is a rare gift.

Photographer’s View

📍Location: Fjällmossen Nature Reserve, Skåne – near the bog’s western edge, among old juniper stands.

📷 Camera: Sony A7R V + FE 200–600mm G OSS + Sony 2x Teleconverter
⚙️ Settings: ISO 1250 | 1/2000s | f/13

• Handheld despite damp footing (thank you waterproof boots!)
• Focused sharply on the Yellowhammer’s eye, letting the branch silhouette naturally
• Sky overexposed slightly to create a misty canvas
• Frame composed vertically to echo the upward lines of the bog plants

In a way, this photo belongs as much to the bog as it does to the bird.

The Yellowhammers call to the Flock

Have you ever heard the song of a Yellowhammer rolling across a bog or heathland? What’s your memory of birds singing in wild places — in the mist, in the marshes, in forgotten corners? Share your story — or tag someone who could use a little wild melody today.