A Sound Lesson

The last few nights' nocmigging efforts have produced little. A handful of Barn Owl shrieks, a couple of Moorhens and that's about it. A bit disappointing if I'm honest; I was hoping for a few waders. Last night's recording was looking similar, until just after midnight when this little smudge appeared...

Sad fact: after lots and lots of nothing, spotting this was mildly thrilling.

I played it. A little screechy, it sounded like a Dunlin. I played it again. Yep, Dunlin. Obviously a bit distant, and therefore not as clear as I would like, but I was happy with calling it a Dunlin.

I've had a few Dunlin now, some nice and clear, some less so, and it's interesting that calls are not all identical. This is to be expected. After all, every Dunlin is not the same. Some are bigger, some smaller, etc, etc, and this individuality is bound to reflect in their voice. Even a single bird will obviously not produce the exact same sound every time it calls. But Dunlin are Dunlin, and they produce a sound with which birders quickly become familiar. So, in order to demonstrate that fact, here is a short video of two calls spliced together...

The first sound is the call in the image above.
The second is a Dunlin recorded overnight on May 3rd/4th.

Clearly they are not identical, but I would be happy to conclude that both birds are Dunlin.

Anyway, chuffed with my diagnosis I continued to review last night's recording. Well, hello. Just 18 and 23 seconds later were two more calls, much clearer, and then another, again a little faint, at 38 seconds. In other words, four calls from a bird approaching, going over, and away, in the space of 38 seconds. Undoubtedly the same individual bird, but here are the middle two calls...

Er, does that still sound like a Dunlin?

Interesting isn't it? The call still has a similar quality to Dunlin, but is much fuller, and has little accents which a Dunlin doesn't. It took a bit of sleuthing before I realised what it was...

It's a Water Rail. I've had one before (and posted a spectrovid here) but with last night's bird didn't make the connection, because to me it's not as obvious. But as I've said before, when all you have is a noise and a squiggle, it is not always easy to figure out the culprit. And this particular incident illustrates the added handicap of the distant, poorly-defined call. I'm sure that all four calls were fairly similar, but the microphone's ability to resolve the detail of each will obviously depend on how well it 'hears' them. The further away, the harder it is.

Hopefully this post demonstrates two things:

1. Birds are full of surprises. Picture a Water Rail in flight. Can you see it in your mind's eye? Reluctance written all over it. Gangly legs. Silly little wings. The notion of a Water Rail flying over my garden in mid-May, miles from any proper habitat, so pathetically slowly that it can be heard for 38 seconds, makes me smile. Just brilliant.

2. Nocmig makes you think about bird vocalisations in a way that everyday birding simply does not. This cannot be a bad thing.

Actually, three things:

3. I am still useless at this.

Nothing Much...

This afternoon's skywatch started slowly. Wispy clouds in a sharp, blue void, bereft of birds it seemed. The biting NE wind, even at lunch time making me regret the shorts decision. Finally something happened, and a distant Red Kite slipped east. Eventually I tallied four of them, all going E or NE. Are they returning from their Cornish holiday? Other birds included a very few Swallows and a distant, racing Hobby clearly on the hunt; it appeared to stoop at something and I lost it. That's my 7th garden Hobby, all in a few days. I find this amazing, but should I? Thinking about it logically, spring migration has been in full flow for a while now, which means thousands and thousands of birds are traversing the land every day. They've got to fly over somewhere, and a few will obviously take a route through (or close to) my garden's airspace. This must happen every year, but with all the extra effort and attention being applied in this strangest of all years, many more than usual are actually being noticed. Which is why I know that 7 Hobbies, loads of Red Kites, a Cuckoo, a Stone-curlew, a Nightjar and a party of Common Scoter are among their number. What next...?

This afternoon's frustration was provided by a warblery thing which zipped past, making me think 'Whitethroat!' before landing in a neighbour's hawthorn. As it tipped forward into the foliage and vanished, I glimpsed an undertail which suggested that white outers were involved. Not. Quite. Enough...

Whitethroat was a feature of this morning's walk. It was so cold first thing that it wouldn't have surprised me to see this bird's breath steaming...

Whitethroat going for it in frigid blue. That background is the sea.

I got one shot of this leggy Hare before it hurried into cover

For me, highlight of the walk was finding a singing Corn Bunting where I've never seen Corn Bunting before. I like Corn Buntings. They strike me as irrepressibly cheerful with their silly, hissy song. It's like they've been a bit short-changed in the looks and brains department, but are blissfully unaware. Bless...

Big brown blob-on-a-stick.

Corn Bunting. Stonking. Three words which can never appear in the same sentence.

I'll close with this photo of a Whimbrel. Actually it's a photo of a field of flowers, and the Whimbrel is a just a tiny decorative detail...

When I put my mind to it and can get in the groove, I love birding in this part of the world. It may not be heaving with rarities, but the rewards are there to be had in many, many other ways...

Getting Up To Date

On 18th June, 2005 I visited the Colyford Common reserve near Seaton. In view of the time of year I was expecting absolutely nothing whatsoever. From the road there is a pleasant, tree-lined, grassy track leading down to the salt marsh, and at some point during my inattentive stroll I suddenly realised that a bird was sitting in the centre of it, unhappily watching me approach. I raised my bins and found myself looking at a Turtle Dove. Unfortunately it thought I had got a bit too close, and departed.

Exactly one year later, on 18th June, 2006 I was at Lower Bruckland Ponds and had very brief flight-only views of a...Turtle Dove. That one also was never seen again.

Without doubt June is my least favourite birding month, and yet it is responsible for my only Seaton area Turtle Doves. Oops. I mean was...

Oh...er...hello. Am I a few weeks early...?

As I was working nearby I contrived to have my lunch break at Whitford and catch up with this beauty, present for its third day. It shared the field with three Stock Doves and a Wheatear.

Turtle Dove. Scarce for no good reason, only bad ones.

In other news, my 6th garden Hobby of the year flew through at 14:31 on Monday, directly over my head. It took me by surprise, and though I grabbed the camera and fired off a burst of seven frames, the bird features in just three of them, and only as a blurry speck. Flight photography is humbling.

On Monday evening I rigged up the recording gear for another night's nocmigging, and sat out to accompany it for a while. I wasn't hopeful. Though the wind had dropped, the sky was cloudless, and I figured any passing birds would be very high. However, at 22.22 this flew over and called twice...

It's a Grey Plover, and though the calls aren't loud they are clear enough. Also it's a call with which I'm familiar. Back in the day we would get occasional Grey Plovers at Staines Res, and I used to take delight in imitating the whistle to see if they would respond. So adding Grey Plover to my garden list would be very nice. Would be. That's right, I didn't hear it. I was sitting right there, and heard nothing. How come? It has kindly been suggested that I might have been taking a noisy swig of beer at that precise moment. Possibly. More likely is that the microphone is more sensitive than my knackered ears. Another humbling thing...

Anyway, Grey Plover is actually a really good local record, and it joins Ringed Plover, Dunlin, Turnstone, Common Sandpiper, Oystercatcher and Stone-curlew on the list of waders that my garden has definitely heard and I definitely haven't. I can see I might have to invest in a decent pair of headphones.

Yesterday I went for a longish walk and saw 4 Red Kites, 1 Wheatear and my first Spotted Flycatcher of the year. And along with today's Turtle Dove that brings me up to date, more or less. Just one final thing...

This morning a friend sent me a couple of very short video clips straight off his phone. No bird, just its song. Could I do anything with them in order to produce a sonogram? Well, yes I could. Please step forward, Zoom H4n pro Handy Recorder, and allow me to point you at these laptop speakers while I play this bit of video. Thank you. Right, lets load that into Audacity and then make ourselves a little spectrovid and...hmmm...not bad...

If you were out shopping - no bins, no camera - and heard that, what would you do? Well, there's your answer. Just whip out your smartphone, record a bit of video, and that's it - Iberian Chiffchaff nailed!

I'm not saying that's what happened here. Far from it in fact. But it illustrates how useful is the ability to make a recording in the field. In future I plan to include my H4n pro in my standard birding kit. Just in case...

The Written Word

I have never been very good at keeping stuff simply for the sake of it. Periodically through my life there have been several immense and cathartic clear-outs. Consequently very few of my boyhood possessions are still with me. Some photos, my school reports, and a few books. Books...

As a young boy I had a passionate interest in natural history, but no mentor to foster it. Basically I was on my own. Initially that interest was less in identifying things, more in getting amongst them. Fishing fitted the bill perfectly. To extract a small roach from a local pond, and have that glittering silver-blue bar of perfection close-up, in your hand, was awesome. I had no one to teach me fishing, so how did I learn? Books.

When I was nine my family moved to Kenton, in the Harrow/Wembley area of NW London. Our nearest high street was Preston Road, at the end of which was the public library. Where I pretty much wore out every single fishing book they had. I can picture some of the photos in my mind's eye, and almost feel the frustrated longing they evoked, knowing that such enormous specimens, and the idyllic, fish-infested rivers and lakes where they lived were all out of reach to a boy like me. The images, the feelings and emotions, even now are still fresh though half a century has passed. Books.

Yes, the written word can be a powerful thing. Especially upon a young mind. I wonder whether the authors of such relatively unromantic works as books on how to fish, or how to identify a bird, are necessarily conscious of that fact?

A couple of clear-out survivors...

Both from my boyhood

Small Stream Fishing was published in 1966, and I've owned this copy for almost 50 years. David Carl Forbes was also a gifted artist, and his beautiful illustrations are peppered throughout the book. As a boy I had no access to the kind of waters he describes, but that didn't stop me devouring every word and trying to adapt his advice to my own fishing. Opening the pages now is like like stepping into a time machine. It takes me straight back. Wonderful. DCF died tragically young in the late '70s. I wonder what he would make of the current angling scene?

The Popular Handbook of British Birds is essentially a condensed version of the famous Handbook of British Birds by Witherby et al. I didn't know about field guides, so when I got the opportunity to acquire a book to help me learn birds I chose this. Believe it or not I used to take this into the field with me. Armed with the Popular Handbook and my late grandfather's ex-army 7x50s it is a wonder that I managed to identify anything really. But I did. A summer holiday visit to my other grandparents' place in North Norfolk features on the inside back cover...

Clearly I was never that bothered about book abuse. Also: 'oyster catcher'! Ha ha!

I can see myself now, simultaneously trying to thumb through the wader plates, wield my monster bins and not flush the bird, the 'unknown small wader - later identified as a dunlin'. Who knows what it actually was? As per usual I had been dropped off at Morston quay, where I caught the boat out to Blakeney Point and walked back to Cley or Salthouse. I assume that 'Weybourne-618' was my grandparents' phone number in 1974.

Perhaps there's a lesson here for some of us? If you have a mentor - a friend or relative who can teach and encourage you in your interest, who can show you the ropes - you are fortunate indeed. Appreciate it. Pass it on.

Anyway, this post hasn't led quite where I thought it would. I was intending to compare the books of yore to today's more ephemeral written matter: the blogs, social media output and so forth, which exists in the ether. Blogs, for example, can literally vanish at the press of a button. I know. But for some reason I've ended up reminiscing instead...

Well, whatever form it takes, the written word is still a mighty powerful thing, and I love it.

Garden Life

I was up early this morning, and before breakfast had analysed the night's nocmig recording. Then it was out into the garden to spot birds and mull over the nocturnal revelations. Barely had I filled my gob with a big swig of coffee when two silent Greylags flew right over the garden and away NE. A mad scramble for the camera, and one brief chance to capture a record shot...

Two Greylags. Trust me. A couple of seconds later they were out of view.

On the old Axe patch I guess Greylag was just about annual, but they are certainly not a regular sight locally. Well, not for me. Two over the garden is unlikely to happen again any time soon. So, a very good start to the day...

Last night I sat out for a while, accompanying my nocmig kit with a super-sharp pair of ears. There was also the red wine, the blue stilton and a few crackers, but the main reason I was there was to listen. After the wine and cheese it seemed appropriate to recline my chair a bit, and rela-a-a-ax. At some point I was conscious of nodding slightly. Not falling asleep you understand, just teetering on the edge. Well, that's what I thought. At 22.58 a Coot flew over, bellowing like a donkey. I know this because it's right there on the recording. Also right there on the recording are the sounds of my regular deep breathing at roughly four-second intervals. On this video you can just about see and hear them at 2, 6, 10, 14 and 19 seconds...

I'm not sure where my nearest local Coots might be. Certainly a few miles away I would imagine. Knowing that Coots occasionally migrate over the garden is just mad. In fact, knowing they can stay airborne for more than about ten seconds is pretty amazing.

Despite the weather changing today, with a switch to a brisk NE breeze and less heat, I was hopeful of some more Red Kite action, and was out in the garden again around midday. With my notebook and biro...

Far more writing than your average seawatch. Far more!

As well as 27 Red Kites (ignore that '28' pencilled in the notebook above) the major highlight was some actual Hobby passage. Four birds (two together and two singles) was a real treat. Also a Peregrine, which is my third or fourth #BWKM0 bird, despite no previous garden records. Notice the Lesser Black-backed Gull? Another garden scarcity. And Beautiful Demoiselle, a female which flew straight through.

Some pics...

Best Hobby photo by a very long way. It was motoring!

I have a million tenth-rate Red Kite images, but will spare you. Instead, here are a couple of invertebrate photos which came out okay...

Large Red Damselflies ovipositing

Momentarily I thought this was a bee, but it is in fact a hoverfly. I had a couple of ID suggestions from Twitter folk, and it would appear to be a Narcissus Bulb Fly (Merodon equestris). I do not keep a hoverfly list and never will, but it's still nice to know what things are isn't it?

With the addition of Greylag I think my #BWKM0 list is now on 58. Obviously I somehow need to get to 60. What will the next two species be? I look forward to spending more time in the garden and finding out.

I'll be out there again shortly. Wide awake and alert, bolt upright in an unreclined chair...

Garden Mega

A forecast of light easterlies and heat was all the temptation I needed in order to dedicate the day to skywatching, and from 10:00 to early evening I did little else. At 10:05 the first Red Kite drifted slowly west. Optimistically I wrote it down in such a way as to leave plenty of space for further Red Kites. Good move. The next went over at 10:55, another at 11:00, and so on...

10:05   1
10:55   1
11:00   1
11:02   2+1
12:03   1
12:06   1
12:22   1
12:25   2
12:37   1

And that was it. 12 Red Kites by lunch time, and then a long gap. Until...

16:20   1
16:29   3
16:33   2
16:58   1

And that really was it. Let me tell you, recording 19 Red Kites over my Bridport garden is a bit special. I know they do this regular thing every spring, heading down to Cornwall and back, but to witness this movement right over our home is rather wonderful, and I feel quite privileged.

Most were quite high, but that didn't stop me practising my 'flight shot' technique on nearly every one.

Judging by our Red Kite hit rate today, and by some of my nocmig results, I think our garden must be quite well situated, geographically speaking. Which is great. But our viewing arrangements are less than ideal. We certainly do not have what you might call a vista - a wide, panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Although we are fortunate enough to have a garden it is very, very small. I measured it out today. It is nine paces wide, from the neighbour's fence to our garage wall. And from the conservatory to my cabin is five paces. Sitting in this area is like gazing up from the bottom of a bowl, and I feel far more effective, birding-wise, when I stand up and wander about. Which is what I mainly did today.

As well as seeing Red Kites I was also hoping to add one or two species to my #BWKM0 list. Song Thrush and Dunnock are big gaps, so I was chuffed to see a Dunnock early on today. Also a Linnet flew over, and a brief and distant Hobby this afternoon. However, the fourth addition to the #BWKM0 list was as unexpected as they get...

After the first Red Kite this morning I posted this tweet...

By 'bigger prize' I was thinking raptor of course. Honey Buzzard, Black Kite, that kind of thing. There have been one or two about elsewhere. Anyway, at 14:10 I spied the third Sparrowhawk of the day and debated trying for a photo. But no, it was a bit distant, and clearly going away, so I didn't bother. At that moment a bird flew virtually overhead from behind me, at roughly treetop height. Its raptor-ish jizz didn't fool me for more than a nanosecond. It was a Cuckoo! Getting the bins on it straight away I had a cracking view from below, and could see the graduated tail feathers, each neatly tipped with a white blob. It was heading away fast, and my efforts to fire up the camera and grab a shot proved futile. But wow! Just wow! In my 17 years in E Devon and W Dorset this is only the third spring Cuckoo I have actually clapped eyes on, and I've heard no more than about three others. To be honest, today a Black Kite would have been less surprising!

My #BWKM0 list now stands at 57.

An obliging Buzzard this afternoon.

We have a small raised pond in the garden which attracts a few bits and bobs. Unfortunately a Broad-bodied Chaser flew through and was not attracted one bit, but this pair of Large Red Damselflies felt differently...

Resistance Training

Every time I've been for a decent walk lately, I've worn boots. Usually the grass is wet, and they seem the sensible option...

These boots were made for...er...walking.

Trouble is, the monsters weigh almost 1kg apiece. That's like heading off down the road with a bag of sugar strapped to each foot. No wonder my hip flexors wind up a bit sore, swinging those babies forward every stride. Anyway, today I didn't go out until quite late. The sunshine had me in shorts and a tired old pair of Merrell trainers, at half the weight. I was off like a rocket, and far less fatigued. It was like swapping the steel winter bike for the lighweight summer job. Brilliant!

Athletes would call this resistance training. Loosely defined, it applies to any exercise performed against a resistance (often a weight) and is designed to build muscular strength and endurance. The principle is that you make things intentionally hard for yourself, in order to make everything feel so much easier when the resistance is no longer present.

So let's take the principle and apply it to birding.

For most of us the spring birding has been pretty slow. The lockdown restrictions are like a massive extra weight on the barbell, like trying to climb the Col du Galibier on a Boris Bike. The birding version of resistance training. Have there been any benefits though? Benefits that will become evident when the restrictions are eased?

Speaking personally, yes, I think so. I've spent a lot of time looking at the sky. I've got good at it, certainly much better than I was. I have come to know the look of a uniformly blue, utterly birdless expanse. The moment - the very instant - that a bird intrudes upon it, it is nailed. Nailed. So yes, I've got brilliant at watching the infinitely empty bloomin' sky.

Nocmig is like a resistance training regime in itself. If you want to improve your ability to recognise bird calls, nocmig is like the weights-machine from hell. Take your usual birdy squeaks, chips, prrrts and yips, remove all context (like habitat, or handily-passing actual bird) and there you have it: a bird-call training mega work-out.

Like last night...

An interesting little squiggle on the spectrogram, and even more so when I listened to it. See if you can work out what it is. I'm going to give you a big fat clue: it's a wader.

So, I listened to it and thought to myself, 'Hmmm, that's obviously a passerine, but I've no idea which one.' And away I went, steaming off down some hopeless blind alley. Assuming you've listened to it, knowing it's a wader, chances are that you will have got it. If you are familiar with the call of Common Sandpiper, that is. Perhaps you're thinking how obvious it is, and how useless that NQS bloke is, and no doubt you are correct. I am really bad at this.

Anyway, Common Sand over my garden! What! Fantastic! Also a flock of Whimbrel that was audible for more than a minute!

I should mention that today's walk was very poor for birds. The only pukka migrant I encountered was a single Wheatear. This was nice though...

First Small Heath of the year.

All the while I was gliding silkily along in my gossamer shoes, I was thinking that it looked a brilliant day for raptors, and ever-conscious that much of UK airspace has lately been filled with Black Kites, Honey Buzzards and stupidly-rare, dark-morph Montagu's Harriers. But not a single interesting raptor did I see.

However, I'd been home about five minutes and a Red Kite drifted over. And then two more. Then three together. Then five together! By the end of a 20-25 minute spell, at least 13 had gone W, and shortly afterwards a 14th popped up above the trees to our east, eating something. It reappeared later, but didn't drift W like the others had. A Red Kite bonanza!

Any excuse for Red Kite photos...

A couple of silhouetted birds...

...and a slightly better lit one

Clutching something rather meaty-looking...

...and tucking in.

Red Kites are no longer the novely they once were, but they are always going to be a very welcome sight I think. Black versions will of course be a very, very welcome sight.