Towards the end of last summer I recorded my windharp at sunset at Scorhill stone circle on Dartmoor. A local artist, Eleanor Tallowin was also visiting the stones with her partner and young daughter. We got talking about the wonderful quality of the light, and their youngster had a go on the harp.
Eleanor has since created a dramatic and atmospheric artwork inspired by our encounter called “Capturing the wind at Scorhill”.
She uses molten wax infused with pigmented colour – “I love working with the molten wax as every piece I create is spontaneous and unique, I can never replicate any painting as I am working with a liquid medium.”
The windharp recordings are equally spontaneous and unique, and with her permission I’ve used her painting as the image for a video and added the sounds that I captured during that same evening.
Herons
Grey herons above the meadows this morning. I very seldom see them flying together. They appeared from upriver, one following the other, and further apart to begin with. There were a couple of loud calls as they came over North Bridge, then they came closer to each other before heading off towards Cotterstock lock.
It didn’t look like one was trying to scare off the other. No obvious belligerence. The nearest heronry is maybe seven miles upstream at Titchmarsh. If they are a pair with eggs I’d expect one of them to be on the nest at all times. But they could be a pair that hasn’t laid yet.
If they’re the foraging partners from different pairs then perhaps they’re not as territorial when far away from their nests? Maybe they even cooperate, or at least tolerate each other? Or they could be first year birds, which don’t mate till the following year. Just thinking aloud…
Silence
This afternoon I walked the old railway line between Stanwick Lakes and Thrapston. It’s a lovely stretch of around 4 miles through rivers and lakes, but at the start there’s horrendous noise pollution from the A45. By the end the same roar is coming from the A14.
The two roads gobble up vast tracts of silence. It’s not till about halfway along the route that neither can be heard. For just a few hundred yards there’s nothing but natural sounds. Bliss! Sad though….
Little grebes at Holme Fen
We went for a walk at Holme Fen yesterday and there was a sound coming from a reed bed I’d not heard before. Loud, bright and ecstatic – a bit like a female cuckoo, but they won’t arrive for another month or so.
Turns out it was a Little Grebe. The thought of recording it got me out of bed to drive there at 4.30 this morning. Here’s a rough edit, with the video picture showing my parabolic microphone balanced on a fallen birch tree.
There are a couple of grey heron calls early on, Canada geese and whooper swans, then the grebe itself calls at 18 and 54 seconds, and again at 1.12. What an amazing sound for such a tiny, shy bird!
Cetti’s warbler at Otmoor
The sound of a Cetti’s warbler at Otmoor reserve. They have a sweet and gentle tone at the start of the breeding season, but later it becomes an explosive quack that can make you jump.
I saw a grey heron sitting on a nest in the reeds, and there were bittern booms nearby. Curlews and lapwings too. It’s a quiet place a long way from traffic. I hope to return to make some early morning recordings when spring gets properly going.
Snettisham – oystercatchers
Snettisham yesterday evening – high tide and oystercatchers
Blenheim Park
Distant herons on a nest at Blenheim yesterday
Nest building at Blenheim
Trying to learn about herons. Grey (the most common) herons are colonial breeders – they nest together like rooks in what are known as heronries. Very often these are on islands within lakes. In towns they can be in public parks. In the country it could be gravel pits or landscaped parkland belonging to big private landowners, historically aristocrats.
I delivered Eleanor to a residential course south of Oxford today, so stopped off at Blenheim Park on the way back. You don’t get more aristocratic than that. Luckily there’s free public access to the park – and a heronry. It’s well over a hundred yards off shore, but I watched for a whole afternoon.
Herons don’t do much for long periods, then do a lot quickly. The video shows one of a pair collecting a giant twig for nest building and delivering it to its other half, which is standing on the nest itself. Then it turns back into a statue.
Not sure which sex is which yet, but it was a good outing. Saw a lot of behaviour and learnt a lot. And I went to visit Winston’s grave at Bladen nearby, which mum would have loved.
I delivered Eleanor to a residential course south of Oxford today, so stopped off at Blenheim Park on the way back. You don’t get more aristocratic than that. Luckily there’s free public access to the park – and a heronry. It’s well over a hundred yards off shore, but I watched for a whole afternoon.
Herons don’t do much for long periods, then do a lot quickly. The video shows one of a pair collecting a giant twig for nest building and delivering it to its other half, which is standing on the nest itself. Then it turns back into a statue.
Not sure which sex is which yet, but it was a good outing. Saw a lot of behaviour and learnt a lot. And I went to visit Winston’s grave at Bladen nearby, which mum would have loved.
Trying to learn about herons. Grey (the most common) herons are colonial breeders – they nest together like rooks in what are known as heronries. Very often these are on islands within lakes. In towns they can be in public parks. In the country it could be gravel pits or landscaped parkland belonging to big private landowners, historically aristocrats.
I delivered Eleanor to a residential course south of Oxford today, so stopped off at Blenheim Park on the way back. You don’t get more aristocratic than that. Luckily there’s free public access to the park – and a heronry. It’s well over a hundred yards off shore, but I watched for a whole afternoon.
Herons don’t do much for long periods, then do a lot quickly. The video shows one of a pair collecting a giant twig for nest building and delivering it to its other half, which is standing on the nest itself. Then it turns back into a statue.
Not sure which sex is which yet, but it was a good outing. Saw a lot of behaviour and learnt a lot. And I went to visit Winston’s grave at Bladen nearby, which mum would have loved.
I delivered Eleanor to a residential course south of Oxford today, so stopped off at Blenheim Park on the way back. You don’t get more aristocratic than that. Luckily there’s free public access to the park – and a heronry. It’s well over a hundred yards off shore, but I watched for a whole afternoon.
Herons don’t do much for long periods, then do a lot quickly. The video shows one of a pair collecting a giant twig for nest building and delivering it to its other half, which is standing on the nest itself. Then it turns back into a statue.
Not sure which sex is which yet, but it was a good outing. Saw a lot of behaviour and learnt a lot. And I went to visit Winston’s grave at Bladen nearby, which mum would have loved.
Trying to learn about herons. Grey (the most common) herons are colonial breeders – they nest together like rooks in what are known as heronries. Very often these are on islands within lakes. In towns they can be in public parks. In the country it could be gravel pits or landscaped parkland belonging to big private landowners, historically aristocrats.
I delivered Eleanor to a residential course south of Oxford today, so stopped off at Blenheim Park on the way back. You don’t get more aristocratic than that. Luckily there’s free public access to the park – and a heronry. It’s well over a hundred yards off shore, but I watched for a whole afternoon.
Herons don’t do much for long periods, then do a lot quickly. The video shows one of a pair collecting a giant twig for nest building and delivering it to its other half, which is standing on the nest itself. Then it turns back into a statue.
Not sure which sex is which yet, but it was a good outing. Saw a lot of behaviour and learnt a lot. And I went to visit Winston’s grave at Bladen nearby, which mum would have loved.
Kingfisher
By the town boat club this morning. This male flew in with a fish and perched for about five minutes before flying off with it still in its beak. Normally the fish would be eaten straight away, but it’s being held in the correct position to be fed into the beak of a female kingfisher. Courtship is well under way!
Blackbird
Still light, properly light, at 5 pm. On the way back through town one blackbird sings after another. Warm, gentle, unfocused. Not yet loud enough to soar above the traffic, but a welcome hint of the glorious weeks and months to come.
In the back streets the twilight glows with the unfolding simplicity of their song.
Holme Fen
A couple of minutes of the Holme Fen soundscape at daybreak this morning. The bleats and grunts are from cormorants. They were already sitting on nests in the islands to the left and right of the picture.
The sounds of greylag geese pass over at one point, and after about a minute a kingfisher flies by with its characteristic high piping “Tzee”. You can hear softer calls between it and its mate for most of the rest of the clip.
Robins and great tits are singing in the background and there’s also a moorhen and some crows. Elsewhere I heard green woodpecker, mistle and song thrushes, and possibly a blackbird (though they don’t seem to have properly fired up so far this year).
Grey herons don’t appear to be nesting yet, but a roost of around a dozen little egrets was sitting in the branches of a tree at the westerly edge of the lake.
Lapwings at Titchmarsh NR
Non-swimming heron
At first sight this heron appears to be swimming, and although they don’t have webbed feet there are a few videos online of grey herons doing exactly that. But I watched this bird as it picked its delicate way down the bank and stepped into the water. Then it took a sedate walk along the shallows with long legs bent and feet firmly planted on the river bed.Proof that it still had contact with the bottom came when it suddenly lunged from the river and flew off. The first flap of those huge wings grabs a mighty scoop of air, but the leap from the water was so explosive that leg power must have been needed too.
Poise
Great tits
Great tits are prominent singers in the early months of the year. Their song is known as “belling”, and its two-note sawing sound seems perfectly designed to ring and echo through bare winter branches.
There are a lot of intriguing variations to that simple song, both between birds and from the same individual at different times. I’ve put together a half dozen clips to illustrate.
The species is one of the most studied in the world, thanks to decades of research by the Edward Grey Institute into the lives and habits of great tits in Witham Woods near Oxford. I think there’s a study somewhere about how they learn and build up their songs – must get my thinking cap on and delve into it…
Dawn at Kinewell
The sound of Kinewell heronry at 6.15 this morning. It was very cold but worth getting up for. All the calls until about 40 seconds into the video were made solely by grey herons – then some Canada geese joined in.
I’d only ever heard the “craak” alarm call before as a heron takes off across the meadows. In one of BB’s children’s books the sound is written phonetically as “frank”, which is also a dialect name for the bird itself.
These new sounds came from static positions in the trees where nests are being built. Communication appeared much more complex. The alarm call seems to belong to prehistoric times, and these braying, guttural squawks reinforce that.
I’m looking forward to the cries of the chicks in early spring. The Kinewell heronry only has a few nests – some can have a hundred. The sound must be awe-inspiring!
Kinewell Lake
A “seige of herons” at Kinewell Lake near Ringstead this morning. The collective noun is said to come from an old French word for seat, but I prefer to think it’s got something to do with endless waiting.
Anyway, this is the first heronry I’ve seen, and there were at least a dozen grey herons seated or flying around a small island at one end of the lake. A couple of egrets too. They may be pairing up already and should be nest building soon.
The island is within hearing and recording range of my parabolic mic, so I’m planning an early morning visit on Sunday to see what sounds they (and their cormorant confederates) are making.
Heron and egrets
Near the bridge across the river on the path to Ashton there’s a channel between the millpond and the main river itself. About three years ago there was a dramatic amount of clearing and felling there, which made me sad at the time. But after a couple of growing seasons it now looks much better.
It seems to have turned into a magnet for herons. As I drew level with the opening from the river yesterday there were both a great and a little egret glowing white and bright against the dull mud and winter branches towards the pond.
Both took off – the little egret weaving through the branches, and the great egret making a tight spiral upwards till it was met by another flying in from the meadows. There were some clacking sounds – rather like a glug-glug-glug a human might make at the back of the throat – and then the elegant pair winged off upriver.
While I was watching this I hadn’t noticed there was a grey heron there too, hiding in still plain sight. It took off with an exasperated Crrrraaak!
When I went back today there was just the little egret. But in the trees above were four ravens. Two flew off over Oundle, while the others took off towards Ashton. I could hear one calling from one of the tall pines as I walked back along the road.
The darkling thrush
Song thrush in a dusky blue-grey drizzle
The walk to Apethorpe
Last week I made four attempts to walk the 2 to 3 miles though the forest from Southwick to Apethorpe. Largely it was a story of mud and ravens…
The heavy clay footpath downhill from the old railway carriage was a rain-puddled morass more suited to bog snorkelling. One false move and you’d leave a welly behind. A crafty submerged bramble nearly tripped and did for me altogether.
Then just as I emerged from the bog a pair of ravens arrived and wheeled overhead. Strong necks thrust from welterweight shoulders, feathers splayed from the trailing edges of their wings, calls gruff and muscular as a rutting stag….
Nothing for it but to stand, gawp and listen as they whirled above the treetops. Rooted, ancient – the stuff of Beowulf or Middle Earth. Centuries fell away. Hours passed. Time to turn for home.
On the third day I got past the mud and ravens and took a path beyond the forest that I’d last walked decades before. But it had been rerouted round a celebrity’s property. Nothing looked the same. I got enjoyably lost, but managed to double back in the sure knowledge of how to get to Apethorpe next time.
On the fourth day I made it. Past the Elizabethan house that was once a borstal, now upgraded once again to a “palace”. Then into the village and back on the road alongside the lake. There’s been a heronry there in the past and I’d like to explore. But it’s invisible from the road. It might be reachable through contacts.
Then into Woodnewton, past Coco the Clown’s grave in the churchyard and back through the forest. During the slippery walk uphill a raven passed over with a hefty twig. It’ll be a long time before the path is dry, but the nest can’t be far away.
Grey wagtail at the weir
One of my favourite sights by the weir near Cotterstock lock this morning – a wagtail doing what wagtails do. A joy to watch!
I also heard my first chaffinch of the year by Cotterstock Hall.
Jays and ravens
Stirring sounds at sunset – jays, ravens and some “chikks” from a woodpecker. Jays and ravens are both corvids, but they sound very different.
When I hear jays screeching around dusk there’s often a tawny owl call too. I’ve seen them mobbing owls – they’re natural enemies. Ravens make wonderfully visceral sounds. I’ve only just realised that they have a loud swoosh to their wingbeats too, which carries more than a hundred yards in a quiet wood. No wonder they’re such a powerful presence in legend and ancient fiction.
Heron with a fish
Not the tidiest photo, but I seldom see a heron holding a fish
Woodpecker and ravens
Great spotted woodpecker by the river this morning. There’s been some drumming in the last few days, but this one was just quietly tapping about looking for grubs and insects. High winds seem to quieten the birds right down – attempts to communicate may be pointless when there’s so much noise in the trees.
While I was waiting for the woodpecker to reappear from the far side of the trunk a pair of ravens came kronking overhead. They were headed towards Southwick.
My first song thrush
This song thrush was lording it over a hedgerow on the edge of town this morning, sending out short bursts of song to whomever it might concern. It was great to hear him – it’s been a while.
Blackbirds are still practicing their sub song at the moment – a warmish sunny day could bring them into full evensong over the next few weeks.
Spring signs
There was real sense of spring in the air this morning. Three different wrens (including this one) popped up to warn me off their property. A pair of stonechats took turns to dance between reed stems and grass. And a woodpecker drummed out loud and proud on the far bank.
Bob Dylan, herons and wagtails
On the way to see the Bob Dylan film, I stopped to look for herons. In the next month or so they’ll gather together in heronries to nest. There’s a known site at Kinewell Lake near Ringstead. It’s a lovely setting with a public path right round the perimeter. Grey herons and cormorants perched on islands, as well as great egrets which are part of the heron family. It should be a good place to watch them and get some good sound recordings of the adults and chicks.
I saw the film in Cineworld at Rushden Lakes Shopping Centre. A strange and alien setting, made even more unsettling by the video game interior design of the foyer. But the film itself was excellent – completely believable, and the music and sound design were a joy.
Walking back to the car in the dark afterwards, past the anonymous lights of the endless prestige label shops and eating places, I heard wigeon calling from the lake which runs alongside the site. Round sunken gardens at water level have been set into the terraces between groups of shops. One connects beneath the paving with the lake itself and contains a reed bed.
I heard a quiet kerfuffle on the way past and stopped by the well-lit entrance to Greggs to look down. A hundred or more tiny white faces looked up at me, pied wagtails fidgeting and swaying among the reeds as they settled down to roost for the night.
Raven calls
The gutteral, primeval call of a raven echoing through the wintry trees above Southwick this morning. Towards the end it takes off, and you can hear the swoosh of its wing beats.
Robin
I was standing in the misty stillness of the woods by the river this morning when this little beauty settled on a twig about 6 feet away. It stayed there while I ever-so-slowly took my camera out of its case and took a few photos.
A fine pair of fishers
A fine pair of fishers by the river this morning
More from the Straw Bear
Dancers at the Straw Bear Festival
Just got back from the Straw Bear festival in Whittlesey, a gathering based on the day in January when farmers hired their workers for the coming year. There’s traditional(ish) music and dance all around the town, and a chance to share in some light, colour and eccentricity at what can be a grey time of year.
This is the Oompa Loompa dance by the wonderful Gog Magog Molly from Cambridge
Frosty silence…
Heron on the far bank with frost and somnolent mallards
Kingfisher by the bridge
A bright sight on the far bank this morning. He was very noisy, and I heard two calling there yesterday. Fingers crossed they’re carving out a territory between North Bridge and Cotterstock.
Grey Heron
“…and about herons, and how particular they were whom they spoke to…” Wind in the Willows
Goldfinch
A lovely warm sight on a cold bright day
Tawny calls
I took a walk through the forest in the dark to record tawny owls. I had no luck until I was heading back on the track at the edge of the trees with my mic on record and some instinct made me stop. The first calls are female. The answers are male. Amazing sounds..
Nightingale
I took this image of a nightingale at Glapthorn 5 years ago – it’s still the only decent image I’ve managed to get in all the years I’ve been listening to them….
Ancient Oak
This is
an ancient oak tree in the forest that’s been there for many centuries. It’s a good friend and counsellor, and I’ve been visiting it on and off for nearly four decades. The trunk measures three paces in diameter and the remains of a fallen bough stretches out for twelve paces to the side. Other fallen timbers lie around too, split along their length but still strong, like half finished struts and spars in an abandoned boat yard.
Another nightingale
I heard another new nightingale in the forest last night, which brings the total there to nine different singers so far this year. Given that only around five thousand may make it across the channel each spring that’s an impressive amount for a smallish patch of woodland near the species’ northern limit.
The cuckoo and the nightingale
The cuckoo and the nightingale in Southwick Forest at 9pm on 5 May
Owls
I’ve just been listening to two tawny owls doing high wobbly hooting, rhythmic and overlapping, one on G and the other a D below that. Never heard anything like it before. Beautiful.
A nightingale on May Morning
A nightingale I unexpectedly heard (and could just about see) in Short Wood at first light this morning. Happy Dawn Chorus Day!
Bluebells
Southwick Wood, 6am
Gilbert White’s Brown Owls
A new track created with Faradena Afifi. It started with a recording I made of two Tawny Owls in the forest, then we added music and I read excerpts from Gilbert White’s 18th Century writings “The Natural History of Selborne”
Reed Warbler
They’ve been back for a while, but it’s lovely to hear the sweet scratchy syncopations of reed warblers along the edge of Snipe Meadow again…. the bird world’s version of an African drummer