Bird in Devon

We've been in Devon in a yurt soaking in the deep peace of the deep countryside. This was complete isolation, borrowed space from the trees and the animals.

There was a bird singing loudly near us. It was almost as loud as the wrens. It had more stamina though and the song was varied and surprising, familiar yet different. I thought it might be a whitethroat but the phrases were longer and more elaborate. It was a bit like a dunnock but the range was lower - like a blackbird covering a dunnock song. I have a birdsong app on my phone, which I scoured but there wasn't anything that matched.

I followed the mysterious singing bird and even though it seemed like it was in a bush just in front of me, I couldn't see any movement except a glimpse when it flew off somewhere else. It looked small and brown and nondescript. I abandoned the quest and went to do something else.

But it kept singing. I heard it when I woke up at 5 in the morning and it was there when we were having breakfast. I left my coffee to go and see if I could identify it but still it escaped my view.

I knew it was only feet away. It was definitely there, I could hear it. And I had recorded it singing, so eventually I'd be able to identify it, but I just wanted to see it, to meet it, to watch it. Rose said it was my nemesis. Its song seemed mocking in its concealed closeness.

Then after the next breakfast, I said to Rose that I was going out to find it and I wouldn't come back until I had seen it. This could have been a fool's pledge but I followed the singing and for just a few seconds it paused on the telephone wire just above a hedge. It was a blackcap! A new bird. Seeing it felt like I had caught it. The hunt was over. I went back to tell Rose.

Here is a video showing how loud and close and frustratingly hidden it was:

Here is what a blackcap looks like:

Though I didn't get a picture of the bird myself, I think I might have filmed one of its children:

When nightingales sing

Due to various organisational/transportational mistakes and difficulties, we missed the annual Plumpton Green Nightingale Walk (May 1st) and we had to find our own way.

It was about quarter past eight and still just about light. We had a torch and phones, etc. but we were still a little apprehensive to be walking off into the evening countryside with no guiding principle except the vague memory of a map on the internet.

We went over stiles supplied by local volunteers called 'The Monday Group' and strayed through farms. It was quiet. There were no cars rumbling in the background. The secluded farmhouses looked like the most peaceful places on earth and then in the gloaming we could just about see a woodland floor carpeted in bluebells. We thought maybe we would see a barn owl and then all would not be wasted if we didn't hear any nightingales.

I don't think we ever considered the possibility of actually seeing a nightingale; questing for a nightingale is usually purely to hear its song. That's why it's famous. It's not for their looks. They actually look pretty boring, just light brown and white, slightly bigger than a robin. Their song and the fact that you can often hear it at night is the reason you have such things as Keats' 'Ode to a Nightingale' and that (human) song, 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square', which is about how mysterious and special it would be if you heard a nightingale singing in the centre of London, seeing as they are usually found in countryside hedgerows. 

Their song is varied, with lots of quick repeated blips and blops. I think if someone who didn't know anything about birdsong heard a nightingale singing they would think 'woah! that bird's making some weird noises.' The nightingale is a strong insistent singer with an impressive repertoire.

When a nightingale is singing at night it's because he hasn't found a mate yet. While the others are settling down and getting an early night, he's out partying.

Just after we saw the bluebells, we turned back to go home because it was getting dark and yes we did hear a nightingale singing. It was too dark to see anything but we stayed and listened until it flew away and it was special.

Looking for red kites in Plumpton

Yesterday I went to Plumpton on my own to look for red kites. Kaile has seen some there loads of times, so I was fairly confident.

The day was as beautiful and unblemished as you could ask for, weather-wise - the kind of day that would be wasted if it wasn't spent outside.

I bought a cake and an apple from the village shop and asked where the college was. I was told it was a long walk away but I didn’t mind and I wasn’t necessarily going there anyway, I was just curious.

As the walk took me across fields, I could hear lots of birds singing, including my first chaffinch of the spring and I managed to see one in a tree, as well as great tits and chiff-chaffs and greenfinches.

Then I saw what I thought were some red kites in the sky. They were high up, but they looked real big, with light markings on the underside of their wings. Unfortunately they were soon out of view.

I followed in their direction hoping to catch up with them. I think I imagined turning a corner into a forest clearing to see them a few feet away tearing apart some kind of corpse, snarling at me because they think I want some, but not flying away in fear.

I walked for a while. I got to the main road and kept going. I didn’t know where I was going. I hadn’t made exact plans. I hadn't asked Kaile where I should go to find the red kites, which I should have done. I just kept going up a steep hill, right up to the top, hot in my winter coat but I didn’t want to stop until I got to the top, and I knew that it would have to be pretty magnificent when I got there because I had been walking upwards for ages.

When I did reach the top, I realised I had reached the top of the South Downs and that I could see out across Sussex with Plumpton an unimportant cluster miles and miles in the distance.

I sat down and ate my cake. There was a yellow bird and I skipped away to chase it, leaving my belongings exposed and unattended in the grass. I thought about leaving all my possessions behind and becoming a nature man. There was plenty of room there for someone to live in some kind of hut or tent. I thought, what if I just stay out here for a few years? - finding out which flowers are edible, which branches construct the best huts, which leaves make the best hats, bathing in the rain, drying in the sun, rising when the sun she rises, riding a sheep to victory.

There were some walkers walking the South Downs Way and that kind of broke the illusion of wild isolation. I carried on walking. I went back down the hill and found the college but I couldn’t see any more red kites. There were lots of crows though and because the sun reflecting on their relatively broad wings made them look light-coloured, I kept thinking they might be red kites. Sometimes it’s hard to judge size from a distance. Then I thought maybe the ones I had seen earlier could have been crows as well. But I didn’t mind too much because the day wasn’t as focussed on the sighting of a particular species as other previous trips have been. At least I had heard all the spring birds singing and seen celandines and primroses and a six-petalled white flower and a four-petalled blue one and a big black mushroom, magnolia trees, the yellow bird, all kinds of generous green/brownery.

I thought about taking the bus back into Plumpton because my feet were very tired but I didn’t want to wait around for it and I’m glad I didn’t because on the walk back I saw two red kites high in the sky and I’m pretty sure they weren’t crows. I watched them for a while circling high above me in the late-afternoon sky:

[N.B. After examining the pictures/footage I took, I have concluded that they were actually buzzards and not red kites. Note the small, non-pointed tail.]