NATURE NOTES Beginner ’s boobs
SYNONYMOUS WITH STUDY, SO IT INVOLVED PRESSED FLOWERS, DEAD BUTTERFLIES PINNED IN ROWS AND BLOWN BIRDS’ EGGS STORED ON COTTON WOOL IN BOXES.
B Several years passed before I met somebody else who had
the same interest, though mine was encouraged by my father. The next stage was to progress from dead specimens to live ones, with a large glass container providing the home for an ants’ nest, and a series of specially constructed gauze-fronted boxes for rearing butterfly and moth caterpillars through to the perfect imagos. Finally, this gave way to watching and studying wildlife ‘in the field.’ I do not remember the successes, if there were any, but I
did afterwards realise that the flocks of birds with chestnut-red rear ends in December stubble were not red-tailed Redstarts (which would, by then, have been in Africa), but rusty-rumped Yellowhammers. Similarly, despite being published in a children’s magazine, my highly unlikely record of a Crested Tit seen only in silhouette in Kent must actually have been an agitated Blue Tit with its crown feathers raised. The turning point came on a hot August day when I took a
pair of old opera-glasses, with a magnification of just ×4, and made a careful count of the sexes of the House Sparrows in one of the large flocks that were frequent in those days in cornfields at harvest-time. I calculated the percentages and was surprised to find that females greatly outnumbered males. That was my first big mistake. The ‘females’ were, of course, not just females, but also all the juvenile males. I was, however, hooked. This was biology. This was science.
This was fun. I began habitually to take the opera-glasses (and then a cheap pair of binoculars) with me on countryside rambles. My mistakes did not, however, come to an end. I was not helped, since this was before the time of modern field guides and my only reference book was - shall we say - not wholly reliable, as well as often illustrating only adult males in breeding plumage. I blame this for having incorrectly identified juvenile Greenfinches as the very much rarer Serins and wintering Snipe as Curlew Sandpipers (said to ‘fly off with sharp cries’, which the Snipe did). It was in late March, six months after drifting into becoming a birdwatcher, that the first success came. From the leafless trees along a hedgerow, I heard a very strange song, consisting of a series of repeated single
ACK IN MY SCHOOLDAYS, IN KENT IN THE 1940s AND 1950s, I CAUGHT THE NATURAL HISTORY BUG. AT THAT TIME, COLLECTION WAS ALMOST
By Tim Sharrock
Even the most experienced exper ts make a mistake now and again. Anyone star ting out on a new hobby inevitably makes many more, though perhaps does not realise it at the time.
sharp notes, not a trill, but a staccato sequence. Careful stalking eventually led to a decent view of a tiny, slim, thin-billed, greenish-brown bird bigger than a Goldcrest, but smaller than a Robin. In a eureka moment, I realised that it was the first summer visitor of the year, a Chiffchaff, constantly telling me its name: “chaff chaff chiff chaff...” Our onomatopoeic English name for this little warbler is mirrored by the Dutch Tjiftjaf and the German Zilpzalp. From then on, I was a ‘real’ birdwatcher and eventually even managed to make it my profession for 30 years. Now, back as a mere amateur, it is still my passion, and
every interesting observation has to be recorded, on spread- sheets these days, rather than in notebooks. Counting, whether of migrant flocks or of breeding pairs, is integral, and documentation value (for posterity, for conservation or simply to establish a reliable database) is the raison d'être. The satisfaction comes from carrying out such fieldwork and knowing that it will be useful, but the thrills come from the unexpected discoveries, often of unusual or rare plants or animals. For example, during a recent walk along my local river,
carrying out a breeding bird census for the fortieth consecutive year, I heard the utterly distinctive burst of song from a Cetti’s Warbler, and then another burst from a second one nearby. This species had not been seen or heard in the United Kingdom until 1961, when the first was discovered in Hampshire. Since then, it has spread to breed in East Anglia, Southwest England and Wales, but it was a real thrill to find it in my survey area close to my home. A short time later, I spotted a brilliant green-and-blue dragonfly amongst the clouds of Banded Demoiselles over the riverside vegetation, and a close view showed the distinctive markings of a Hairy Dragonfly, and then another species, the Scarce Chaser, that has slowly been colonising the rivers of eastern England. With a male Cuckoo cuckooing and a female Cuckoo bubbling, despite the usual hosts of their nestlings, Sedge Warblers, having virtually vanished (down from 22 pairs not long ago to a single male singing this year), the final delight of my pre-breakfast walk was a Red Kite. This long-winged, elegant raptor is now a common sight, but every one still gives me a thrill and demands that I watch it as it wheels, turns and twists in flight, using its long forked tail as a rudder. How can one not be delighted and excited by the natural world?
AUTUMN - WILDLIFE PUZZLE: Question: A bird and a plant this issue. What was known as a Dobber in Norfolk, a Bonnetie in Berkshire and a Dabber in Buckinghamshire? What is also known as Welcome Home Husband However Drunk You Be? (Answer below)
34 County Life
www.countylifemagazines.co.uk
Answers. Little Grebe or Dabchick, and Houseleek.
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