Royal Albatross

After several days heading south from Christchurch across the Canterbury Plains, we found ourselves standing on the windswept cliffs at Taiaroa Head late in the afternoon watching Royal Albatrosses soaring on the updrafts. Seeing these huge birds gliding past at eye level just a few metres away was a fantastic experience, a kind of natural air show conducted in total silence.

As the light faded and the rain began to fall we drove westwards, winding along the spine of the Otago Peninsula on the Highcliffe Road, through the southern suburbs of Dunedin and onto Highway 1 as it swings towards the distant towns of Gore and Invercargill. It was dark by the time we crossed the Clutha River and turned off onto the minor roads leading to the small settlement of Kaka Point, where we were stopping for the night.

In the morning, we awoke to the patter of rain on the camper van roof, and also, for the first time, a dawn chorus not dominated by the introduced European bird species. The Blackbirds and Song Thrushes which had been predominant ever since we arrived in Christchurch had at last been replaced by Tui, Bellbird and Grey Warbler.

With no sign of a let up in the rain (the Catlins area is a rain forest, after all!) we unpacked our wet weather gear for the first time and drove deeper into the hills. Passing a parking area with the now familiar green and yellow Department of Conservation sign pointing to “Lake Wilkie” we thought we’d stop and take a look. Walking through the dripping forest we discovered a small, shallow lake encircled by trees. The lake was formed between sand dunes during the last ice age and is slowly filling with silt. A series of interpretation boards document the succession from Manuka scrub colonising the encroaching lake shore to the fully grown podocarps beyond.

Lake Wilkie

Even though the rain was falling steadily birds were calling from the trees around the lake. I managed to position my Sony PCM-D50 on a wooden beam under one of the interpretation boards so it was sheltered from the rain, and captured a few minutes of the atmosphere. The recording is dominated by the sizzle of the rain on the lake and the trickling sound of water passing under the boardwalk but the occasional haunting notes of the Tui can be heard in the background.

Posted from Papatowai, Otago, New Zealand.

The penguins return in rafts of 10 or more birds, first appearing far out at sea and paddling slowly towards the shore. The photo on the left, taken from the viewing stand during daytime, shows the rocky slope where the penguins scramble out the water. They then pass through the fence on the right hand side of the picture (the wooden baffles help guide them to the entrances) and into the colony beyond. Each penguin pair has a nestbox in the colony, but when they first come ashore they tend to stand around in small groups and socialise – very loudly!

All photography and recording is banned during the evening viewing sessions to avoid the penguins being disturbed by camera flashes and autofocus lights, but once the session was over and we returned to the camper van we realised that the parking area was right next to the colony boundary, and the penguins were clearly audible. Apparently some penguins cross the parking area and nest in the vegetation on the far side – colony staff warn you to check under your vehicle for penguins before driving off!

I stuck my MiniPiP boundary array on the camper van roof and got this recording – there’s a lot of noise from other visitors and vehicles, but it still captures the amazing chorus of sound these little birds produce.

 

Posted from Oamaru, Otago, New Zealand.

Pond at Spencer Beach

In the morning we walked out through the dunes to the beach. This was our first real taste of New Zealand outside the urban areas, and our first view of the impressive New Zealand Flax. In the dune slacks we found a pond, with a family of Paradise Shelduck (based on our experiences every pond in New Zealand has a family of Paradise Shelduck!). Amongst the rushes and horsetails, frogs were croaking. Apparently all the endemic frog species live away from water and don’t croak, so I have no idea what species these are – any suggestions are welcome! You can also hear introduced Redpoll and Chaffinch in this recording.

Posted from Christchurch, Canterbury, New Zealand.

Sunday was the first really warm day of the year and felt more like May than February. Most weekends I visit the 200 acre Broadhempston Community Woodland near Totnes – going back to the same place once a week really lets you watch the changes that take place so swiftly at this time of year.

As I got out of the car this weekend the first thing I heard was a noisy flock of Fieldfares in a nearby Oak tree. During the harsh weather last winter huge flocks of migratory thrushes were pushed into Devon in search of food, and for a few memorable days we had them feeding on fruit and seed thrown out on our snow-covered back lawn. This year has been far milder, and these were the first Fieldfares I’ve seen all winter, so it was nice to catch sight of them before they head north to Scandinavia to breed.

Near the entrance to the woodland, Snowdrops, the traditional first spring flower were still in bloom. These have been out for a couple of weeks in this area, but this clump was holding up surprisingly well.

The brambles along the trails are still bare and brown, but already the Hazel catkins are fully developed.

Most of the woodland at Broadhempston is less than 20 years old, and as the trees mature thinning is needed. Several areas have been cut this winter – I’m not sure if these piles will be taken away to be used as firewood eventually or left as hiding places for bugs, reptiles and amphibians.

Around the base of some of the freshly cut trees this year’s nettle crop is already springing up. I’m always surprised by how completely nettles vanish over winter – the rank secondary growth you see in late summer seems quite sturdy, especially if you try and push through it, but by now last years stems are all but gone.

Most of the woodland is native species, but there are a few areas of conifer plantation with an eclectic mix of species. On a Monterey Pine, 7-spot Ladybirds were sunning themselves – presumably the dense foliage offers good cover for hibernation.

In the sheltered rides between the conifers, Hawthorn leaves have already broken out their buds.

Further down the ride, the Larch plantation gives way to a more unusual tract of Coast Redwoods. Unlike the twilight silence of most forestry plantations, these trees always seem to be full of life. Beams of sunlight penetrate the canopy and illuminate the strikingly coloured bark on the young trees.

Close up the bark is fascinating – hard outer scales covering a thick fibrous layer that falls away in chunks. This looks like it would make great firelighting tinder, but after bringing some home and testing it I discovered that in fact it pretty much refuses to burn, even when a match is held to it. Not surprising perhaps in a tree that has evolved to survive the wildfires that sweep through the Californian forests!

The floor of the plantation is covered with a deep carpet of the distinctive Redwood needles, which will remain dry even if the soil underneath is soaked.

Where a thin spot in the canopy allows enough light to reach the ground, Redwood saplings have sprung up from the roots and stumps of the larger trees.

Leaving the conifers behind I walked down to the large pond in the lowest part of the woodland. Here most things are still dormant, just a few frogs croaking amongst the reeds and the bare shoots of the Golden Willows catching the sunshine.

 

Posted from Dawlish, England, United Kingdom.

Takahe

In November last year Li-Li and I travelled to New Zealand for a month. We rented a small camper van, and explored as much of the country as we could in the limited time available – from the windswept dunes of Stewart Island in the far South to the huge Kauri trees of the Waipoua Forest in Northland. New Zealand is a beautiful country, and although the plight of much of the native wildlife (under attack by introduced species such as rats, stoats and possums) is severe, it’s still possible to see many of the surviving species in the wild without going too far off the beaten track.

As the holiday was primarily a sightseeing trip, and mindful of the restrictions of airline baggage, I wanted a lightweight recording setup which would still allow me to capture some of the unique sounds of this once-in-a-lifetime journey at a decent quality. A couple of months before we left I upgraded my Olympus LS-10 to a Sony PCM-D50, which I paired with my trusty MiniPIP microphones, mounted in a compact boundary array. This gave me the option of travelling light and just using the built-in mics on the PCM-D50, or taking along the array if I was more serious about recording.

The day after we arrived at Christchurch airport we picked up our camper van and, after stocking up on some food supplies, headed to the Willowbank Wildlife Reserve in the northern suburbs of Christchurch. Although we planned to see as many of the native bird species in the wild as possible, Willowbank has several of the most famous ones in captivity and we though it would be a good insurance policy to catch up with them there.

Among the species present at Willowbank are a pair of Takahe. A giant flightless relative of the Moorhen, these birds were believed to be extinct until 1948, when a small population was found in the remote mountain valleys to the west of Lake Te Anau in Fiordland. There are now around 250 birds, split between the Fiordland population; some of the predator free offshore islands and a number of breeding centres. The pair at Willowbank are older birds which have been retired from the breeding program at Mount Bruce National Wildlife Centre (although at the time we were there the staff at Willowbank had noticed they were displaying signs of nesting behaviour) and live in a large enclosure with a pond and plenty of long grass to provide cover. When we came to the enclosure one of the birds was sitting next to the fence and preening, while occasionally producing a deep “doop” call which carried quite a distance. The small microphones on the PCM-D50 weren’t ideal for catching the low-frequency resonance of the call, but it’s still an impressive sound.

 

Posted from London, England, United Kingdom.

Posted from Newton Abbot, England, United Kingdom.

When I left home at 05:30 a full moon was high in the sky and the birds in the coastal town where we live were already in full voice. During the drive to the reservoir a thick band of cloud covered the sky, and when I got there I was greeted by total silence except for the dripping of trees still wet from the previous night’s downpour. It was another half-hour or so before the clouds broke, allowing the dawn light to filter through and the birds to start singing.

The microphones (2 x AT4022 in a partially baffled boundary array) were located right on the shoreline at a narrow point in the reservoir, facing across the water towards a hillside covered with conifers and birch trees. Listen out for the twittering calls of a flock of Crossbills as they fly across the lake, and the occasional distant wing-claps of displaying Woodpigeons.

Posted from Newton Abbot, England, United Kingdom.

The freeze finally broke on the night of December 27th, and by the morning the snow was almost gone, and so were the Redwings aside from a few brief visits. Hopefully the food we gave them helped increase their survival chances during the cold spell, and we had the privilege of spending a few days observing these Scandinavian visitors – a great Christmas present!

Posted from Dawlish, England, United Kingdom.

For the third year running the polar jet stream has meandered southwards and brought snow and freezing weather to the whole of the UK. This has led to large numbers of winter migrants being pushed into Devon and Cornwall as they move south-west in search of warmer weather. Almost every tree around our house has several Redwings perched in the branches, and our garden bird list has a new addition, with two Meadow Pipits dropping in to forage for insects and snack on the bird food we put out.

A rather larger group of Meadow Pipits is the subject of this recording, made on the morning of the winter solstice in a field just outside Dawlish. You can also hear the flight calls or Redwing and Fieldfare, the distant drumming of a Great-spotted Woodpecker, and the croak of a Raven.

Recorded with 2 x AT4022 microphones in a partially baffled boundary array and a Tascam HD-P2 recorder.

Posted from Dawlish, England, United Kingdom.

The fungi fruiting season is at its peak here, and the damp weather over the last few days seems to have brought them out en masse. In places it was almost surreal, with several different species growing right next to each other as if some over-enthusiastic set dressers had been preparing the area for a fantasy film.

They weren’t just typical toadstools either – some were pretty much the size and texture of a human brain:

Cauliflower Fungus (Sparissis crispa)

There were also quite a few Puff-balls, some of which had exploded, leaving a greyish stain of spores on the surrounding ground:

Puff-ball

I’ve only seen Fly Agaric a handful of times in my life, but I lost count of them this morning. I was travelling fairly light as I had a lot of ground to cover (I clocked up 13 miles during the course of the morning) so I didn’t have a tripod or remote flash. The combination of the fog and the dense canopy of the conifer plantations meant that I had to use the built in flash on my camera, so apologies for the poor lighting in some of these shots.

Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria)

I’ve been able to identify most of the species I photographed (which is only a tiny fraction of the ones I saw) but this one is a mystery – to me it looks more like some kind of sea anemone!

Mystery fungus

In one part of the forest I walked along a track between very densely planted young conifers. These formed such an effective windbreak that although a strong breeze was blowing elsewhere the air there was almost still. Everything was dripping with water from the fog and these must have been ideal conditions because there were more different species here than anywhere else. The older fruits were themselves coated in thick layers of cobweb-like mould.

Mould on fungus

This one I really have no idea about – I can’t decide whether the yellow colour comes from the fungus itself or a mould growing on it, but it was pretty eye-catching!

Another mystery species

There was lots of Yellow Stagshorn in the area as well, ranging from single tiny fruits to huge colonies:

Yellow Stagshorn (Calocera viscosa)

Yellow Stagshorn (Calocera viscosa)

And finally a beautiful young Fly Agaric just pushing out of the grass:

Young Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria)