What It's Really All About

Last Sunday I set the alarm for 4.15 am. When it went off I can't say I jumped out of bed with any great enthusiasm. In fact I turned over and firmly drew the duvet over my ears, but then I realised it was now or never, this moment only comes once a year, so I had to get up.

The First of May was International Dawn Chorus Day, when you go out at dawn and listen to the wonder of all the little birds singing their hearts out. I've taken part twice before in 2012 here and 2013 here. The first time I ventured only as far as Garden65, the second, across the road to Fog Lane Park. This time, given the new relationship with Fletcher Moss Park, I chose to mark the event by walking dazedly around a less ordered landscape.

Too Early For Some

My street showing the favourite perch of our resident blackbird

I thought I had finished with the school run. Both children have fledged the nest. However, the eldest hasn't quite developed her flight feathers, so I drive her to work in the morning. The school run has become the work run.

It is not too much of a bother. At least I have the satisfaction of being useful to someone. The other bonus is being outside as the sun rises. I had forgotten, or maybe hadn't fully acknowledged, that the Dawn Chorus also happens in the winter. While I'm de-frosting the car, and the eldest is applying her make-up in the front seat, blackbirds and robins are shouting their little hearts out. It's a magical start to the day. Well, I think so, the eldest disagrees.

Let's give some thought to this. Why are the birds singing in the cold, when presumably food sources are still scarce, and the joys of spring are yet a couple of months away?

Then It Dawned On Me

Spooky mist ... and compulsory discarded lager can

It was International Dawn Chorus Day the other day. This is run by The Wildlife Trusts who want people to experience the dawn chorus in their gardens or join organised walks, and make note of all the interesting birds they can hear.

Last year I did this in Garden65. It was a magical hour, very atmospheric, but disappointing ornithologically. In that absolutely no birds sang their little hearts out in these trees. There was a blackbird that sat on a neighbour's TV aerial and had a good shout, but otherwise the chorus took part some distance away. This year, then, I rather boldly ventured out into the nearby Fog Lane Park.

I kitted myself out as though it was a great expedition: hat, gloves, leggings under jeans, walking boots, thermos of coffee, toast wrapped in tin foil.

I was so nervous about it that to be honest I missed the official Day, and only reluctantly got up the next morning. I told the family that I definitely didn't want to do it, but I knew it would be enjoyable once I got there. It's a bit like doing exercise - getting out of the door is difficult but you feel pleased with yourself once the whole event is over.

In short, I made a fuss.



However, what was a big adventure for me turns out to be completely normal for my children.

Just as I went to leave my daughter came in.

She bounced in, pony tail flying, with bare ankles, leggings with no covering jeans, and only a t-shirt and thin cardigan on. It hadn't got into my head that she may go out when it is dark, and spend a few hours in the dark of a nightclub, but when she comes back the birds are singing and the sky is pink. Of course, the magic of the natural world completely bypasses her. The idea of listening to the birds and making notes of which ones you can hear just doesn't make sense to her. Her ears are probably ringing, so she couldn't here them anyway.

It goes back to that idea of framing. A thing itself, be it flower border, dawn, or something you are cross about, has no meaning until you give it one yourself. My daughter doesn't attach any significance to dawn whereas I go all misty eyed about it.

My son too is comfortable with being outside as the sun rises. He has been a paper boy for many years. I truly admire him for his fortitude. Every Saturday and Sunday he has ventured out on his bike through rain, snow and ice, and is very familiar with dawn. In fact he is so toughened to the phenomenon that he says he prefers the winter time when he starts in the dark and sees the sun gradually rise, in comparison to the summer when it is light throughout his rounds.

It is worth noting, although I am sure you already know this, that 'dawn' may officially be when the sun rises over the horizon, but birds don't have access to astronomical data sets. The sky becomes light well before the official time, so the birds begin to sing an hour or more before dawn. Both this year and last year I made the mistake of setting out about half an hour before official dawn, but the show had already peaked by then and the poor little birds were beginning to got on with the more prosaic task of feeding.

Half an hour or so after official dawn

International Dawn Chorus Day

This morning I played at being a proper naturalist.

Wearing heavy winter coat and quirky Peruvian hat I ventured out with notebook and sound recorder to take part in International Dawn Chorus Day. While others around the world walked through woods or reed beds, perhaps even tropical jungle, I chose to sit on the bench in my garden. Deliberately so, not only because my interest is in the urban environment but also because it meant I didn’t have to get up real early to travel to a nature reserve. Ten minutes fumbling with thermals and I was out in the wild.

The sun officially rose at 5.24 am this morning. Expert birding people say the dawn chorus happens an hour before sunrise, so I figured I’d catch the last half hour and get up quarter to 5. Stepping outside was a magical moment. Inside the house I couldn’t hear many birds, and was worried this would be a waste of precious sleep time, but opening the back door revealed a different world of busy chirping, although the birds weren’t loud; it was a soft gentle sound. The experts were right though, after a few minutes the chorus as a whole died down leaving a lone blackbird to sing his song. It was almost as if the birds stopped singing as soon as the sun rose, at 5.24 on the dot.

Observations:

• My garden and those of surrounding neighbours are empty of birds. During the day all sorts zoom through but at dawn – no one. Of course this could be because I was there, but I don’t think so.
• The dominant bird was a blackbird that used a nearby TV aerial as its main perch. Other birds sat on aerials. Would they sit on the chimneys if the aerials weren’t there? What is going to happen now we all have satellite TV and the aerials come down? Do birds suffer if there are no high places to sing in the morning?
• To my ears the blackbird’s song was different to the evening one I know. It seemed to have a whistle in it.
Here is the blackbird singing early on: Here he is an hour later. Quieter?:
• The local cats were out in force – unfortunately. Surprisingly, and rather comically, they didn’t come over to talk to me like they usually do. They were very wary and one cat was so shocked to see a human out this early he turned round and ran away.
• Sparrows, wood pigeons, magpies, starlings and geese were the other bird species that featured.
• Smaller, more tuneful, birds could be heard in the front of the house, but none came near this area of gardens.
• Seagulls flew silently overhead in a north-westerly direction, perhaps making their way to the Manchester Ship Canal. But where were they coming from?
• The starlings appeared after the main chorus. Their ‘song’ didn’t sound any different from the normal racket, and I think they just got on with feeding their chicks. Don’t male starlings need to defend their territory?

Overall, I am glad I made the effort. It was fun. I’ll have another go in warmer weather; perhaps the little birds will come nearer. The local park would also be a good place to go, if the gates are open. But I am a little disappointed that the kind of birds you really want in your garden weren’t there. And goodness, I wish those cats would go away. I’m almost tempted to abandon the idea of a wildlife friendly garden and turn it into a neat and tidy Japanese style plot. The blackbird could sit on top of the pagoda, and the cats would love the gravel ... see, no difference at all!


And here are some geese flying over just as the sun rose.




Dawn Chorus Notes