Walking in woods in winter, it can seem that nothing is stirring. There's little birdsong, apart from the indefatigable robins and raucous crows and jays, but if you stop and listen, you'll often become aware of a faint clamour in the air - a chorus, or rather conversation, of short soft 'pit' sounds, with the odd mildly scolding triple call and an undertone of soft churrings. Follow this mingled music to its source, look around you and up into the branches of the nearby trees, and you'll find you are in the midst of a foraging party of tits (or as the Victorians rather sweetly called them, titmice). Walking in the woods on Ashtead common yesterday, I had this enchanting experience several times. Each time I found myself surrounded by a profusion of long-tailed tits, flitting busily about and calling conversationally to each other as they worked their way from twig to twig, branch to branch and tree to tree. Also of the party were blue tits, coal tits (my favourites) and tiny goldcrests - but all were quite outnumbered by the longtails, which just kept on coming. They are a joy to watch, these bids, not only for their innate undeniable 'cuteness' - that beady-eyed ball of feathers look - but for their fearlessness. As they go about their business they seem unaware of, or at least indifferent to, human company - almost as if you weren't there - and will sometimes come within hand's reach with no sign of anxiety. But they are always on the move, always seeking out the next morsel, always making those soft interrogative calls to stay in touch with their fellow foragers. I must have been standing for 20 minutes or so watching one particular flock make its busy passage - I wasn't counting but there must have been 100 long-tailed tits in that party. Clearly, even after the fierce cold of December, these tiny birds are thriving. I wonder how they make it through such weather. I like to think of them seeing it out huddled up companionably together by the dozen, forming one soft warm feathery mass, their long tails turned up over their heads... But yesterday was mild, the lengthening of the day is just becoming noticeable, and in the garden the first snowdrops are showing the tips of white flowers between their sharp leaves.
Monday, 17 January 2011
Clamour in the Air
Walking in woods in winter, it can seem that nothing is stirring. There's little birdsong, apart from the indefatigable robins and raucous crows and jays, but if you stop and listen, you'll often become aware of a faint clamour in the air - a chorus, or rather conversation, of short soft 'pit' sounds, with the odd mildly scolding triple call and an undertone of soft churrings. Follow this mingled music to its source, look around you and up into the branches of the nearby trees, and you'll find you are in the midst of a foraging party of tits (or as the Victorians rather sweetly called them, titmice). Walking in the woods on Ashtead common yesterday, I had this enchanting experience several times. Each time I found myself surrounded by a profusion of long-tailed tits, flitting busily about and calling conversationally to each other as they worked their way from twig to twig, branch to branch and tree to tree. Also of the party were blue tits, coal tits (my favourites) and tiny goldcrests - but all were quite outnumbered by the longtails, which just kept on coming. They are a joy to watch, these bids, not only for their innate undeniable 'cuteness' - that beady-eyed ball of feathers look - but for their fearlessness. As they go about their business they seem unaware of, or at least indifferent to, human company - almost as if you weren't there - and will sometimes come within hand's reach with no sign of anxiety. But they are always on the move, always seeking out the next morsel, always making those soft interrogative calls to stay in touch with their fellow foragers. I must have been standing for 20 minutes or so watching one particular flock make its busy passage - I wasn't counting but there must have been 100 long-tailed tits in that party. Clearly, even after the fierce cold of December, these tiny birds are thriving. I wonder how they make it through such weather. I like to think of them seeing it out huddled up companionably together by the dozen, forming one soft warm feathery mass, their long tails turned up over their heads... But yesterday was mild, the lengthening of the day is just becoming noticeable, and in the garden the first snowdrops are showing the tips of white flowers between their sharp leaves.
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Just been admiring that same scene Nige, out of the kitchen window, the only difference is the menu, fatballs in our feeders which the long tailed tits devour at an alarming rate. They seem to have a 'patch' which they navigate around, appearing at our window three or four times each day. We have the feeders hanging next to the window and have a grandstand view. The recent non-tropical weather, lasting two months, seems not to have reduced their numbers at all.
ReplyDeleteDuring the summer months they prefer feeding in the birch grove, where they nest we do not know.
I wonder why there's something so serene and even...civilizing, somehow, about stopping and spending even a few minutes watching wild birds go about their business.
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