Gone

This man knew a thing or two about watching birds...

all I saw of
the bird was the bouncing
branch he left
-Matsuo Basho

Up from the Egg: The Confessions of a Nuthatch Avoider-- Ogden Nash

Bird watchers top my honours list.
I aimed to be one, but I missed.
Since I’m both myopic and astigmatic,
My aim turned out to be erratic,
And I, bespectacled and binocular,
Exposed myself to comment jocular.
We don’t need too much birdlore, do we,
To tell a flamingo from a towhee;
Yet I cannot and never will,
Unless the silly bird stands still.
And there’s no enlightenment in a tour
Of ornithological literature.
Is yon strange creature a common chickadee,
Or a migrant alouette from Picardy?
You rush to consult your Nature guide
And inspect the gallery inside,
But a bird in the open never looks
Like its picture in the birdie books---
Or if it once did, it has changed its plumage,
And plunges you back into ignorant gloomage.
That is why I sit here growing old by inches,
Watching the clock instead of finches,
But I sometimes visualize in my gin
The Audubon that I audibin.

Coincidence? Or...(insert sinister music here)

So there is this friend of mine. Yes! I still do have friends inspite of the PJs I churn out like 'Pun'jab churns out lassi.I digress.So about this friend of mine.We meet up once in a way on weekends over a drink or four.To plan our nefarious activities we usually keep in touch on the phone as both of us have a more than one pan on the burners.Its a remarkable coincidence that the last three times i have spoken to him, while i was still on the phone , I have seen Grey Hornbills, at each time the location was different.Maybe I should bring this chap birding.God knows what we might see then, or at least give him a call if birding is not that great.

I concur

Truth to tell, the sisters Vyas aren’t really chirpy early risers. But we have a persuasive mother and I went walking with her this morning. Having heard of this ‘goldmine of a birding spot’, I urged that we direct our footsteps thither. And what do you know, Shweta’s spot is truly lovely. Apart from the military guards who’re distinctly (and understandably) antsy about lurkers with binoculars. Once you shake them off, though… oh, what fun.

This morning’s yield, after I leave out the usual suspects of sun birds, prinias, spotted doves, bee-eaters, mynahs and babblers:

Short toed eagle (Circaetus gallicus) – 1 nos
Grey Hornbills (Ocyceros birostris) – 4 nos
Coppersmiths (Megalaima haemacephala) – 1 nos (seen), a forestful (heard)
Tickell’s flycatcher (Cynoris tickelliae) – 1 nos
Indian robin (Saxicoloides fulicata) - 1 nos
Blackrumped Flameback woodpecker (Dinopium benghalense) – 1 nos
Peafowl (Pavo cristatus) – 4 nos (first viewing of the dance, specimen bit sparsely endowed but I shall not cavil).

Also on the way back through the colony, poking head out of a cracked window glass… Mr Sparrow! With the missus not far away, appearing very broody. Joy! I find the Sparrow defection very hard to take, and every sighting is like forgiveness.

Bird rights

I am in a terrible fret. The thing is, I found this goldmine of a birding spot about a kilometer from home, I have been there three days in a row, and now it seems I may be banned from it. My mother squarely blames me for arguing with the military guard and says I may be responsible for that entire area being shut off from civilians. I don’t think things are so bad yet. I have finally managed to ferret out my army camouflage cap and hope to appear very inconspicuous tomorrow.
Really, but how is one expected not to display some enthusiasm when one spots a pair of White-bellied Drongos, a Silverbill, a Coppersmith, an Oriole, two loverly Treepies, a pair of Grey Hornbills, an Iora, a Large Wood Shrike and then goes a little ahead to stumble upon so divine a birding spot that all IDing faculties are suspended in stupefaction. All this a stone’s throw (OK given a giant’s arm) away from where I’ve been living all my life! Surely, under these circumstances one is allowed to be a little silly?
Any way I have to go back and confirm if some of those bathing beauties were indeed Indian Blue Robins. Like I said, it was so perfect a picture that all I could do was stand and stare. It was a thickish overgrowth with a tiny stream going through it. The sun was slanting in and catching the water most beautifully. The air was sharp with birdcalls. And suddenly they swooped in, about ten of them, and raised the dust off the water. The flying water droplets were like silver beads in the sunlight and our friends were having themselves a frolic. Later they perched themselves to dry off and I thanked heaven for a day well begun.

Look at what flew in...

This fledgling parakeet came into our garden yesterday. Blossom headed, we reckon, going by the yellow beak. Our theory was it flew from its nest in a fit of reckless bravado and then finding itself tiring, came down to rest, because it sat there quietly in this hibiscus bush for about half an hour even as the sun birds and tailor birds twittered around it.

To know oneself as we know another

"When birding one morning at sunrise, I asked a bird I didn't know if he knew what kind of bird he was himself, and he said he didn't but he could always tell another bird of the same kind when he saw one." - Robert Frost in Antaeus - Journals.

The Ostrich

Ogden Nash

The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
Its mouth is wide, its neck is narra.
It has such long and lofty legs,
I'm glad it sits to lay its eggs.

I drew these pictures out of photos a long time back. Got them scanned and uploaded them.

Gannet: drawn from photograph in Sunday magazine- The Hindu
20 march 2004

















Kestrel: Drawn from photograph in the book'The gift of birds' published by National wildlife federation(U.S.A)

21 june 2005

Bird Brain.

The scene: a traffic light crossing on a university campus in Japan. Carrion crows and humans line up patiently, waiting for the traffic to halt.

When the lights change, the birds hop in front of the cars and place walnuts, which they picked from the adjoining trees, on the road. After the lights turn green again, the birds fly away and vehicles drive over the nuts, cracking them open. Finally, when it’s time to cross again, the crows join the pedestrians and pick up their meal.

If the cars miss the nuts, the birds sometimes hop back and put them somewhere else on the road. Or they sit on electricity wires and drop them in front of vehicles.

Read the full article on these bird brains here

Breakfast---- P.H. Kilby

Good morning little earthworm,
Said the speckled thrush,
Where would you be going,
So early in a rush?
I’m off to find some breakfast,
He answered with a frown.
Well so am I sir, said the thrush
And quickly gulped him down.

And if you thought my puns were bad...look things are getting verse

The Seagull
Ogden Nash.

Hark to the whimper of the sea-gull;
He weeps because he's not an ea-gull.
Suppose you were, you silly sea-gull,
Could you explain it to your she-gull?

You can tell these birds anything and they'll believe you...They are pretty Gull-ible.

The Mystery of the Missing Merops

As early as October each year, we'd find our colony invaded by swarms of small green bee-eaters (M. orientalis), like I mentioned last year in this post. They were especially fond of one tree one road away from us, and they' d raise quite a din settling down for the night, every night of the winter.
They're missing this year. Just the odd ones are here but nowhere near the hundreds we saw last November.
:-(

Koschan

Arjun, I have a riddle for you.

Q: Why did they fire the offcial at the bird sanctuary?

Rhyme, no reason

Doing pomes, are we? Chalo, meri baari. Found this one in BBC's Wildlife magazine, September 2003. Part of a poetry contest organised by the magazine and Poetry Please, Radio 4.

Birds keep flying

in and out of my poem,
perching on the adjectives,
nesting between the lines.

They strut about
on long spindly legs
looking for worms
with their big beaks.

Their songs
are the most beautiful colours.

One of them is flying upside down.
I think that means
it feels at home.

I wouldn't mind, only
I had forty-eight lines on the nature of life
that they've pecked to ribbons,
and their droppings
have messed up all the rhymes.

I'm afraid they'll have to go.

-Michael Swan

First words

What shall I say first? Much clearing of throat happened; weighty words of welcome were being considered. Fortunately for all of us, fellow-contributors have set the tone with Nash (of whom I'm told there is an endless supply) and Richard Edwards, poet of great felicity. Hurrah!

As you, sharp reader, will have guessed: this blog is about birds, birding, birders. And what fun we will have!

So, there's nothing for it but to imitate one's betters and declare: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

The Birdwatcher's First Notebook-Richard Edwards

Monday- to the reservoir,
Real beginner’s luck,
Saw a quack-quack-quacking thing,
Think it was a . . .. grebe.

Tuesday- to the farmyard,
Only mud, but then,
Saw a cluck-cluck-clucking thing,
Think it was a . . . partridge.

Wednesday- out at midnight,
Tom-cats on the prowl,
Heard a twit- twit- twooing thing,
Think it was a . . . nightingale.

Thursday- to the seaside,
Weather grey and dull,
Saw a big white wailing thing,
Think it was a . . . spoonbill.

Friday- brown bird on the lawn,
Outside in a rush,
Saw a worm tug-tug-tugging thing,
Think it was a . . . pipit.

Saturday- to the heathery moor,
Scanned the sky and hark!
Heard a trill-trill-trilling thing,
Think it was a . . . curlew.

Sunday- tired of Birdwatching,
Made a bamboo wicket,
Asked some friends round,
cadged a bat,
Had a game of . . . football.

The Duck

Ogden Nash.

Behold the duck
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is special fond
Of a puddle or a pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.

Experiencing Mynah Problems...Testing 1 2 3