View From The Shed by Shaun Finnie - OLD MOOR'S BOOM BOX

OLD MOOR'S BOOM BOX

It was certainly a date for my diary. February the second, a momentous date if only for one reason: this was the earliest day of the year that I've ever heard a BITTERN booming at the RSPB Dearne Valley area.

It was about two weeks earlier than expected and it was actually a bit rubbish. Technically it wasn't a full-blown 'boom', the kind that says, 'Hey ladies, I'm here, I'm available and any other male Bitterns better scarper pretty sharpish because I'm the best there is', but it was good enough for me. It was a Bittern clearing his throat, running through his scales and arpeggios and generally warming up before the performance proper. It wasn't yet the sound of the loudest bird in Britain, a noise that can carry four kilometres on a good day, but it was definitely the call of a male Bittern and it was coming from Old Moor's reedbeds. I'm not complaining.

Bitterns are one of the RSPB's success stories. Centuries ago they were plentiful because Britain required lots of reedbeds. We needed these reeds to stuff our mattresses, thatch our roofs and generally keep us warm and dry. These days we have Welsh slate to keep the rain off and 15 tog duvets to keep the heat in. We have no need whatsoever for reedbeds and so we've systematically drained them and built houses and shopping centres where they used to be. Seeing as the Bittern has no other suitable habitat they did the only thing available. They died, almost to the point of extinction in the UK. The bird that had made our land its home since (at least) Neolithic times was almost gone. To put that into context, Bitterns lived happily alongside Mastodons, Sabre Toothed Tigers and Stone Age Man but the requirements of modern man had nearly wiped them out.

Fast forward a bit. The RSPB decided to do something about this situation and, long story short, there are now definite hopes that these unusual birds might survive long term. We nearly wiped them out but we have realised our mistakes and rectified things before it was too late. That's at least in part due to your support with your membership and other funding. You know I like to celebrate these victories. Give yourself a pat on the back for being part of it. Thank you.

Many of the visitors who arrive at my Welcome Shed come with the goal of seeing a Bittern, many for the first time. They want to see that dumpy brown heron either flapping through the air like a carrier bag in a breeze or standing straight upright like a sentry, swaying with the reeds and pretending to be invisible. I always wish the birdwatchers good luck as I know that the chances of seeing a Bittern is slim. There's a lot of reedbed out there and they aren't the biggest of birds. And even if they're standing right in front of you, you still aren't guaranteed to see them. They're masters of camouflage. Believe me. I've been the guy whispering, “Where? Where?”, while my fellow birders point to a spot about twenty feet away. I never did see that particular bird but I've been lucky enough to see many others, usually as they arc over the reeds for about ten meters before dropping back down again with hardly a rustle.

The Bitterns will be making their 'proper' trademark mating call within the next few weeks and the traditional way of describing it is like someone blowing over the top of a glass bottle. It's a deep, resonant and mournful sound that once heard is never forgotten. If they do it, you should hear it from anywhere on the reserve. It's a weird but magnificent sound, so utterly unlike any other natural noise that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle included a description of it in his Sherlock Holmes novel, 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' for added spooky effect on the misty moors.

If our Bitterns are practising their boom, that means that they're preparing to mate. That will in turn hopefully lead to chicks (that's how it usually works – ask a grown up for further details) and that will mean more visibility to visitors as the parents make flights to bring food into the nest several times a day – sometimes even several times an hour. This will be towards late spring and that's most definitely the easiest time of year to see these charismatic but secretive birds. But don't expect to get close as we will probably be closing our reedbed path to protect them and the Marsh Harriers that also breed in that area. You'll be able to get great views of both species from other parts of the reserve throughout the spring and summer though. Just please bring some binoculars.

Regular readers will know that I really like old names that birds were known by in days before even I was born. Well the Bittern was referred to by some excellent titles, many of them relating to the noise it makes. So, can you imagine telling your birding friends that you'd seen a...

Bitter Bum,
Boomer,
Boom Bird,
Bog Drum,
Bull of the Marsh.

Most of these relate to that stunning sound that Bittern's make. There are many regional variations on the above but the word 'Bittern' itself probably comes from an ancient French word meaning, 'to make a booming noise'.

That last name, Bull of the Marsh, comes from the bird's Latin name, 'Botaurus Stellaris'. This literally translates as 'starry bull'. The “bull” bit obviously comes from its bellowing call while the “starry” part of its name relates to the speckled pattern on its breast.

Right, that's all the serious bits out of the way, lets get a bit daft for a moment with my favourite Bittern joke.

What do you get if you cross a Bittern with a blue cartoon hedgehog?
A Sonic Boom !!!!

Sorry about that. You can store it away in preparation for next year's Christmas Crackers.

Anyhow, please come and see us at Old Moor. I can't promise that you'll see (or even hear) a Bittern, but you've got a good chance of seeing some of the birds from our recent sighting list...