View From The Shed by Shaun Finnie - THE MORSE CODE BIRD

THE MORSE CODE BIRD

You know how pedantic I am about getting the right word for the right occasion. 'It's and its', for example, or 'their, there and they're', to name just two of the obvious ones. Well, here I go again, using big words when a normal one would suffice. But it's important to keep the language going, to make use of the words that would otherwise become extinct. Use it or lose it. So...

Birds aren't volcanoes. I've never heard of one exploding in a huge lava flow and laying waste to some poor coastal village. Hence, there has never been and (unless evolution takes a really bizarre turn) there never will be a bird eruption. This is just a vivid flight of imagination at best or a terrible misuse of language at worst. There simply cannot be a bird eruption, but you can get a bird irruption, a sudden appearance of a flock of a single species. For example when there's a sudden large storm or temperature change and a large number of birds think, 'Stuff this for a bag of soldiers, it's time to move on', all at the same time, that might lead to one.

This could have been what happened this week in our RSPB Old Moor reedbed area. For those of you who know the reserve, it was around the Bus Stop. Technically an irruption is when a large number of a species arrive in an extreme version of their usual migration. Beardies don't usually migrate very far so, while it's possible that we may have had an influx from a relatively nearby area, the most probable explanation is that all of the birds that normally live on the reserve just happened to be in the same area at once. So maybe not an actual irruption but a coincidence? Like Bitterns, Bearded Reedlings are usually to all intents and purposes Invisible. But not this time. The largest estimate was around 35 individual birds all highly visible for a couple of hours. That is by far the largest viewing opportunity of Old Moor's most elusive of birds that I've ever known. Was it by accident or design? I can't find anything to say that Bearded Tit 'superflocks' are a thing, like a goose crèche or a superpod of dolphins.

But do you know what? For those of us lucky enough to be there at the time, it didn't matter one jot, tittle or iota. The simple fact is that there were Bearded Tits around the Bus Stop, and there were lots of them. This is a really rare occurrence, believe me. I'm at Old Moor quite frequently and it's not unknown for me to go an entire year without seeing a single Bearded Tit in our reedbeds. I know they're there (see, that correct use of English for clarity does make sense) because I frequently hear them but they do like to hide down in the warmth. But on this special morning, the stars aligned and the weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. Not too blowy, not too still. Not too wet... you get the idea. Goldilocks herself would have said it was "just right", and so they came out to play. And to give you an idea of just how special this sight was, take into account those claims of about 35 birds sighted. When you learn that there are only around1500 individual birds alive in Britain, that gives you an idea of how rare this sighting was. Just like the Bitterns that we have at Old Moor, these special little birds have suffered terribly from human destruction of their home habitat, in this case reed beds. So we planted some and, just like those same Bitterns, the Bearded Tits moved in. Reversing mankind's damage can sometimes be that simple.

From here on in I'm going to use the more modern and technically correct term, Bearded Reedling. These birds are not part of the Tit family. They're actually the only members of the Reedling family, a special branch (not police) of bird genetics all on their own, more closely related to Larks than Tits. So now you know.

The birdwatcher's guidebooks all say the same thing. “Bearded Reedlings have a call that goes 'ping, ping, ping'”. This is of course absolute rubbish. They say, 'tchoo, tchoo, tchoo'. Simple. And they do it in an almost random pattern with big or small gaps between each syllable. I can't understand Morse code but if I could I'd bet that those noises would actually translate to something like, "I'm over here but you can't see me". But they were seen, tens of them. Some were females, looking like golden brown golf balls. Some were males with their total lack of beards but sporting magnificent moustaches in the best tradition of the late lamented Freddie Mercury. And they flitted around like they were singing one of his lesser-known but still excellent songs – (left ear) "Now I'm here.... (right ear) Now I'm here!" Maybe you had to be there for that one. Songs are very personal and emotive things. So is the written word to me but I'm told that, for many people, a picture is worth a thousand words.

I don't usually embed photos in these blogs for two reasons:
a) I'm not a photographer. I just like to see what I see and have the pictures in my memory;
b) I'm technically inept. I'd have to ask a grown-up for help in posting the photos.

I'm going to make an exception this week though as the picture in question is quite fantastic. Thanks to Mike Moorehouse who has given us permission to use it. If Old Moor were producing a 'Country File'-style calendar, I'd vote for this as the cover shot. Thanks, Mike.

But it's not the only picture in this blog. (Did you notice the smooth link there? I should work on Radio 2). There should also be a shot of the latest Sightings Board, showing what's been seen at our Dearne Valley sites over the last few days. And the Reedlings should be on it. Please come and see for yourself.