Sometimes I do wonder if there is a malevolent force conspiring towards me - not in a bad way, but I do wonder.
Recently a very rare British visitor, a river warbler (Locustella fluviatilis), had taken up semi-permanent residence on the RSPB's Ham Wall in Somerset. Only the second mainland sighting in a decade, and while not exactly my local patch, it is less than half an hour down the M5. I'm not really a twitcher but my mate Brett said to me that it had been found on Friday 3rd of June and he along with the nature writer Stephen Moss had seen it that afternoon on June 8th with good views possible from the footpath leading to the Avalon Hide..
Wednesday June 9th, I downed tools from my working from home stint and headed down there in the evening. What an evening, not a breath of wind and the sun shone warmly. I knew where to head to but the gaggle of birdwatchers saved me having to look for the exact spot. I had a hand held recorder with me, so joining the merry throng, I waited. The birdwatchers waited too, though many seemed more intent in discussing the forthcoming Euro 2020 football.
The call of the river warbler is likened to a repetitive bush cricket, and the bird can call for many minutes at a time. Fair enough, so I waited. And waited. Chatter from the footballing birdwatchers was it was here half an hour ago. Honestly. I gave it twenty minutes then thought I'm bored, I'll walk to the Avalon hide where I could hear a bittern booming. Booming bittern bagged, my return back through the reeds was stopped by a fellow birdwatcher, who I discovered had similarly failed to see or hear the river warbler. However as we parted, there in the reeds somewhere out within the vastness of Ham Wall a distinctive zrr zrrzrrzrr zrrzrrzrr zrrzrrzrrzrr.. began. I got the recorder fired up and while I did manage to record slice of audio in the can, to be honest it was never going to the heard on Springwatch. The call ended, so I wandered back to the footballing birdwatchers... and waited with them, and they waited with me. Not a sound, nor a sight. Tail between by legs, I took a final record image of where it was (honestly) .... and went home.
Fast foreword to Sunday June 13th. The time 0300 and the Wessex Reiver is arising from his place of slumber. By 0420 hrs I was parked up at Ham Wall (along with a handful of other cars and more arriving by the minute). Drat I'd hoped to get down here before anyone else with a full recording kit - but to no avail, the rare bird alerts were doing a great job.
Into the wonderful half light I headed, knowing sun break was about 30 minutes away. How much of a dawn chorus could I record as I walked to where the river warbler was? Since failing to see this bird (and properly record it) my mind had exercised itself on a quick return visit. Here I was listening to a myriad of birds calling on this June morning, accompanied by mosquitoes who hearing themselves of the river warbler's presence had arrived to feed on passing humans. What is the ecological point of mosquitoes?
We, the modern world, lives in a visual medium, and even at this early hour, recording sound on a parabolic reflector added to the avian calls, a number of overhead planes, a farmer out yonder exercising a tractor, and yes, as I got closer, birdwatchers discussing the football results from last night. The Somerset Levels is a well known no-go area for good quality sound recording. Visually fabulous, audio third division, penalty shootout.
Half a dozen good bird calls recorded, I found myself at the river warbler hinterland... 50m from me about two dozen birdwatchers had scopes and cameras pointed at a clump of reeds. Not a sound, other than the sedge warbler. 0448 and just as the sun poked it's head over the Mendips, a distinctive zrr zrrzrrzrr zrrzrrzrr zrrzrrzrrzrr.. began. Having the parabolic means I can be at a distance. Slowly moving the dish left and right I hit the sweet spot.... and away from the human talking... loud and proud there he was. I became transfixed. The sun was rising just in front of me, illuminating the reeds and the mist in a tangerine glow, and I was in a world of my own listening to this rare bird who should be in central or eastern Europe. It sang continuously for almost eight minutes then stopped. I waited and waited... but no more calls. Should I stay? should I go? I gave it another fifteen minutes and then after many scans of the reeds with binoculars, neither sight or sound of this warbler was returned. I heard a cuckoo behind me, so packed up my bags and headed off over there. Cuckoo obliged, but I'd still not seen the river warbler. 2 - nil to the bird.
As a result of the recordings I made that Sunday I edited a short 4 minute montage of what I'd heard - the river warbler is the penultimate call, like a bush cricket with a megaphone. If you'd like to listen it's on SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/wessex_reiver/ham-wall-0430am-june-13th-2021
My final trip to see the river warbler was on Wednesday June 16th after work. Walking towards the now well trampled and dust ridden point where the river warbler had been seen for nearly a fortnight I caught a brief snatch of it's call in the distance. There was no other person here which didn't bode well for seeing it. And I was right... the briefest snatch of a call, and then absolutely nothing, no sound, no sight. I hung about for half an hour, along with Julie and a flask of tea and then as rainclouds wandered in from the Bristol Channel, we headed home. 3 - nil to the bird.
But I left happy. For me as someone who makes his living in sound, hearing a river warbler and recording eight minutes of a river warbler is all I need... farewell my invisible friend, hope you make it back to Africa, and maybe next year you'll return and show yourself to me?
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