We seem to have reached the tipping point where the momentum of spring has pulled free of the stasis of winter. The snowdrops are now largely done, and daffodils are bursting forth by the day. The soundtrack to this phase is the loud and persistent singing of the chaffinch advertising his wares. Here's a recording I made in our garden this weekend:
He will sit at the top of a tree and deliver this song so tirelessly, that it was (according to 'Birds Britannia') a Victorian pastime to catch and compete chaffinches against each other as singers, betting on the outcome, such that good singers were highly prized assets.
The song is a difficult one to describe musically, but it has three distinct phases when delivered complete; an opening phrase of accelerating single notes, before a longer slurred note, and finally a rising, almost interrogative sign-off. Sometimes the latter two phrases are incomplete or absent but the opening is umistakeable. It is not a beautiful song, but as one of the first songs I learnt, with its place in the year of birdsong, it is one of my favourites.
We are honoured to have our own alarm chaffinch who wakes us in the morning by tapping on our window and delivering a couple of loud 'spinks', and the occasional burst of his song.
Another milestone of spring is the first chiff-chaff, and we heard one yesterday as we worked in the garden, delighted that this migrant has returned to our shores.
Showing posts with label audio recordings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label audio recordings. Show all posts
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
The sound of silence
Last Sunday was we were blessed with a beautiful day, with genuinely warm sunshine, and it was a pleasure to be in the garden - not spring but the hint of it. This warmth seemed to inspire the birds, particularly a robin that sang beautifully from the top of hedges and trees, presumably marking its territory and advertising its wares.
After a couple of hours almost uninterrupted song, I decided to try recording it. Inevitably the moment I got my recorder out it moved away, leaving me recording what I thought was silence. On listening back, I realised that far from silence, what I had was a soundscape of the garden on a windy day. In this extract you can hear the alarm call of a dunnock alerting others to my presence, nearby rooks chattering to each other, the wind in the trees, the neighbour's windchimes, my breathing, and even, far off, robin still singing. I realise that sometimes one has to find delight in these small things, even if the thing one is not hoping to see or hear does not happen as one hoped. If it were predictable, the joy would be diminished.
After a couple of hours almost uninterrupted song, I decided to try recording it. Inevitably the moment I got my recorder out it moved away, leaving me recording what I thought was silence. On listening back, I realised that far from silence, what I had was a soundscape of the garden on a windy day. In this extract you can hear the alarm call of a dunnock alerting others to my presence, nearby rooks chattering to each other, the wind in the trees, the neighbour's windchimes, my breathing, and even, far off, robin still singing. I realise that sometimes one has to find delight in these small things, even if the thing one is not hoping to see or hear does not happen as one hoped. If it were predictable, the joy would be diminished.
Monday, 3 January 2011
A trip to Horsey
Over the christmas break we undertook our first combined 'Hedgefinders' outing, accompanied by some of the family, to the beach at Horsey Gap, one of the main North Norfolk seal pupping beaches.
It has apparently been a bumper year for grey seals locally, with over 300 pups at Horsey and some 700 at Blakeney. It is a real privilege to be able to get so close to these normally sea-bound mammals, as they haul onto the beaches to pup and mate at this time of year. Most are on the beach (roped off to prevent interference which can result in abandonment), but some pups come into the dunes, where one can inadvertently almost stumble on them, especially on the foggy day that we visited. The presence of fog also exacerbated the unearthliness of their calls. The strange wailing that drifted towards us through the winter mists was at times canine, at other times almost human, and often quite eerie as you can hear in this recording:
Here are some links to other recordings:
Although I have recorded a lot of music, this is my first attempt at field-recording wildlife, and although there is a lot of background noise (the sea, passing children, camera noises etc), I'm pleased that I've managed to get a discernible recording of what I was trying to capture. For the record, I was using a Zoom H4n, and slightly EQ'd and compressed the recordings subsequently in order to optimise the seal noises, although the range of frequencies that the sea presents makes this a challenge. In undertaking this enhancement, I noticed that within the adult noises I recorded, there are two clear frequency 'spikes' at around 500 and 1200khz simultaneously, which I imagine with the right equipment and enough recordings, one could use to identify individual 'voices' through their signature frequencies. Hopefully in due course, I shall be able to improve the quality of my recording, as I learn more about both how to capture and enhance the sounds.
All in all, a highly enjoyable and memorable experience, both for being so close to the animals, but also because of the opportunity to share it with family and friends.
It has apparently been a bumper year for grey seals locally, with over 300 pups at Horsey and some 700 at Blakeney. It is a real privilege to be able to get so close to these normally sea-bound mammals, as they haul onto the beaches to pup and mate at this time of year. Most are on the beach (roped off to prevent interference which can result in abandonment), but some pups come into the dunes, where one can inadvertently almost stumble on them, especially on the foggy day that we visited. The presence of fog also exacerbated the unearthliness of their calls. The strange wailing that drifted towards us through the winter mists was at times canine, at other times almost human, and often quite eerie as you can hear in this recording:
Here are some links to other recordings:
- Various Cub Noises
- 2 adult females squabbling
- Other recordings here
Although I have recorded a lot of music, this is my first attempt at field-recording wildlife, and although there is a lot of background noise (the sea, passing children, camera noises etc), I'm pleased that I've managed to get a discernible recording of what I was trying to capture. For the record, I was using a Zoom H4n, and slightly EQ'd and compressed the recordings subsequently in order to optimise the seal noises, although the range of frequencies that the sea presents makes this a challenge. In undertaking this enhancement, I noticed that within the adult noises I recorded, there are two clear frequency 'spikes' at around 500 and 1200khz simultaneously, which I imagine with the right equipment and enough recordings, one could use to identify individual 'voices' through their signature frequencies. Hopefully in due course, I shall be able to improve the quality of my recording, as I learn more about both how to capture and enhance the sounds.
All in all, a highly enjoyable and memorable experience, both for being so close to the animals, but also because of the opportunity to share it with family and friends.
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