Pulchritudo in Natura: ary.scot

ol' blue eyes

ok, that isn't right really, because only the juveniles have blue eyes, they fade to white with age.

I could watch these active birds for hours, their upright stance when walking giving them an intelligent and confident 'air'. They can be hard to approach close tho' to get a nice picture, sitting quietly in the sun and waiting is the best way.

photographically this is really only here as a set up for the next one !

prettier

a somewhat prettier picture I think, showing how the same bird, at almost the same place and time, can make a very different picture. The poor bokeh of the RF100-500mm, that spoils the picture above, is mitigated here by a low camera angle that fortuitously combines with gentle undulations in the surface of the heath to recreate the narrow focus zone typical of much wider aperture lenses. Together these all create a far nicer image than the one above.

as said, this is the same bird as above, but the different sun-angle shows the silver-grey nape typical of this species much clearer. I suspect this is a bird 'born' the year before, It's still got blue eyes (characteristic of juveniles) but the grey nape (characteristic of adults) is becoming apparent.

chimneyophile

well yes any collection of Jackdaw pictures has to have one with a chimney! Is ‘chimneyophile’ a word? Well if it is, and it ought to be, it will be applied to this species. I have no idea what they did before we invented them. Stand around and look miserable I expect.

frosty morning

December, -4^o C, Stirling University campus, pre-dawn.

In search of a few duck to photograph in the early frosty light on a sharp cold morning I came across this rather dejected-looking Crow. I couldn't work out what he was doing, indeed I still don't know. He's nibbling at the frost, mebbe simply after some water perhaps, and everywhere is frozen. The light was too poor for a decent picture, but here it is anyway. And that really is frost on his back and wings.

we all like to be beside the seaside ........

I've always been intrigued by seeing corvids on the coast, somehow they just look 'wrong'. Please don't ask me why, it's just a thing.

Can I presage this story with a single interesting little fact. Sand and saltwater utterly destroy cameras and lenses. So let's just say I get nervous even thinking about taking pictures down on the beach. Well it's a sunny sunny day and I have to confront this issue, so I decide to take a trip out to a quiet beach in search of a few seabirds.

The first bird I see is this sweet little chap, he's slowly promenading along the beach, looking cool, occasionally stopping to turn over a piece of algae, or inspect other odd 'bits', washed up by the tide. Key thing is he's slowly walking toward me. If ever there was an opportunity to stare my fears in the eye this is it. Well I lower my rucksack to the sand, lay the camera on top, then I join them, laying prostrate in wet, wet sand, lovely.

I follow him through the viewfinder as he draws closer, he seems totally oblivious of me, and very relaxed. He's at the seaside, who doesn't relax at the seaside? As he walks past I snap a few, light isn't prefect but if I waited for perfect light I'd never push the button.

beside the seaside II

Is that it? Not quite. As I watched him walking the wet sand, recently exposed by the retreating tide, I noticed a couple of people walking toward me, but much higher up the beach. They were too far away to disturb my friendly corvid and I thought no more about them.

After a while I began to hear their voices, getting louder as time passed, but then they stopped walking about 50m away, and stared at me. I had a bird to photograph so I ignored them. After a few minutes I was all done, I rolled over and sat up, they were still there. As I moved they started walking away.

So why were they staring at me? Was it because they were genuinely interesed in a man photographing a bird, or perhaps they wanted to see me destroy thousands of pounds worth of gear. Well, as I replayed their actions I became totally convinced they thought I was a washed-up victim of drowning. I had been laying still at the water's edge for over 20 mins, long before they came down to the beach, and all they had seen was someone and a rucksack laying completely motionless at the water's edge, for a long time. The things I do. Whoever you are, if I alarmed you, I apologise

dawn light

one of the very few joys of getting the defender serviced is that it makes me get up nice and early for a change, meaning I can be out and ready for dawn over the Moray firth!

This chap was sitting enjoying the first warming rays of a cold December dawn when I saw him way off. Sadly he was safe inside a secured local highways authority compound and I couldn't get any closer than this. So it aint the best picture of a Hooded crow, but it does capture a moment I think.

Well at least he was getting warm, I was ........ cold, and I'd forgotten my gloves, idiot. I really need to ask Julie to stitch some ribbon to them and thread it through my sleeves.

good view

I’m walking through an industrial part of town, another wander through Inverness looking for pretty birds. This is where all the car dealerships are situated, garages, building supplies and the like, so I not expecting much, merely passing through en-route to elsewhere. As I look, stunned, at the prices on windscreens, I wonder how did cars get so expensive. so fast? I mean they used to get relatively cheaper over the years. I expect the government are involved somewhere, must be. If something is fucked-up they’ll be behind it, they always are.

Anyway, as I pondered how anyone could afford one I was drawn by the distinctive call of corvids. Looking up I see a hoodie atop a lamp-post. Camera up, quick burst. Not much to eat around here I thought, wonder what they’re up to. Whatever it is he’s got a good view from up there.

pasties

Then he launches himself across the road and I saw my mistake. All those sales folk, mechanics etc needed feeding and there, amongst industrial units, sat a small pie shop. And, in the nature of things, there were crows and gulls sitting in a small tree, on roof-tops and convenient street lights.

I cross the road and stand just about 30 meters from the shop, people enter empty-handed, leave clutching bags. Most return to cars and drive off, but some stop to munch. I watch three people talking and eating just outside the shop, these are the targets for close feathered attention. As they finish and leave this chap instantly pops down and clears up any crumbs.

Magpie (Eurasian) Pica pica

It is easy to imagine that the ‘pie’ half of this birds name derives from piebald, ie black and white. But it’s the other way around, ‘piebald’ mostly likely arises from the magpie. This would make sense I suppose, how many other obvious black and white things were around to be seen by European country folk during the 15th to 17th centuries, or earlier? I mean they had no zebra crossings to refer to (or even, for that matter, zebras!).

‘Pie’ itself is conjectured to mean ‘pointed’, and can be traced to the Proto-Indo-European language. Naturally, Proto-Indo-European is usually abbreviated to, yes you worked it out, PIE. Now, I’m getting confused too, so let’s move on. The ‘Mag’ part is derived from the contraction ‘Margot’ (Marguerite) which was used as a generic name for a woman in general, much as John is often used for men. The next bit will get me in trouble I am sure, but in for a penny, in for a pound! It is suggested (not by me, no way, no sir) that the sounds made by a group of Magpies resembles the endless chattering of woman, hence we got Mag Pie. As I honestly never realised that ladies might be capable of nattering on endlessly at every opportunity, this whole notion came as something of a complete surprise to me. Let’s move on, keep moving I always say.

Aka: Pie, Piet (Westmoreland) and Pianate or Pyenate (West Riding). We also have Mag or Madge, Marget, Margaret, Miggy (North country) Nanpie (Craven) Ninut (Notts) Pye Mag (NW lancs: I suspect they’re just trying to be different), also Hagister (Kent). I feel the nicest name award ought to go to Norfolk for ‘Chatterpie’. They’ve captured the essence there without invoking the danger of suggesting that ladies like a good natter. Well done Norfolk.

It’s hardly seems worth mentioning the fact that Magpies, like so many birds, were claimed weather prognosticators. I can believe that, without the endless blathering on about weather on TV, radio and Interweb, folks of earlier times might have had to look out the window to see what the birds were up to. In the south of France, for example, it was believed that if Magpies were seen building their nest on the highest point of a tree, a calm season could be expected. Now that’s probably going to be as accurate as anything the tax-funded Met Office has ever produced. This gave rise to the proverb “Gran bèn te mancara pas, Se' l'agasso a nisat bas.” which, for non-Francophiles, google helpfully translates as: “ Great ass you won't miss it, If the agasso has nested low”. I prefer to believe that should read ‘great arse’, but that’s just me.

Magpie folklore is seemingly endless. Like it’s darker cousins it was considered a bird of ill-omen with associations to the Devil himself. In Germany, for example, and up into Scandinavia, it was believed witches could adopt their shape, or use them as a stead. Presumably when their broomsticks were in for a service. In Sweden it was said that when sorcerers went to Blakulla on Walpurgis Night they transformed into Magpies: Hence: “ De hava varet till Blakulla, och hjelpt hin onde föra in sitt hö, da fjædrarna af oket blivit nötte af deras halsar” *. This ‘explains’ the loss of the magpies neck feathers in Aug/Sept. Unfortunately, I am not certain if ‘Blakulla’ was a pub, or not, but I certainly like to think so. Similar menacing stories abound from across Europe, except in Norway, for some reason. I cannot close, although I wouldn’t mind doing to, without acknowledging the well-known rhyme.

    “One is sorrow, two is mirth ,       Three a wedding, four a birth,       Five heaven, six hell ,       Seven the deil's ain sell. ”

Now I bet that is different from the version you learned. All sayings, of course, were originally transmitted by word of mouth. And your mind wanders as you travel from village to village, or you fall in a dung-heap, maybe you’re attacked by squirrels, or something similar, and you forget the a line or so. Still just make up a new one as you wander along, they’ll never know. Also of course the above version is missing three numbers, was this a particularly bad journey? Anyway, we have, amongst others:

      “Three a berrin', four a wedding” (Northants)
      “ Five for rich, six for poor,
      “Seven for a witch, I can tell you no more! ” (Lancs. Obviously an honest traveller!)

     “Eight for heaven, nine for hell”
     “And ten for the devil's ain sel '."

This is all getting way too long, but before I stop I must add the following to avoid upsetting a good friend. You should always greet a single Magpie who crosses your path with a “Good morning Magpie, how is your wife”. This is probably to ward off the bad luck from seeing a single Magpie. Of course you could follow the Shropshire way, take off your hat, spit at the bird and say “Devil, Devil, I defy thee”.

There isn’t space here for all the folklore around Magpies and I’ve excluded so much great stuff. So here’s a link ⇢ “here” ⇠ if you want to delve deeper. n.b. connects to the external site: Internet Archive.

    * The magpies have gone to the Blakulla and have helped the devil to carry his hay, so their feathers have been rubbed off by the yoke.

wet, wet, wet

I’m in the North East of England, in the realm of the Geordies. And it is raining, hard. I’m at Saltholme, an RSPB reserve set amongst the industrial past of Teeside. The less said about this reserve the better I feel. It epitomises the modern tragedy and misdirection of that once great organisation. Don't get me wrong, many good hard-working people work, or have worked, for them. And I have been lucky to have known quite a few of them over the years. I’m also still a member, but this is as much about direct debit as it is about a genuine desire to give them any more of my money!

Anyway, enough of that. I am looking for birds, not many to be seen, an odd mallard, coot etc. splash around in front of the multi-million pound extravagancy of a visitor centre. Going in I see that owing to the design of the place it is impossible to get any pictures, or even see, the birds directly as there are no openings, just glass, double glazed. Clearly the RSPB were thinking of other things. Money no doubt. I leave and choose the longest trail to wander along, in the rain.

What do I find? Not a great lot. But as I continue to splash my way around, hood up, head down, I hear that delightful chatter of a maggy, perking up I see him/her fly into a small tree, and then out again. I peer around through the rain, where did he go? There he is, perched on a post. I have no nice pictures of the species so now is a potential chance. Letting go of the bins I bring the camera up and snap a few quick record shots but before I settle down and begin think through the images I want, he’s off again. As my head drops rain runs off my hood into my face. Nice.

still wet

He settles a few dozen metres from me, not sure what he’s after, food I guess. I stand and watch him. He looks wet, the vegetation is wet, the water is wet. And, in the nature of things, the bird photographer is bloody wet too.

More rain falls. I take a few more. They aren’t going to be great, the light, the contrast, will not help me get much out of his this. But he’s having a miserable wet day too and I think he deserves a couple of pictures here, until he gets pushed out.

As another load of water falls off a branch and hits me squarely in the face I have a sudden epiphany, a bright flash of insight. There is a warm dry cafe in the visitor centre only a kilometre of so away, and the lady there had some exceedingly nice fresh apple and cinnamon muffins on display. To be honest the cafe is the only good part of the building, or it’s surrounding reserve.

respects

Some people, perhaps most, might see cemeteries as sad, gloomy, perhaps even dead, places. I certainly don’t. Ecologically they are the living hearts of most urban areas, containing more wildlife than the rest put together. When I was a kid I often used to play truant in an enormous old cemetery conveniently located just off a direct route from home to school! I used spend my time sitting on a bench, just pondering, or just wandering, though the trees, old graves, mouldering monuments, listening to the birds, insects, and the peace. Idyllic tranquillity. I can admit this now as I am fairly certain the statue of limitations for truancy will have kicked-in by now. Well I hope so, I’m too old for detention.

I always visit one whenever a chance arises. It is amazing how rapidly the clamour, bustle, smell, and overall unpleasantness of urban and commercial life, fade as you pass through the gates of a cemetery. A few metres in and it’s a different, quieter, more sane world.

I have walked into Darlington West, there are some fine old trees in here and bits of almost wilderness. Lovely. This place hasn’t been ‘cleaned-up’ excessively, there are patches of mown grass for sure but they’re not excessive. Good. Far too many are shorn to death, if you’ll excuse the phrase. Cemeteries should be places of memory, tranquillity, not sterility.

As I watch, and photograph a squirrel (grey) I am drawn by that chatter and track-down a pair of Magpies hopping amongst graves. This chap has stopped, takes time to pay respects, and moves on. Plastic here provides the colour – aaargh.

Iberian Magpie Cyanopica cooki

Currently I cannot find any literature on either vernacular names or mythology of Iberian birds so, regrettably, cannot regale (bore) you with interesting facts and bon mots on this Iberian magpie. If such things exist I have not found them. I still look.

So without further ado, here's a picture!

Iberian breakfast

I have to admit that I rarely sit out on a balcony and have breakfast before sunrise. For some reason the scottish highland weather isn't that conducive to such things, and yeah I don't have a balcony.

But in southern Portugal apparently you can do this sort of thing, in November too! Coffee to the sounds of birds waking up. Excellent.

A small group of Iberian magpies were amongst these, I confess it was a while (and coffee - that wine was nice last night ) before I thought to get the camera. When I did, of course they didn't make it easy, perching behind power lines or miles away. The best I could do was against the ever-brightening sky and it's not great.

Still right now it's the only pretty Corvid I have so it will remain till I get back to the Iberian peninsula.