Bird books and memories

click photos to enlarge
The other day I took down a book from my shelves for no good reason other than I hadn't looked at it for a while. It was British Birds by F.B. Kirkman and F.C.R. Jourdain. My edition dates from 1966, the year I bought it in Kirkby Lonsdale as a teenage birdwatcher holidaying with relatives at nearby Whittington. It looks quite old-fashioned today with its painted illustrations (called Plates, and numbered), and text divided into sections headed Description, Range and Habitat, Nest and Eggs, Food, and Usual Notes (i.e. song or call). Moreover, the order of the species is not as we would now expect, but starts with Crows and ends with Divers. A further quirk is the page numbering that counts only the text pages, something that is quite common in C19 books. In fact, this book looked old-fashioned in 1966, and with good reason: the first edition was printed in 1930, was based on the British Bird Book (ed. Kirkman) of 1910-1913, and uses the same 200 illustrations.

It was those paintings, as well as the quality of the book, and the final section with paintings of all the species' eggs lined up as in a Victorian collector's cabinets, that led me to buy it. The main plates are in a range of styles by a variety of artists, usually showing the bird in its habitat. Most are the work of A.W. Seaby, but there are contributions by G.W. Collins, Winifred Austen and H. Gronvold. For the purposes of identifying the species the pictures leave a little to be desired, but as individual paintings of wild birds they are charming: they appealed to a teenager, and they appeal to me still.

As I renewed my acquaintance with the book and flicked through the pages, stopping at birds that caught my eye, I came to the Teal (Anas crecca), and out from the page dropped a little collection of feathers of that species. Watching them float slowly to the floor I was immediately transported back to the pond on Docker Moor where I found them among the rushes after I'd inadvertently flushed the birds from the water side. They were from the flanks, scapulars or back of the birds, and had lain undisturbed between the pages for more than forty years.

What do you do when you find a group of feathers like this? Photograph them of course! My first image is in the style of the Victorian collectors, with the feathers laid out not quite randomly on a white background. The second is what I see as a more modern approach, a closer view making more of the brown and white striations by the use of a black background.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

First image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/5 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Second image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/2 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Birdwatching, photography and reeds

click photo to enlarge
It struck me the other day that photographers are quite similar to birdwatchers in the way they choose to pursue their hobby.

Birdwatchers fall into two main groups. There are those who study a particular local patch, walking the same routes year after year in different seasons and at different times of day, learning which birds favour which spots and when, noting the unfamiliar as their eye becomes attuned to the familiar terrain. Such people also, periodically, travel a bit further afield and benefit from seeing new species in different surroundings. Often birdwatching of this kind is a solitary pursuit, or is undertaken with a partner or friend, and builds a knowledge of bird life in a particular locality over time. Then there are those who tear around the countryside by car, briefly dropping into favoured spots, scanning the usual places before screeching off to the next locations, contacting other birdwatchers to find out if any rarities have been seen within striking distance. These birdwatchers compile lists of all sorts - birds seen from their home, birds seen in their country, birds seen in their lifetime, etc. Trips to far-flung places and abroad, to extend their lists, are essential for this kind of birdwatcher. When I watched birds with a greater seriousness than I do now I definitely fell into the first camp.

I suppose that accounts for the way I choose to make photographs, also tramping over the same ground at different times of day, in different seasons, taking pleasure in picking out something new from a piece of countryside or village that I've walked many times before yet never noticed. Making the occasional foray farther afield is part of my practice too. However, I have never been tempted to pursue my hobby by driving off to "photographic" locations, to exotic countries, or to meetings of other photographers in photogenic places: what I disparagingly call the "Luminous Landscape" approach to photography. To me that's photography as consumption just as "twitching" is about birdwatching as consumption.

Today's photograph was gathered during a circular walk I've undertaken many times. On this occasion I noticed that alongside some streams the leaves of the dead reeds had been fixed in a horizontal position, presumably by the effect of the wind. The way the late afternoon light was falling made them into an attractive subject, contrasting with the thin upright lines of their stalks. This shot has been converted to black and white using the digital equivalent of an orange filter which has increased the contrast of the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 132mm (264mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The carrion crow

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"Carein Crowes...neuer medle with any quicke flesh."
The earliest known record of the name Carrion Crow in English, 1528

Standardized names for British Birds appeared much later than is generally realised. Not until A List of British Birds by a Committee of the British Ornithologists' Union in 1883 was a comprehensive list compiled that used only one vernacular name for each species. Yarrell, from 1843 onwards had attempted standardization, but used multiple names for some species. In 1768 Pennant's British Zoology (Birds) had adapted English names to match Linnaeus' scientific classification. In fact, not until the second half of the seventeenth century did bird books appear in English, though authors like Merrett (1667), Charleton (1668) and Ray (1678) translated or used Latin names or borrowings from continental authors.

Of course, the great majority of our bird names are folk names that arose anonymously. They often show regional variation (e.g. Lapwing, Green Plover, Peewit, Tewit), apply to the more common birds, and were sometimes shared between those that we now recognise as separate species (e.g. Marsh Tit, Willow Tit). In the distant past no distinction was made between the Carrion Crow and the Rook: they were both called simply "crows". However, with the rise of the study of natural history observers noted the rook's whitish beak, feathered legs, different call, more gregarious habits and greenish (as opposed to purplish) iridescence. And, later, the similarity of the carrion crow to another crow with patches of grey was realised, as was the interbreeding where their ranges overlapped. Consequently carrion crows became Corvus corone corone, and Royston crows, later called hooded crows, the sub-specific Corvus corone cornix.

However, none of this improved on the bad name that the carrion crow had with country people. Far from being seen as a useful scavenger that cleared the land of dead carcases, its habit of raiding poultry pens, game-bird hatcheries and the nests of songbirds, ensured that its name was as black as its feathers, and it remained the subject of persecution. In literature Shakespeare, Blake, Poe and others used the bird to represent the dead, or as an omen of impending doom. Which is a shame, because carrion crows are attractive birds that can be enjoyed in a wide variety of habitats from mountain-sides to the sea-shore. Today's image was taken on the slopes of the Pennines and shows a bird in a characteristic pose, searching for food from the vantage point of a dead tree. Unfortunately, the way I've taken the shot, in ominous-looking evening light and silhouette, reinforces the stereotype of the species as a lone, malevolent, brooding presence, ever on the look-out for its prey!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E500
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A