Last year at the beginning of June I went to Thursley Common in Surrey to see a Cuckoo that was ridiculously confiding and I spent a happy day there, watching and photographing it. From various conversations at the time I learned this male cuckoo, affectionately called Colin, had returned there for at least two, possibly three years.
This year, remarkably, considering the hazards Cuckoos face on their long and perilous migrations to and from Africa, Colin had returned yet again to the very same area on Thursley Common that he had graced in previous years. For my blog about last year's unforgettable Cuckoo experience please see here
With a Bank Holiday coinciding with three days of exceptionally hot and sunny weather it was too much to resist renewing my acquaintance with this extraordinary Cuckoo. I had commitments on Saturday and Sunday but Monday, which promised to be the hottest of the three days was free, so I contacted Moth and we arranged to meet and drive south to Thursley Common at 7.30am on Bank Holiday Monday.
It took about two hours to get to the village of Elstead, which lies very near Thursley Common and after parking in The Moat car park which is adjacent to the Common and was already full of cars, even at this relatively early hour, we headed off in the direction of where Colin was to be found. Having been here only once before, on my similar visit in June last year, my memory was a bit hazy as to the direction to follow but after an unfortunate circuitous diversion through the heather and gorse of Thursley Common, going in slightly the wrong direction, I managed to remember enough to get us back on course and to the particular large grass field, surrounded on four sides by trees, where Colin would come down to feed on mealworms placed there by the photographers.
I had spent the whole of Bank Holiday Saturday on a bird race, which involved just watching birds with no camera involved and this was to be a different experience altogether and one I still find strangely unsettling and slightly intimidating. Pure photographers who specialise in photographing wild life and birds in particular are different to birders.They have a detailed knowledge of their very expensive equipment, its technical capabilities and how to use them to best effect. One person present today had getting on for twenty thousand pounds worth of cameras and lenses and there is nothing wrong with that if you can afford such expense. The pure photographers do not worry too much about a detailed knowledge of birds and their behaviour but are more interested in the best picture they can obtain even if it involves elaborately contrived situations to achieve the desired result.Again there is nothing intrinsicantly wrong there either. Each to their own but for me, just as important is the spiritual experience of being close to a bird that I would rarely see so well.So a compromise has to be met and it is one that needs to be made more and more these days.
We joined a group of around fifteen souls standing, sitting or in one case fast asleep in the shade of a large birch tree, everyone sheltering from the already bright and hot sun. Colin has become quite a celebrity in birding and photography circles and now the field is forever populated by people from far and wide, come to see him perform. I enquired of someone as to what had happened so far and was told there had been no sign of the Cuckoo but a male Common Redstart had visited briefly to take advantage of the mealworms put out to lure the Cuckoo.
Here is another conflict, at least for me. Not only was there a plethora of artificially supplied mealworms on offer but various sticks, complete with decorative lichen as well as contrived log perches, had been strategically placed to make it look entirely natural when the Cuckoo perched on these baited perches. Again a compromise has to be made and an understanding come to of the varied desires of both birders and photographers and I admit to being happy to accept such a situation here on Thursley, so I too could see the Cuckoo and take its photograph..We are now in an age of immediate results and instant gratification, which can be beguiling and the fundamentally purer satisfaction of searching for a bird and seeing it, possibly only very briefly, has long gone to be replaced by the wish to find the desired bird as quickly as possible, getting 'stunning' views of it and just as importantly get a photo to match. I freely admit to succumbing to this temptation on occasions too but endeavour, not always successfully, to still maintain a balance between this and the more traditional methods and enjoyment of birding.
There was a distinct aura of pessimism in the group around us, with one person telling us he had been here for three consecutive days and the Cuckoo had never remained for long, only a few minutes, and yesterday had made only a couple of visits. Frankly I have heard this all before and with that optimism which is a pre-requisite of being a birder told myself that every day is different, so let's wait and see. As it happened Colin the Cuckoo visited us no less than five times between our arrival and departure, with one particularly extended stay of around half an hour at the end of the day, although the gaps between his appearances extended to hours rather than minutes.
After our arrival a long period of nothing ensued. There was, however, birdsong all around us as a Woodlark fluted its beautiful notes from the adjacent heathland, and a Willow Warbler, that other summer songster endowed with a song from the gods, sang wistfully from a nearby birch. I tried to shut out the artificiality of our situation and commune with the natural surroundings but the presence of so many other people made it feel un-natural and it was eventually made impossible by an elderly fellow falling asleep, prostrate on the ground, and snoring loudly.
Two hours of soporific inactivity was ended by the sudden appearance of a male Common Redstart which flew from the surrounding oaks to seize some of the mealworms put out for the Cuckoo but after a couple of minutes departed, never to be seen again and so it was back to lazing in the sun and wondering just when Colin would deign to put in an appearance. We had heard him calling regularly from the surrounding woodland and even further, out on the heathland, but all was now silent.
Cuckoo's are secretive birds, happily sitting for long periods, immobile and silent in the depths of a tall tree.It is only during their brief breeding season that they give away their presence by the male's celebrated 'cuckoo' call or the bubbling trill of the female. Colin seemed to be living up to this typical Cuckoo behaviour when, from very close to us in the trees just behind, came a loud sequence of 'cuckoos'. Colin had arrived and in another two minutes flew down on flickering wings, crossing the grass before us and, accompanied by a fusillade of camera clicks, settled on one of the baited perches. He was with us for about fifteen minutes but that was more than enough time to admire him as he hopped from perch to ground and back again, inclining his head to survey the ground before collecting and swallowing the numerous scattered mealworms.
I looked at his immaculate plumage, grey above and white below, the latter closely barred with grey. Legs and feet of bright yellow shone in the sun but most noticeable was his staring yellow eye, its expressionless gaze giving no intimation of the Cuckoo's feelings. I looked at his eyes and fell to wondering about what those eyes had seen on his perilous and unimaginable journeys to and from the Dark Continent.What sights and sounds had been absorbed by those eyes, crossing the conurbations of populous western Europe in the night, followed by the huge, empty desertified waste of The Sahara and then coming to the huge, dark, mysterious tropical forests and vast savannahs of Africa. Where had he slept each night on his journey, if indeed he did sleep, silent, secretive and unsuspected in a chosen tree, on his long journey. If ever the romance and mystery of migration was encapsulated in a particular bird, this was it. Here and now. Before my very eyes.
Suddenly Colin called from his contrived perch in the field, very close to us, just a few metres from where I stood, clinging with bunched feet to the stick, wings drooping below his body and his broad tail, partially fanned and swinging from side to side, in a gentle, rhythmic motion. The loudness and exactness of the call is surprising, even disconcerting, when heard so close as usually it is heard from a much greater distance. Who can honestly admit to having witnessed a Cuckoo calling just two or three metres away, fully in the open and apparently heedless of any potential danger? The call has a resonance and a slightly breathy quality when heard so close, the two notes uttered in perfect synchronicity with a swollen throat and only partially opened bill.
Once he had fed sufficiently, tossing mealworms with casual grace into his orange maw, Colin retreated back into the trees, clearly replete, there to sit silent and hidden for a spell, and then flew further away and could be heard calling in the distance.We retreated into the shade of our birch tree to compare our photographic results. It was now a lottery on how much longer we would have to wait until a return visit from Colin. Judging by how well he had fed on the last visit it would be a long time and indeed it was. The sun got hotter and we moved position to ensure the light was behind us which necessitated sitting on the grass, in the sun, unshaded and with only a gentle intermittent breeze to mitigate the heat.
Meanwhile most of our erstwhile photographer companions had left, happy they had captured enough images of Colin the Cuckoo and just five of us remained, sat around on the grass.We chatted and then we too fell silent. I dozed, feeling the heat of the sun on my exposed arms and the hours slowly passed away. High noon came and nothing could be heard, not a bird sang, everything quieted by the oppressive and soporific heat, on this the hottest of days. Colin doubtless would be sat quietly in the shade doing very much of nothing.
The early afternoon arrived and Colin the Cuckoo put in another appearance but it was a brief and perfunctory visit and he seemed dissatisfied and sat for a long period in a tree before flying off. I lay on the grass, looked upwards to the sky and dozed again. If Colin returned I would know as he would announce his return with his call. High above in the clear blue sky a Hobby passed over, a Redstart began to sing from the trees and a Garden Warbler gave us a few stanzas, as did a Common Whitethroat, as the heat of the afternoon reached its zenith and then slowly cooled.
To cut a long hot and inactive afternoon short, Colin finally returned in the late afternoon, perching high up at the top of an Oak tree, calling every so often, before flying down to settle on one of the artificial perches, strategically placed in the ground before us.
This time Colin's stay was prolonged, around thirty minutes, stuffing himself with mealworms, almost as if stocking up for the night ahead. He gave many opportunities to watch and photo him from any angle you would care to choose, as he flew from perch to perch or dropped to the ground to hop, stiff legged, over the grass, seeking out hidden mealworms. For a reasonably large bird Cuckoo's can appear clumsy as they have no hesitation in throwing themselves around on perches, letting their wings hang down and using their long broad tail to balance.They will cling to the flimsiest of perches resulting in them having to spread wings and tail to maintain some semblance of balance, their specialised feet, with two toes facing forward and two facing back undoubtedly allow them to cling onto perches that would otherwise be unsuitable. On the ground they proceed by heavy, ungainly hops.
The Cuckoo's barred underwings and tail were prominent in the evening light as his wings hung below his body and his long grey tail swung about when he pitched onto a perch. He issued some more loud 'cuckoos', and then, after a period of silence, looked around and did what cuckoos do best, just sat motionless on his perch for a long period, before departing low and fast, under the trees and out onto the heathland beyond.
A faint 'cuckoo, cuckoo' was confirmation that Colin had departed for distant parts and it was surely time for us to go also, so we walked back to the car park, past bright yellow gorse flowers, forming a guard of honour on either side of our path as the common was lit by the soft golden light of evening and the heat of a most enjoyable day shrank from the oncoming dusk.
With a Bank Holiday coinciding with three days of exceptionally hot and sunny weather it was too much to resist renewing my acquaintance with this extraordinary Cuckoo. I had commitments on Saturday and Sunday but Monday, which promised to be the hottest of the three days was free, so I contacted Moth and we arranged to meet and drive south to Thursley Common at 7.30am on Bank Holiday Monday.
It took about two hours to get to the village of Elstead, which lies very near Thursley Common and after parking in The Moat car park which is adjacent to the Common and was already full of cars, even at this relatively early hour, we headed off in the direction of where Colin was to be found. Having been here only once before, on my similar visit in June last year, my memory was a bit hazy as to the direction to follow but after an unfortunate circuitous diversion through the heather and gorse of Thursley Common, going in slightly the wrong direction, I managed to remember enough to get us back on course and to the particular large grass field, surrounded on four sides by trees, where Colin would come down to feed on mealworms placed there by the photographers.
I had spent the whole of Bank Holiday Saturday on a bird race, which involved just watching birds with no camera involved and this was to be a different experience altogether and one I still find strangely unsettling and slightly intimidating. Pure photographers who specialise in photographing wild life and birds in particular are different to birders.They have a detailed knowledge of their very expensive equipment, its technical capabilities and how to use them to best effect. One person present today had getting on for twenty thousand pounds worth of cameras and lenses and there is nothing wrong with that if you can afford such expense. The pure photographers do not worry too much about a detailed knowledge of birds and their behaviour but are more interested in the best picture they can obtain even if it involves elaborately contrived situations to achieve the desired result.Again there is nothing intrinsicantly wrong there either. Each to their own but for me, just as important is the spiritual experience of being close to a bird that I would rarely see so well.So a compromise has to be met and it is one that needs to be made more and more these days.
We joined a group of around fifteen souls standing, sitting or in one case fast asleep in the shade of a large birch tree, everyone sheltering from the already bright and hot sun. Colin has become quite a celebrity in birding and photography circles and now the field is forever populated by people from far and wide, come to see him perform. I enquired of someone as to what had happened so far and was told there had been no sign of the Cuckoo but a male Common Redstart had visited briefly to take advantage of the mealworms put out to lure the Cuckoo.
Here is another conflict, at least for me. Not only was there a plethora of artificially supplied mealworms on offer but various sticks, complete with decorative lichen as well as contrived log perches, had been strategically placed to make it look entirely natural when the Cuckoo perched on these baited perches. Again a compromise has to be made and an understanding come to of the varied desires of both birders and photographers and I admit to being happy to accept such a situation here on Thursley, so I too could see the Cuckoo and take its photograph..We are now in an age of immediate results and instant gratification, which can be beguiling and the fundamentally purer satisfaction of searching for a bird and seeing it, possibly only very briefly, has long gone to be replaced by the wish to find the desired bird as quickly as possible, getting 'stunning' views of it and just as importantly get a photo to match. I freely admit to succumbing to this temptation on occasions too but endeavour, not always successfully, to still maintain a balance between this and the more traditional methods and enjoyment of birding.
 |
| The artificial perches that were placed in the field |
After our arrival a long period of nothing ensued. There was, however, birdsong all around us as a Woodlark fluted its beautiful notes from the adjacent heathland, and a Willow Warbler, that other summer songster endowed with a song from the gods, sang wistfully from a nearby birch. I tried to shut out the artificiality of our situation and commune with the natural surroundings but the presence of so many other people made it feel un-natural and it was eventually made impossible by an elderly fellow falling asleep, prostrate on the ground, and snoring loudly.
Two hours of soporific inactivity was ended by the sudden appearance of a male Common Redstart which flew from the surrounding oaks to seize some of the mealworms put out for the Cuckoo but after a couple of minutes departed, never to be seen again and so it was back to lazing in the sun and wondering just when Colin would deign to put in an appearance. We had heard him calling regularly from the surrounding woodland and even further, out on the heathland, but all was now silent.
 |
| Male Common Redstart |
I looked at his immaculate plumage, grey above and white below, the latter closely barred with grey. Legs and feet of bright yellow shone in the sun but most noticeable was his staring yellow eye, its expressionless gaze giving no intimation of the Cuckoo's feelings. I looked at his eyes and fell to wondering about what those eyes had seen on his perilous and unimaginable journeys to and from the Dark Continent.What sights and sounds had been absorbed by those eyes, crossing the conurbations of populous western Europe in the night, followed by the huge, empty desertified waste of The Sahara and then coming to the huge, dark, mysterious tropical forests and vast savannahs of Africa. Where had he slept each night on his journey, if indeed he did sleep, silent, secretive and unsuspected in a chosen tree, on his long journey. If ever the romance and mystery of migration was encapsulated in a particular bird, this was it. Here and now. Before my very eyes.
Once he had fed sufficiently, tossing mealworms with casual grace into his orange maw, Colin retreated back into the trees, clearly replete, there to sit silent and hidden for a spell, and then flew further away and could be heard calling in the distance.We retreated into the shade of our birch tree to compare our photographic results. It was now a lottery on how much longer we would have to wait until a return visit from Colin. Judging by how well he had fed on the last visit it would be a long time and indeed it was. The sun got hotter and we moved position to ensure the light was behind us which necessitated sitting on the grass, in the sun, unshaded and with only a gentle intermittent breeze to mitigate the heat.
Meanwhile most of our erstwhile photographer companions had left, happy they had captured enough images of Colin the Cuckoo and just five of us remained, sat around on the grass.We chatted and then we too fell silent. I dozed, feeling the heat of the sun on my exposed arms and the hours slowly passed away. High noon came and nothing could be heard, not a bird sang, everything quieted by the oppressive and soporific heat, on this the hottest of days. Colin doubtless would be sat quietly in the shade doing very much of nothing.
The early afternoon arrived and Colin the Cuckoo put in another appearance but it was a brief and perfunctory visit and he seemed dissatisfied and sat for a long period in a tree before flying off. I lay on the grass, looked upwards to the sky and dozed again. If Colin returned I would know as he would announce his return with his call. High above in the clear blue sky a Hobby passed over, a Redstart began to sing from the trees and a Garden Warbler gave us a few stanzas, as did a Common Whitethroat, as the heat of the afternoon reached its zenith and then slowly cooled.
To cut a long hot and inactive afternoon short, Colin finally returned in the late afternoon, perching high up at the top of an Oak tree, calling every so often, before flying down to settle on one of the artificial perches, strategically placed in the ground before us.
A faint 'cuckoo, cuckoo' was confirmation that Colin had departed for distant parts and it was surely time for us to go also, so we walked back to the car park, past bright yellow gorse flowers, forming a guard of honour on either side of our path as the common was lit by the soft golden light of evening and the heat of a most enjoyable day shrank from the oncoming dusk.
Lovely account! Kept forgetting to read it as there's always seemed to be something pressing on my time (like work, visiting my Dad, visiting Cal, playing with my photos etc!)
ReplyDeleteLovely photos!
ReplyDelete