Bird Talk 2#

Which came first, the bird or its call? I might answer this at least more confidently than its origin-of-life counterpart – the bird, of course – but it leads to the question of why that bird with that particular call ends up where it is. Not all birds match one explanation.

It is strange work, dissecting expression that functions completely independent of our carefully constructed sentences, tones, and vocabularies. Instead of lists of similar synonyms, vowel sounds and the reading of familiar lips and lidded eyes, the spokes of meaning in birdtalk reach into the subtleties of texture and tempo of sound. The round, reptilian eyes of a bird will only reveal a certain consciousness of you as the stare is returned.

Most birds have a variety of calls; the variety of which depends on how much luxury that bird has in the place it resides, and whether that bird has sufficient daring to use a showy voice well. One of the shyest ground birds, the rail-babbler, has a penetrating monotone to send its messages easily through thick vegetation. The cuckoos of Southeast Asia are more creative with their vocal range, but their calls travel blandly but far as the caller sits unbelievably still from its hidden perch.

Then, there are the birds which are mostly likely tone-deaf and scornful of the pitch perfect, instead priortising sheer vocal power over tuneful quality of any sort. Birds of prey scream their intent, kingfishers yammer raucously, nightjars gionk till sunrise comes and woodpeckers blare out ear-shattering trills.

Woodpeckers in particular are interesting. While they have very interesting voices, like that family of banded woodpeckers (parents and young) making strange squeaking noises in the soundclip attached, they don’t use it to call to their ladywoodpeckers or stake out of a territory.

Instead, they’ve prooved extremely able percussionists – meaning that they drum; their drum kit the most readily available surface in the forest. Notice how the rufous woodpecker’s drumming trails off purposefully towards the end, like that of a dying motorboat engine. I haven’t been able to record any drumming myself, but when I finally do I will let y’all know.

It was drizzling quite fiercely today as we did our bird survey. As we walked along this flutterby darted across the path, its wings perhaps as large as my palm. I like the way that the raindrops collect on its wings. I also like that it was prodding the trunk with its proboscis; drinking, maybe, even though it definitely looks like it had had enough of liquid for the day.

I enjoy reading the descriptions of our region’s owl calls out loud. Have a go.

The bird in the photo, a barred eagle owl:
A ‘loud quacking gagagagogogo’.

The spotted wood owl:
A ‘loud, deep quavering WRRRROOH WRRRROOH WRRRROOH’

A jungle owlet:
An ‘unusual, slightly raucous PRAA-PRAA-PRAA-praa-pruu or prr-prr-prr-praa-praa-praa-praa-praa-praa-praa’praa’praa etc. repeated after shortish intervals’.

Listen for the rather mournful, defeated song that could be the sound-effect for someone slumping slowly backwards. It’s a short-tailed babbler calling persistently: it is now the illustrious breeding season for the birds of Singapore and the rest of Southeast Asia.

It is now the time to put their best notes forward.

To honor the effort birds put into their tuneful repertoires, I will be writing a few stories about our valiant attempts to digest the complexity of their song. Not to mention that most will be accompanied by audio like the one here - I hope you enjoyed it.

The first post will be up this weekend, have a good one.

This young tailorbird was found by my brother and his army friends at least three years ago. Most of these younglings fall from trees in attempted flight and are discovered by NSFs in places as ulu as you can find in a land mass of 700sqkm. I fed it store-bought baby bird food from the plastic end of a shoelace, a successful attempt at a mockup of its parents’ beak shape. It responded (with enthusiastic chirping) to a particular whistle I made before feeding, and seemed to enjoy being tickled behind its head. Two weeks later I came home from school and found it cold.

I’ve always been fond of tailorbirds; only after I rediscovered these photos did I remember why.

A strange, furry spider from many years ago. It was smaller than my thumbnail. Nevertheless, it fixed us with a stony stare as it sat upside down, under the guardrail. I wonder where it’s at today.

I’ve heard this and probably said this myself many times: “Ang moh are okay with taking a gap year.” This practice is for a fact more widely accepted in the US and Europe, but I won’t dare to make more generalisations like that again. There is a whole community, orang putih or not, that encourages the option of a gap year, a perfectly viable and reasonable alternative to the rat race of structured education.

I am part of that community, and I’m Singaporean.

OM NOM NOM.

The banded woodpecker has serious punk-rock tendencies. What’s that, a red fauxhawk with yellow horizontal ends? If only I got a shot of the back and wings, which are a magnificent red that pops in the right light.

This is the same bird, from below.

From the first photo you could tell that its front was a rather cryptic patterning of black and white, but only when I was right below the bird did I get a feel of the full effect of this camouflage. Oddly enough, it seems maroon in this light.

Its camouflage isn’t foolproof but it works well enough; a compromise between the need for color and the need for unobtrusiveness. Trogons are a dramatic, fire-engine red down their front, but from the back they are the same as any other orange leaf. The only thing left to reveal these birds are their general bird-shape, which other birds go to greater lengths to conceal, in the good ol’ spirit of paranoia.

“This odd, dark cloud has an uncanny resemblance to ______.”

I think it has an uncanny resemblance to the back view of a curious marten. Not that I’ve seen a marten in the flesh, but I’ve seen photos.

Tell me how you see it in the comments - yes, I have comments!