April 2010
With a serene calm approaching womblike comfort, the night was still and quiet. The morning breeze had not yet awoken from its slumbers and the leaves hung limp from their branches. The darkness would have been absolute but for the thin gleam of moonlight, which lay across the still water like a slash from a silver sword. A faint ‘plop’ and a few gentle ripples radiating out, disturbing the mirror surface for a few brief seconds. Then a tiny ‘V’ shape moving silently across the jet black canvas, cutting through the sliver of moon, distorting it into a trembling wave; within moments the ripple had subsided and the water had returned to the inky black mirror, the sword slash perfect and still once more.
I pressed the binoculars to my eyes, but the source of the brief disturbance had long passed into the anonymity of the night before I could focus the lens. I guessed it was a water vole, but, in truth, it could well have been anything. Needless to say, the incident had awoken me from my dreamlike torpor and it was about time to sort out the equipment. Glancing at the tiny figures 05.10 glowing ghostly on the face of my watch, I decided to turn on the tape recorder now, ninety minutes should cover all I needed for the Dawn Chorus and I didn’t want to risk losing the first of the calls. I pressed the record button and a faint hum invaded the pristine silence.
Having set the camcorder for manual focus and full wide angle, I switched it off again. It always took a full fifteen seconds to power up, but I couldn’t afford to waste the battery on standby; instead, I would have to be quick off the mark if there was anything interesting to capture. The digital SLR wasn’t a problem, that could ping itself awake in five seconds flat; with its powerful zoom lens attached and the shutter set for low light, all I had to do now was to sit back and wait for nature to start the show.
But for the moment the curtain was still down – the creatures of the night had already retired to the safety of their daytime retreats, or, perhaps, were still going about their night time business, but desperately trying not to be seen or heard. The creatures of the day were still hiding deep within their sanctuaries, carefully hidden from the death that silently pursues the wary in the stillness of the night.
I settled myself back down onto the wooden bench as quietly as I could, my cameras on my lap, and pulled my coat a little closer around my neck. While it wasn’t a particularly cold night, my body was still struggling to raise itself fully up from sleep to full working mode and I began to wish I’d worn my thicker jumper instead.
It was a full ten minutes before the curtain rose and act one began. With its beautiful little melody trilling out from the tree top, the blackbird was on first; closely followed by a second male over to the left, loudly proclaiming domination over his own territory, close by and maybe even overlapping. After a few seconds of song, silence crept back again, but not for long; the haunting call of a cuckoo – ‘Cuc … Koo’, ‘Cuc … Koo’ echoed across the water, rebounding from its smoothness and scattering between the treetops, a small fragment falling on the microphone, dissolving quickly between its wire lattice and down through the twin wires onto the slowly revolving magnetic tape.
A faint glow on the horizon heralded the promise of dawn and the trees around me slowly began to develop shape in the eerie quiet. It was then that the ghost came on to take centre stage, drifting soundless across the treetops, wings slowly rising and falling, soft edged feathers silent as the grave, the angel of death with a flat white face, powerful curved beak and murderously sharp talons. Its head slowly turning this way and that, keen eyes scanning the ground for the minutest sign of movement, keen ears listening for the tell tale signs of squeaking life. But there obviously were none, because the ghost passed quietly over my head, seeking more luck further upstream.
For an hour or more I sat in rapture at the drama awakening and unfolding slowly before me, both cameras faithfully recording the introduction of the entire cast, though most, I feared, would be either too dark or poorly focussed. Yet still, with what did come out, I would have a memorable record to treasure for ever. I yawned and reached into the bag for the flask; it was years since I had used one and I hoped that the coffee had stayed hot enough, I could certainly use some of its warmth, not to mention the caffeine! In the dim light of the dawn, the steam from the cup was reassuring, but if anything it was a little too hot; I put the cup down and swung my legs up. Settling my head back against the bag, I thought perhaps I’d earned five minutes while the wake up juice cooled down enough to drink.
It was some time later, and broad daylight, when I was awoken, suddenly. A male swan, honking angrily, was literally running full pelt across the surface of the water, heading directly at me, neck stretched out in front, wings beating furiously. As I flattened my back against the back of the bench, the flask fell onto the cup beneath with a muffled tinkling sound, the cold coffee soaking into the grass, but I quickly saw that it wasn’t me that was the source of the swan's attention, it was a coot that had strayed into the exclusion zone the swan had set around its mate and four signets. Before I had time to power up the camera, the coot casually made a minor adjustment to its course, honour was satisfied and the swan sank back into the water, sending a ‘V’ shaped bow wave shimmering towards the interloper. Then it turned serenely around, wings held high in triumph and slid gracefully back to its family, duty done.
There was a loud clatter behind me. I spun around in time to see a large heron rising in an untidy gangly rush out of the reeds, its long legs dangling as its huge wings flapped like sails, clawing at the still air for height. I watched, fascinated as it slowly rose above the treetops, drifting gracefully away across the water.
So much for modern technology; I glared at the two cameras lying inert and impotent in my lap. I sat for a further half an hour through complete inactivity, then reluctantly slid off the bench, slipping the cameras into their cases. As I stood up, a fox broke cover, loping towards me for a few feet before it caught either my sight or scent and dashed back off the track again, its snakelike path rippling through the long grass, mapping its course until it reached the trees and disappeared completely. I laughed and began stowing the rest of my equipment back into the bag. Perhaps there were times when Nature was best simply enjoyed for the moment, stored within the database of our own minds.