A Tail of Three Crakes - Part 1

Wednesday 4th April 2012

Chasing lifers isn't for everyone.  If you're a birder you will understand the compulsion to keep a record of all the bird species you have seen, when and where.  Adding a new bird to your record is called a "lifer". When you first start birding you realise that it is really all about the bird but before long you are caught up in the frantic admin where you never seem to catch up. Cecile coined the phrase admin for the work that needs to be done once you start keeping lists.  It works very well in an Afrikaans sentence "Ag nee men, ek gaan nooit by al my admin uitkom nie" or "Los my uit, ek het admin om te doen". These are words that Betsie and I heard many times over the years,  usually from the back seat where Cecile was wrapped up in some cocoon due to the cold weather.

I found myself entering 2012 with a very respectable number of lifers. Not as many as Betsie but definitely more than John.  I have worked hard to get to 720. A nice round number. No big trips planned for the year as leave was being stored up for an English holiday. Then I got the dreaded e-mail.

Another thing about birders is that we like to inform each other about where the good stuff is.  We haven't sunk to the levels of the English fraternity who keep the specials (another bit of lingo for non-birders) hidden far away just in case someone else could see it and go above your total.  Locally we have a few excellent e-mail groups where people can ask questions, get answers, brag about the really cool trip you just did and of course let everyone else know where the lesser spotted purple streaked you-know-what can be found. One such group is the rare bird alert.  This is managed by Trevor Hardaker in Cape Town and everyone around the country will let him know of the super duper birds, where they were found and how others could possible get a glimpse.  He puts together a regular alert and sends out the e-mail to everyone subscribed.  This is how I heard about the crake.  For those of you that have been around for a while, this isn't THE crake, this is the first crake.  

Someone had regularly spotted (yes, another buzz word) a Baillon's Crake at Marievale Bird Sanctuary.  Now this is an extremely secretive bird, doesn't like people and pretty much keeps to themselves.  They live in the reeds on the edges of ponds, just sticking their noses out every now and again to smell the fresh air.  Someone seeing them regularly usually means one thing which involves being shacked up with a piece of fluff and one of them is sitting on eggs.  Exciting times are predicted as the great rush to spot the bird before it disappears is vital.  Some guys will drop everything immediately, get in their cars and charge off into the distance hoping their tiny spare compact binoculars in the cubby hole will do the job.  Others like myself, play the odds.  We try to wait for the weekend when time isn't an issue and you could be lucky and have others lined up to easily show you the bird. Teamwork. This is the gamble Jacques and I took. It paid off. The first notification of the crake came through on 4th of January. We watched e-mails come through the entire week and by Friday night we had taken out the binocs (yep another one), charged the camera batteries and set the alarm for really early.  Birds are never obliging and situate themselves nearby your house or office.  They are in hard to reach places far from civilisation. It takes commitment and a full tank of petrol on your part to get there.  I suppose the bird has taken the time to fly from some 3rd world country to me and the least we could do is be gracious about getting to see it.  

We were up bright and early and after filling the flask with boiling water we set off for Marievale, about 1.5 hours drive from home.  We got there with a few minor navigation incidents due to having the route take us through a few informal settlements and road closures.  We followed the road into the reserve, saw a bunch of birders in the distance and parked the car.  A hundred metre walk to the birders along the muddy road and we were joyfully greeted by some familiar faces. It is amazing how you get to know the regulars. After catching up with the latest news on kids, sightings (yes, yet another one) and birding trips, it was time to face the reeds and wait.  We had brought chairs and left them in the car along with breakfast. Stupid move. The smell of someone's coffee wafted past in the morning breeze. We hoped it wasn't going to be a long wait.  It wasn't.  Within a few minutes a beautiful specimen of a crake came strolling out from the reeds searching for breakfast.  The sound of camera shutters was almost deafening in the wide open space.  Fifteen birders tried not to fall into the pond with excitement.  He posed beautifully in the morning light and the thundering shutter sounds didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.  Insect after insect was picked off the vegetation. His breakfast was good.  We watched him for a while before moving back to the car.  Our flask was opened and rusks produced from the rugsack.  It was our turn to smell the coffee.  Breakfast was indeed good...

For more info on the Baillon's Crake, check out Wikipedia here

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baillon%27s_Crake

A Girl Guide, a Voortrekker and a Pioneer

 Monday 2nd April 2012

The absolute craziness of jumping on a plane to a far off destination for just a day and then doing something relatively small before jumping back on the plane, is exhilarating. Very exhilarating if the small thing is really small. About the size of a small dove. Longer legs though. Has the word "little" in its name. Isn't from here. Lots of people want to see it. Is a female happy in her singleness. She has a whole pond to herself. She has lots of admirers. She is unique. Her world has been turned upside down. She is bliss. She is a Little Crake.

After reading one email after another about the Little Crake in Kalk Bay, I just couldn't take it anymore and sent a message to Betsie Lategan. I had barely tweaked her rubber arm when I was online checking out flight prices and accommodation in the area. Problem was work. My boss was in meetings, it was quarter end and I still had a revenue target to meet. I waited an hour, rechecked the flight prices and they had gone up by a hundred rand. Oops. I checked with Betsie and she said we needed to make sure we got the flight as there wasn't another day we could do this. I was worried that she was having second thoughts. Thalia asked if we were going earlier that morning. It was like she was reading my mind. "Absolutely", I said. Her rubber arm wouldn't be tweaked. Damn. Lisl wasn't chasing tweets. Double damn. Tana had stuff on so couldn't get away. Anneke was still away and wouldn't be back in time. Andre was still on his way back from Vietnam. More damnation took place. So it was just the two of us.

By lunchtime, the boss wasn't back and the tickets were two hundred smackeroos more than when I started. "Be bold"is my personal motto so I went ahead and made the bookings. Betsie was at the grocery store so I bought her ticket too. I called a lovely lady named Madeleine and booked accommodation just up the road from the sighting. I went into the HR system and put leave in for the day. I waited with one eye on the corner office.

Turns out that as a nature photographer, my boss fully understood my urges and happily gave me the day off on the proviso that I leave my phone switched on (not during flights of course). We were set. It was time to talk about packing, what to take, what to leave behind. A few frantic BBMs exchanged. A few quarter end meetings moved. I started my mental packing list. Out of office notification was set.

We flew down from Lanseria (officially my favourite airport in the world) on Tuesday evening of 27 March. I had an "Aeropane Jane" flight down with a rather interesting lady sitting next to me on the way. Thankfully we landed much earlier than expected and were soon whizzing off in our cute Chevy Spark aka Sparky. TomTom on the iPad was great and in no time we were shoving our baby up the steep inclines that are part of Kalk Bay's charm to find our home for the night. Our accommodation was excellent and once the luggage had been dumped we went looking for dinner.  Not an easy feat at 9pm on a Tuesday night out of season. We ended up in Simonstown at Bertha's Restaurant which is right on the edge of the charming little harbour. I remembered from a few years ago how great it was - we had eaten there after completing a rather harrowing BLNG pelagic trip with Trevor Hardaker. The snoek and hake fish cakes were delicious. We were barely back at Castle Hill when we both jumped into our beds to recharge those batteries for the next day.

"Is jy wakker?" we're the first words I heard of the day. "Mmmm" was the response. Realising it was already 7 o'clock we were up in no time. We took enough time to enjoy the incredible sunrise from the inn's balcony overlooking the sea before the final pack, checkout and heading down to see Sparky. We had mapped out the fastest route to Clovelly so were there within minutes. Several cars parked on the side of a quiet road were enough to tell us where Lady Luck was hiding.  Cameras and binocs were hastily grasped from the boot. Along the short path to the pond, we encountered a couple who were just walkingback to their vehicle shaking their heads. They looked up, smiled at us and mumbled something which sounded like, "Its just a tame chicken". Betsie and I glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, both not sure it was going to be that easy.

The pond is in a beautiful setting. It is part of the Silvermine Wetland Conservancy, bordering on Main Road just across from the sea at Kalk Bay. I'd like to say we looked at the surroundings but we didn't.  We plonked ourselves down next to three gentlemen who were staring at the pond as if it contained some sort of magic. Turns out they were right. Two minutes after propping ourselves up on the wooden fence, this tiny gem of a creeping bird comes casually walking out from the reeds a couple of metres from where we were sitting. Was it? Maybe? Yes!

A tame chicken really was the only way to describe her.  She was small. The size of a dove. Brown. A couple of black feathered streaks down her back. Darkish eye.  She looked comfortable in her feathers. Fearless. Hungry.  Right in front of me!

The excitement that shoots through your body is almost physical. The thrill runs from your toes all the way to the hairs on the back of your neck. Instant reaction is to plaster a grin on your face and immediately look to your friend. The grin gets wider from both of you when you realize you both have the same grin and eyes lit up like altar candles. Contact established, mutual enjoyment is taking place. The sound of cameras clicking furiously reminds you that just 90 degrees away is something so special that you have to snap your eyes back to the front.

We were so blessed with the most incredible views of the tame chicken walking right past us on the vegetation she is so perfectly adapted to. Long toes and a skulking-shaped body come in handy when you need to move silently through the reed beds searching for insects. A girl needs her protein after all. She moved quietly, just a few steps away from us, barely glancing around while she stayed focused on her targets. Breakfast never saw her coming.

We must have watched her for half an hour before chatting to the three guys who were as enthralled as we were. One had also just flown in from Gauteng. We moved off down the path to start making those important calls to spread the word and share the excitement. By then my camera needed a fresh battery and we needed to take a moment to let it all settle in and come down from the high. Locals trundled past with their best friends holding tennis balls in their mouths, occasionally stopping to ask what the fuss was all about. Am sure they walked off thinking strange thoughts about crazy birders.

We went back for a second look. Sun beams had hit the pond by now and she posed beautifully for some photos in the morning light. Perfect. Serene. Content.

After a delicious breakfast at Boulders overlooking the penguins, we just had to go back for another look.  A different set of faces and lenses this time around. Another Sparky parked in the road. The pond was in full morning sun and our tiny pioneer was still strutting her stuff. More vision captured on virtual film. We tear ourselves away. There’s more to do today.

The thrill doesn't go away. We spend the rest of the day in a bit of a daze. We find ourselves randomly smiling for no reason. The birding must continue. We take the scenic route to Tokai to get Betsie a much better view of the Chaffinch population. They were scattered everywhere and like our newest acquaintance, just a few metres away. A beautiful drive to Kirstenbosch with a magical walk around the gardens was the perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon.

Before long we were off to the airport again. We gave Sparky's keys back to the man in green. Checked in at the green counter. Sat in the green lounge waiting for the green aeroplane. We, on the other hand, were no longer green thinking of everyone who had seen the pioneer. We had experienced a tiny piece of heaven. Someone else’s turn to be green.

* Aeroplane Jane - check out the lyrics from Karen Zoid's very entertaining song
* Pioneer – “one who is among those who first enter or settle a region, thus opening it for occupation and development by others”  Dictionary.com

Submitted to Laniarius

Aeroplane Jane

Tuesday 27th March 2012

As Betsie and I tackle the madness that is Cape Town and the Little Crake twitch, I am distracted from my usual expectation of nausea on these flights by the arrival of a small elderly lady to the front of the plane.  She is helped on board by none other than the captain and two hosties.  I realize with disappointment that she is being aimed a the seat next to me.  The businessman on the isle seat had already laid claim to the spare seat with his case and neatly folded copy of The Star. Moments before he had fastened his seatbelt with just "von" click. I couldn't see the look on his face when the sweet cabin attendant gestured to the middle seat but am sure he plastered the salesman's grimace on his face before cheerfully leeaping up to make space for the Aunty.

The Aunty was gracefully placed into 7B and with a flourish her hand luggage was stowed away and her handbag safely on her lap. When the discussions with the hostie around her health started my ears really pricked up. The Afrikaans words flew past me and she was assured she just needed to press the big red button above her head if she needed help. I glanced up and realized the big red button was about twenty centimeters above her reach. "Good luck Aunty" I whispered to myself.

Within three seconds of businessman and I being left alone with the Aunty, he was back to his newspaper and I watched in amazement as the Aunty grabbed for her inhaler. I was in for an interesting trip. The Aunty was having a serious panic attack and just about everything was going wrong. She grabbed randomly at the two ends of her seatbelt to secure her shaking body to the blue leather seat. She couldn't get the to connect in just "von" click and reached for the inhaler again.  As if on cue, let's call her Candy, arrived to check up on her special care patient. Candy came to the rescue just as the businessman wondered where his second strap has disappeared to. Strap passed back to businessman and the Aunty was secure once she had reached under her small behind to get the right strap. By now we had started taxiing to the runway.

The Aunty then decided she needed a pill to calm her down. Being too short to reach her handbag which had slid to the floor during the seatbelt incident, I managed to reach down and grab a handle and pass it to her after a pleading look. Several lengthy seconds passed by while she scrambled for the white box with the pink writing. She slid out the blister pack and an array of perfectly pink pills were hurriedly thumbed until she had her rescue meds. Another suck on the inhaler before asking for her bottle of water which was eventually found stowed away in the galley. Pill almost inhaled before the handbag slid down her shins and onto the carpet. Captain reminded everyone to switch off their cellphones and electronic equipment. Guess what! Yes, I reached down the get the bag and was given permission to find her purse and remove out the slimmest cellphone I had ever held and find the off button. Not an easy feat with lights switched off for take off...

The Aunty closed her eyes for a moment and relaxed. Just enough time to realize she didn't have her id book and air ticket. Another frantic scramble through her handbag which she managed to grab with two fingers this time around. By this time we had reached the runway and Candy was heading for her own seat at the front of the plane. I knew I had to act fast so started a rapid burst of questions about everything other than her health, her id book, her ticket and the  pill she had just swallowed. By the time we had revved the engines she knew I didn't like flying, was missing my husband and loved take offs. I was so busy chatting that we both missed the takeoff and once in the air, for very different reasons, we're somewhat relieved.

The rural views around Lanseria airport are really spectacular. The farms, small holdings and new golf estates really make for a good reason to always book a window seat.  I had checked Bets and I in this morning and as she also likes the window seat I got her 8A. Strange not sitting next to each other but for some reason it works. Things with Bets always just find a way of working out. That's what is so fab about her in every way. The Aunty tells me she doesn't want to see the view but I am not beyond keeping her distracted with vivid descriptions of the landscape, the chicken farms and how much water is in the winding river below us. I hope the pink pill starts to kick in soon.  I am suddenly reminded of Elvira's pink pills from Dr So-and-so that we're supposed to help ladies with their constitutions many years ago.

Before the seatbelt sign is off I have established she was visiting her daughter before going back to the Cape to stay with her son for a few days. She will catch a bus to her home in Oudshoorn this weekend before the big traffic starts. Now a big part of me is curious about the big traffic in a place like Oudshoorn. Do I ask or do I leave it. I decide to just nod which encourages her to continue the story about where she lives before the great truth is revealed. The KKNK starts on the weekend and then all hell breaks loose in that part of the world. Thousands of Afrikaans fans decend on this tiny village, known only really for its love of ostriches,  once a year and take over any signs of normality for a week. The Aunty describes what it is like to not be able to drive anywhere, just pop down to the shops for a loaf of bread and the prices they charge for parking while the village makes the most of the week to relieve the visitors of their hard earned cash.

By now the pink pill has done its job.  Unfortunately I have been so busy making sure the Aunty is okay and doesn't run amok in the plane that I have not followed my normal procedures to ensure a vomit-free flight.  I take a long deep breath, just in time to pick up the last fumes from the inhaler that is still working overtime next to me. It isn't helping the woozy feeling in my head or throat. I close my eyes and feel the control slide back to me.  Half listening to the chattering next to me I open one eye and see the businessman furiously editing a document. The sound of him clicking his pen on and off continually does briefly distract me from the task at hand. I open the other eye and ask the Aunty nicely whether the pill is doing its thing and she nods. I stare out the window into nothing as the clouds have a engulfed us by now. I hear a yawn next to me and reach into the seat pocket in front of me for my iPad. There's a story in here somewhere...

*  Aeroplane Jane title borrowed from Karen Zoid - a fabulous song about airline travel and the passengers she has around her and what they get up to.