Change is huge when you pack up your world and move it to another continent. You grasp at objects, thoughts and feelings that make you feel somewhat comfortable or at home but deep down you know you have to change everything to survive. It isn't as simple as learning to drive on the other side of the road or not being offended when the voice-activated GPS in your new car cannot understand a word you say so you still have to type in a detailed address every time you want to be directed somewhere. Planning a meal isn't as simple as it used to be as half the food you paired together, no longer exists. (Is now a good time to mention that I would give anything to taste a Woolies rotisserie chicken paired with a small wholewheat seeded roll?). Such is the same with birding...
I will always be insanely thankful to Jeanine for allowing us to stay in her home when we first arrived in New York. Somers is a delightful little town and it gave Jacques the opportunity to stay close to the office in a time when he needed the stability of not only changing his life, but tackling a tough new role at work. I was able to spend a lot of my day looking into the line of trees close to the house, not only to admire the gorgeous snow scenes which appeared regularly, but also the incredible nature and wildlife on her doorstep. Within the first few days of arriving, I was drawn to the lounge (or living room as I now have to call it) windows to gaze out at the view. A few tiny footprints in the snow appeared when squirrels and chipmunks started to show themselves. Seeing wild deer walk through the back garden and hang around for hours under the trees on a particularly snowy day, gave me a sense of excitement. Then the first birds started hopping about in the snow and on bare branches outside the kitchen. That morning when I couldn't wait to pick up my camera and start snapping birds - something I have always felt should rather be left to the professionals - I found my mission. Get working on seeing as many new birds as possible.
From my first walk around the streets of Heritage Hills where I couldn't see through steamed up lenses or move the focus wheel on my binnies, I knew that birds would be my lifeline to adjusting. I didn't have a job to hang on to for some stability so the new birds and delights of nature I was experiencing, soon became my mini-obsession. For those of you that shared my initial journey and have been happy to wade through all my Facebook photos, you cannot understand how the interaction helped me to settle me in. You will be equally pleased to know that I will be starting my new role here at IBM on the 7th of June so my Facebook posts will very quickly disappear to just a normal trickle.
Back to birding... Before I left SA, I reached out to the Audubon Society here to ask about local clubs in the area. I am a great believer in birding with others - nothing is more disheartening when you see something spectacular and have no-one to share it with. There were a few clubs around me so I reached out once I was here and got some responses. It was with great enthusiasm that I dragged Jacques out of bed one icy cold Saturday morning and to a place called Croton Point where the local bird club was doing a count of species visiting a group of bird feeders. During part of the winter, this is how they count the different species and these particular guys did it from the warm confines of a building with large windows and not outside in the snow. We were immediately made to feel welcome and spent most of the hours chatting to the team there about birding back home and our move. In between we were admiring the birds at the feeders too. This initial interaction made such a great impression that I decided not to investigate other clubs and stick with this one (Saw Mill River Audubon).
I have had the pleasure of being able to attend most of the Monday and Thursday walks with the club during May so for once, have appreciated not having to get up for work every day. Most days I feel like an absolute beginner as the appearance and calls have me starting from scratch but every time I go out I start gaining more and more confidence. It does help that I have an incredible teacher, Anne, who is sharing her insane amount of knowledge with me (thanks Anne). It does also help that there are the most gorgeous locations in and around where I live, not excluding my garden of course, that makes wanting to be out there with my binoculars, a pleasure. I am enjoying getting to know fellow club members and having a shared passion helps make connections I didn't think were possible so quickly.
I never realized that this girl with blazing hot, African blood flowing through her veins would be able to use that same blood to find a link to her new world. Changing your life is a journey and having inner peace to keep you sane
while you travel that road with a GPS that doesn't understand your
accent, is immeasurable.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Why America doesn't need Mariette
I have a great friend by the name of Mariette. She is a medical rep and takes her job very seriously. She visits doctors every day to talk to them about her company's products and how they work. She regularly writes exams and attends conferences to make sure she understands the studies, the impacts and the side effects. She knows and understands her products intimately. Her focus is on the doctors and pharmacists to keep her products top of their mind when prescribing or making recommendations. She doesn't deal with the direct public. Its a full-time job back in South Africa. I don't believe Mariette is needed in America.
America takes care of all of this with 90 second adverts on TV. Lots of them. Mostly for something to take care of bowel issues. Usually aimed at the older population as I have yet to see anyone in an advert, under the age of 50 unless they are posing as a grandchild. The advert starts with an actor performing some sort of activity or their inability to perform that activity. Either a very happy face or someone who is down in the dumps as they can't do something anymore (queue sad dog or pathetic grandchild). The background music is either something upbeat because Billy beat Diabetes or melancholy and slow because Mary can't poop.
So the advert has started and in the first 5 seconds you have an idea of the bodily function fixer-upper being advertised and then the unpronounceable product name appears in bold letters at the top of the screen. Sometimes in smaller letters, they will print the more commonly known name, just in case you are very familiar with it already. Just like a warm blankie on a cold night I suppose. For some of the more difficult names, they actually have a phonetic pronunciation under the name too! The music and video fade into the background and a shot of the product comes into the foreground...
A command-able voice starts talking about the product - if you're lucky its the voice of an old-and-out-of-work celebrity. The voice pronounces the name a few times in the next few sentences (just so it sinks in). They either get us to rejoice with Billy or sympatise with Mary. Details of how the medication works is explained in quite a bit of detail. Music and video come back to the foreground and happy faces talk to you about how great they feel or how this product has changed their lives. Then comes the fun part and the music and video fade again.
I remember back at home when the tobacco companies and gambling houses first had to include the warning label in their advert clips. A quick flash on the screen and a number you could call to help you get over your addiction. It was like subliminal messaging - too quick to actually take it in. Then the National Credit Act came into being and all of a sudden you were read the small print on the radio for credit cards and vehicle financing. Usually every word articulated but at a speed that no rational ear could catch on. It remains small print after all.
NOT HERE IN AMERICA! Here every single side effect of the drug is part of the voice-over. They are slowly articulated so that there's no confusion that something that appears to cure Frank's IBS can also allow him to die a slow and painful death (at least have suicidal thoughts or actions) and those handy-enough-to-carry-in-your-handbag wipes for Tammy's hemorrhoids could cause an allergic reaction to bees. As someone new to the genre, it is mind-blowing to hear the side effects of the drugs on the market. Mariette would shudder if she had to read them out to the general public every day like these guys are paid to do. Everything from death to one's skin breaking out in awful sores are read out with perfect clarity.
The adverts here are not directed at the doctors or pharmacists - they punt their products direct to the general public. The public must ask their doctors to prescribe the products while the small print says you should speak to your doctor about whether the product would be suitable for you. You don't care about it being suitable, you want to stop your chronic diarrhea right now and any which way you can so that you can be as happy as Mike playing his guitar on a stage with hardly anyone in the audience. He looks so happy after all, that means the drug must surely work wonders.
I am sorry Mariette, but there is no place here for you. You aren't an old actor struggling to buy his next bottle of champers. You have pride. You have dignity. If you were here, you'd be without a job. You of course wouldn't have all the free samples that come with advertising the product but then I don't think you promote hemorrhoid wipes either.
America takes care of all of this with 90 second adverts on TV. Lots of them. Mostly for something to take care of bowel issues. Usually aimed at the older population as I have yet to see anyone in an advert, under the age of 50 unless they are posing as a grandchild. The advert starts with an actor performing some sort of activity or their inability to perform that activity. Either a very happy face or someone who is down in the dumps as they can't do something anymore (queue sad dog or pathetic grandchild). The background music is either something upbeat because Billy beat Diabetes or melancholy and slow because Mary can't poop.
So the advert has started and in the first 5 seconds you have an idea of the bodily function fixer-upper being advertised and then the unpronounceable product name appears in bold letters at the top of the screen. Sometimes in smaller letters, they will print the more commonly known name, just in case you are very familiar with it already. Just like a warm blankie on a cold night I suppose. For some of the more difficult names, they actually have a phonetic pronunciation under the name too! The music and video fade into the background and a shot of the product comes into the foreground...
A command-able voice starts talking about the product - if you're lucky its the voice of an old-and-out-of-work celebrity. The voice pronounces the name a few times in the next few sentences (just so it sinks in). They either get us to rejoice with Billy or sympatise with Mary. Details of how the medication works is explained in quite a bit of detail. Music and video come back to the foreground and happy faces talk to you about how great they feel or how this product has changed their lives. Then comes the fun part and the music and video fade again.
I remember back at home when the tobacco companies and gambling houses first had to include the warning label in their advert clips. A quick flash on the screen and a number you could call to help you get over your addiction. It was like subliminal messaging - too quick to actually take it in. Then the National Credit Act came into being and all of a sudden you were read the small print on the radio for credit cards and vehicle financing. Usually every word articulated but at a speed that no rational ear could catch on. It remains small print after all.
NOT HERE IN AMERICA! Here every single side effect of the drug is part of the voice-over. They are slowly articulated so that there's no confusion that something that appears to cure Frank's IBS can also allow him to die a slow and painful death (at least have suicidal thoughts or actions) and those handy-enough-to-carry-in-your-handbag wipes for Tammy's hemorrhoids could cause an allergic reaction to bees. As someone new to the genre, it is mind-blowing to hear the side effects of the drugs on the market. Mariette would shudder if she had to read them out to the general public every day like these guys are paid to do. Everything from death to one's skin breaking out in awful sores are read out with perfect clarity.
The adverts here are not directed at the doctors or pharmacists - they punt their products direct to the general public. The public must ask their doctors to prescribe the products while the small print says you should speak to your doctor about whether the product would be suitable for you. You don't care about it being suitable, you want to stop your chronic diarrhea right now and any which way you can so that you can be as happy as Mike playing his guitar on a stage with hardly anyone in the audience. He looks so happy after all, that means the drug must surely work wonders.
I am sorry Mariette, but there is no place here for you. You aren't an old actor struggling to buy his next bottle of champers. You have pride. You have dignity. If you were here, you'd be without a job. You of course wouldn't have all the free samples that come with advertising the product but then I don't think you promote hemorrhoid wipes either.
Friday, February 5, 2016
Snow and South African dogs and Crocs don't mix
Having the babies adjust to the new weather conditions in Somers, NY has been a challenge. They arrived a few days ago from the heatwave that is current engulfing Gauteng, to a very cool 2 degrees half way around the Earth. Without have a garden to roam freely in, we are back in the puppy training stage of going outside for regular walks on a lead where business can be taken care of.
I awoke on this second morning of the babies being here and put on my slippers (old red Crocs from Mr Price so not even the real thing) and a tracksuit to take them out. I opened the curtains to the sight of beautiful snow falling - just like a Christmas card - but I wasn't to be put off. Leads on and the sliding door to the deck was opened. Not as cold as I thought it would be and the babies were rearing to go so we stepped out into a fairy tale.
For a full two seconds we all enjoyed the moment - snow falling and a perfectly white landscape. First steps into the snow and it crunched pleasantly under foot. Was about 15 cms deep and made a delightful crunching sound when we stepped onto it.
Trinity was first off the deck with her nose down and smelling the snow. Neo was slightly tentative but joined her and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I'm still getting used to the leads that lets them have some freedom and soon enough they were at maximum and seemed to be enjoying themselves. One of the leads got stuck to the edge of the deck and in the moment I managed to get it loose, the Hounds of Hades were released.
Both dogs surged forward with such power that both leads were pulled out of my hands and they were bounding off into the trees at full speed. I started after them and found that old crocs lack traction and when you're treading on unknown ground while shouting out their names, one's dignity is non-existent. While picking myself up in a panic, I looked up and saw what had caught their attention - a few deer were racing off into the white distance with two small dogs after them. I called my dogs again.I also know I was shouting "Liefie" at the top of my voice in between all of this. The hounds slowed down a bit. Thankfully the leads got a bit tangled in a bush. As luck would have it, as I got near the stupid handles on the end of the leads, I slipped again and they managed to get themselves loose so were off again.
Lucky for me they slowed down enough for me to grasp both ends and we came to a halt. They were rearing at the end of the leads to keep going but by then my "stern mother voice" had kicked in and they finally turned around and acknowledged me. Time to turn around and go back to the house but of course I had two dogs each on about 6 metres of lead, coming back at me in two different directions, each getting tangled in bushes and around trees. By now Liefie had got out of bed and was enjoying the spectacle from the deck. I did slip and fall once more coming back to the house and it was a good one. Slippery rotting leaves hidden under the snow made for a great slip 'n slide.
Shaking it off, the babies were more than happy to greet their father while I arrived behind them with snow all over my bottom half. I was shaking in a different way.
My friend Sharon posted a picture on Facebook a while back describing the holes in Crocs - apparently that's where your dignity leaks out. For once I have to agree with her. Several lessons were learnt this morning...
1) Crocs do not make suitable snow gear
2) Wear your Hunter Wellies out in the snow
3) Hold onto the dog's leads for "deer" life.
I awoke on this second morning of the babies being here and put on my slippers (old red Crocs from Mr Price so not even the real thing) and a tracksuit to take them out. I opened the curtains to the sight of beautiful snow falling - just like a Christmas card - but I wasn't to be put off. Leads on and the sliding door to the deck was opened. Not as cold as I thought it would be and the babies were rearing to go so we stepped out into a fairy tale.
For a full two seconds we all enjoyed the moment - snow falling and a perfectly white landscape. First steps into the snow and it crunched pleasantly under foot. Was about 15 cms deep and made a delightful crunching sound when we stepped onto it.
Trinity was first off the deck with her nose down and smelling the snow. Neo was slightly tentative but joined her and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I'm still getting used to the leads that lets them have some freedom and soon enough they were at maximum and seemed to be enjoying themselves. One of the leads got stuck to the edge of the deck and in the moment I managed to get it loose, the Hounds of Hades were released.
Both dogs surged forward with such power that both leads were pulled out of my hands and they were bounding off into the trees at full speed. I started after them and found that old crocs lack traction and when you're treading on unknown ground while shouting out their names, one's dignity is non-existent. While picking myself up in a panic, I looked up and saw what had caught their attention - a few deer were racing off into the white distance with two small dogs after them. I called my dogs again.I also know I was shouting "Liefie" at the top of my voice in between all of this. The hounds slowed down a bit. Thankfully the leads got a bit tangled in a bush. As luck would have it, as I got near the stupid handles on the end of the leads, I slipped again and they managed to get themselves loose so were off again.
Lucky for me they slowed down enough for me to grasp both ends and we came to a halt. They were rearing at the end of the leads to keep going but by then my "stern mother voice" had kicked in and they finally turned around and acknowledged me. Time to turn around and go back to the house but of course I had two dogs each on about 6 metres of lead, coming back at me in two different directions, each getting tangled in bushes and around trees. By now Liefie had got out of bed and was enjoying the spectacle from the deck. I did slip and fall once more coming back to the house and it was a good one. Slippery rotting leaves hidden under the snow made for a great slip 'n slide.
Shaking it off, the babies were more than happy to greet their father while I arrived behind them with snow all over my bottom half. I was shaking in a different way.
My friend Sharon posted a picture on Facebook a while back describing the holes in Crocs - apparently that's where your dignity leaks out. For once I have to agree with her. Several lessons were learnt this morning...
1) Crocs do not make suitable snow gear
2) Wear your Hunter Wellies out in the snow
3) Hold onto the dog's leads for "deer" life.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
To atlas or not to atlas. That is the question.
I like to tick birds I've seen. I am not obsessive about ticking and don't create list after list to justify the purchase of Microsoft Excel. I keep a life list of my Southern Africa birds and have not yet migrated to maintaining a world list. Many years ago I tried atlasing but it really didn't work for me as the admin was just too much to juggle. When the opportunity presented itself on BLNG weekend camps I found myself atlasing with my friend Pauline as she liked to keep her clipboard close and didn't mind sitting for hours at home after the outing to enter all the birds we'd seen on some database. In order. With timelines. No way.
Something happened towards the end of 2012 that changed everything for me. A genius created an app (also known as an application on a smart phone or tablet) called Lynx Bird Ticks. This app gave Android atlasers the ability to log all their bird sightings with a date and time stamp as well as location and GPS co-ordinates. With a click of a button, the list could be submitted, all while out in the field. With the swipe of a finger, all post-outing admin disappeared overnight. It was time to start atlasing and making a contribution. Little did I know how it would change my birding forever.
I see birding very differently to how I saw it a couple of years ago. I now think in small blocks and the routes within them. I don't like to see blue or red lines through a block as that means a major highway or tar road could interrupt my birding pleasure. I like yellow lines and I like grey lines because I can watch my birds far away from the noise and danger of traffic. It's dusty and muddy sometimes but it works as I can just get on with it. Blue areas are just the best as a productive farm dam makes all the difference to the bird count and can add as many as 10 additional birds to my list.
Prior to visiting a venue, I look for blocks and coloured lines to actually plan my route. Previously I used to just drive somewhere and enjoy the birds I could find. Now, with a bit of research I can actually predict the birds I could find in the block which helps me to understand the habitat so I'm prepared to bundu-bash, watch from the car, pack my wellies or take my allergy tablets to counter the hayfever from the grasslands. Instead of driving randomly through an area I am obliged to spend two hours searching around inside the block, in all habitats and access points available within that block. This means I see more birds and understand the habitat better than ever. I have a mental list of the minimum number of birds I need to see in those two hours. My identification skills have improved dramatically. An LBJ is a tick now, not always a challenge. My ears pick up the subtle difference in sounds I never bothered to learn previously. I know the common birds like the back of my hand.
Weird words and phrases are now part of my everyday birding life. I talk about going "Lynxing" with other atlasers. I use phrases like "every bird counts" and "I only need to see one more bird to get to...". The worst phrase ever spoken by a South African birder "I'm desperate to see a Common Myna" is now commonplace in my list of phrases.
If you're keen on improving your general birding knowledge or identification skills and have a slightly competitive streak, then seriously consider getting out there and atlasing. Not only will it enrich your vocab, but you also get to make a contribution as a citizen scientist (closest I'll ever be to being called a scientist) to one of the biggest birding projects ever. For more information, check out http://sabap2.adu.org.za/
Something happened towards the end of 2012 that changed everything for me. A genius created an app (also known as an application on a smart phone or tablet) called Lynx Bird Ticks. This app gave Android atlasers the ability to log all their bird sightings with a date and time stamp as well as location and GPS co-ordinates. With a click of a button, the list could be submitted, all while out in the field. With the swipe of a finger, all post-outing admin disappeared overnight. It was time to start atlasing and making a contribution. Little did I know how it would change my birding forever.
I see birding very differently to how I saw it a couple of years ago. I now think in small blocks and the routes within them. I don't like to see blue or red lines through a block as that means a major highway or tar road could interrupt my birding pleasure. I like yellow lines and I like grey lines because I can watch my birds far away from the noise and danger of traffic. It's dusty and muddy sometimes but it works as I can just get on with it. Blue areas are just the best as a productive farm dam makes all the difference to the bird count and can add as many as 10 additional birds to my list.
Prior to visiting a venue, I look for blocks and coloured lines to actually plan my route. Previously I used to just drive somewhere and enjoy the birds I could find. Now, with a bit of research I can actually predict the birds I could find in the block which helps me to understand the habitat so I'm prepared to bundu-bash, watch from the car, pack my wellies or take my allergy tablets to counter the hayfever from the grasslands. Instead of driving randomly through an area I am obliged to spend two hours searching around inside the block, in all habitats and access points available within that block. This means I see more birds and understand the habitat better than ever. I have a mental list of the minimum number of birds I need to see in those two hours. My identification skills have improved dramatically. An LBJ is a tick now, not always a challenge. My ears pick up the subtle difference in sounds I never bothered to learn previously. I know the common birds like the back of my hand.
Weird words and phrases are now part of my everyday birding life. I talk about going "Lynxing" with other atlasers. I use phrases like "every bird counts" and "I only need to see one more bird to get to...". The worst phrase ever spoken by a South African birder "I'm desperate to see a Common Myna" is now commonplace in my list of phrases.
If you're keen on improving your general birding knowledge or identification skills and have a slightly competitive streak, then seriously consider getting out there and atlasing. Not only will it enrich your vocab, but you also get to make a contribution as a citizen scientist (closest I'll ever be to being called a scientist) to one of the biggest birding projects ever. For more information, check out http://sabap2.adu.org.za/
Friday, December 27, 2013
How fast can a birder move?
Not a question I have pondered too much in my life but having recently witnessed a hilarious event, it is worth a bit of consideration and sharing with you.
I have been moved by many birds in my life. The thrill of being part of a group when each of you gets to take a very quick peek through the undergrowth at a lifer. In this case stealth and not speed is required. So maybe a few examples of birders moving in the undergrowth isn't going to answer this question. I have been moved by a rhino and a pride of lion while on foot in the Kruger National Park but as they aren't birding related, maybe we can save those embarrassing stories for another day.
One of the events that stands out for me is the sighting of the Franklin's Gull at Centurion Lake during mid-August 2008. I recall hearing the news and immediately sending out an alert via e-mail to the BLNG members to make sure our members in Pretoria stood a chance of catching up with this rarity. These were the days before Facebook was around to spread this kind of message so e-mail and telephone was what we had. I was frustratingly stuck at the office in meetings at Sandton and just couldn't get away. About an hour after sharing the news, a 2 hour meeting was cancelled and I had a gap in my diary. Thankfully my hubby had a gap in his diary too (and we work at the same office) so a quick phone call later and we were on the road heading north. No binoculars but lots of energy. In my haste to get on the road, I forgot the directions at the office but we decided to wing it anyway. How big could the lake be anyway?
For someone seriously unfit, I can confirm that lake is huge. When you arrive at the mall side and realise after a while that you need to get to the office park side, brisk walking is required. Brisk walking in work clothes is not simple. Your high-heeled shoes are a serious inhibitor and floppy trousers get in the way of free movement, things you only notice when dashing around a rather large lake trying to find someone wearing binoculars. The crazy dash ended well with us spotting Lisl van Deventer and a pair of binoculars dangling around her neck. The event ended with "...they lived happily ever after" but no further mention will be made of the heavy breathing, panting and wheezing that got in the way of "hello", "thanks for showing us the bird", "glad we could borrow your binocs" and "cheers, we have to get back to the office now".
My latest example of a fast moving birder was just yesterday at Kgomo Kgomo. Bets, Elouise and I decided there was only once choice of a birding venue on Boxing Day and after hearing news of the volume of water and the specials on display, we were away. Arriving just after 5:30am we were late. The Pretoria-based birders were able to get there quicker than us so were already enjoying their second coffees while we acclimatised ourselves. A swift check through Lisl's scope got us the Wooly-necked Stork and then the rush of greeting everyone and checking where to look for already-ticked species was on the cards. Rain was not our friend and soon we were all in our cars and driving up and down the roads in the area to work on our atlas cards, as playing in the rain wasn't too much fun. By midday we met up with Lisl and Jerome at the bridge to catch up on events. Lisl was kind enough to show us the area where we could sit and stake out the Lesser Moorhen. Strolling back to our vehicle and chairs, I happened to mention to Lisl our great sighting of a Dusky Lark a few hours earlier as it was a lifer for Elouise.
After a few seconds I realised I was talking to myself. Lisl had dashed back to Jerome and his bakkie and was muttering furiously. She turned around with eyes wide and pupils dilated. "Where, where, where?". By this stage, Jerome had started throwing their chairs and anything else lying around, into the back of the bakkie. After giving clear directions to Lisl, she lunged into the bakkie and was barely able to close the door before Jerome popped a u-turn and went careening into the village. From the time I muttered "Dusky Lark" to seeing them turn the corner only about 2 minutes must have passed. Elouise and Betsie were still getting our chairs out the back of the car when it was all over and the three of us stood alone on the bridge. Just us three, lots of water and hundreds of birds.
Not only did Lisl and Jerome physically move that fast but when we got a call a few minutes later to come and help join the search, we found another four cars filled with birders also looking for the lark. Either Lisl types smses really quickly or there's a technology grapevine at work that will just boggle the mind. Four other cars had literally appeared from nowhere in a few minutes and with the guys peeling out of those cars, the hunt was on.
That's how fast birders can move if they need to. After a while we abandoned the search and went back to the bridge to quietly stalk the Lesser Moorhen. 45 minutes of quiet patience (most of it spent on a chair next to the road) paid off and we were rewarded with two sightings of this rare bird. By this time is was after 1pm and having been up since 2:30am, we sluggishly packed the chairs and scopes up. We lethargically climbed into the car to tackle the road back home. We took a slow drive down the Zaagkuildrift Road to maximise the atlasing time, before joining the craziness of the N1 back south.
Whether you're a fast mover or a slow shaker, there is place for everyone in the birding world.
I have been moved by many birds in my life. The thrill of being part of a group when each of you gets to take a very quick peek through the undergrowth at a lifer. In this case stealth and not speed is required. So maybe a few examples of birders moving in the undergrowth isn't going to answer this question. I have been moved by a rhino and a pride of lion while on foot in the Kruger National Park but as they aren't birding related, maybe we can save those embarrassing stories for another day.
One of the events that stands out for me is the sighting of the Franklin's Gull at Centurion Lake during mid-August 2008. I recall hearing the news and immediately sending out an alert via e-mail to the BLNG members to make sure our members in Pretoria stood a chance of catching up with this rarity. These were the days before Facebook was around to spread this kind of message so e-mail and telephone was what we had. I was frustratingly stuck at the office in meetings at Sandton and just couldn't get away. About an hour after sharing the news, a 2 hour meeting was cancelled and I had a gap in my diary. Thankfully my hubby had a gap in his diary too (and we work at the same office) so a quick phone call later and we were on the road heading north. No binoculars but lots of energy. In my haste to get on the road, I forgot the directions at the office but we decided to wing it anyway. How big could the lake be anyway?
For someone seriously unfit, I can confirm that lake is huge. When you arrive at the mall side and realise after a while that you need to get to the office park side, brisk walking is required. Brisk walking in work clothes is not simple. Your high-heeled shoes are a serious inhibitor and floppy trousers get in the way of free movement, things you only notice when dashing around a rather large lake trying to find someone wearing binoculars. The crazy dash ended well with us spotting Lisl van Deventer and a pair of binoculars dangling around her neck. The event ended with "...they lived happily ever after" but no further mention will be made of the heavy breathing, panting and wheezing that got in the way of "hello", "thanks for showing us the bird", "glad we could borrow your binocs" and "cheers, we have to get back to the office now".
My latest example of a fast moving birder was just yesterday at Kgomo Kgomo. Bets, Elouise and I decided there was only once choice of a birding venue on Boxing Day and after hearing news of the volume of water and the specials on display, we were away. Arriving just after 5:30am we were late. The Pretoria-based birders were able to get there quicker than us so were already enjoying their second coffees while we acclimatised ourselves. A swift check through Lisl's scope got us the Wooly-necked Stork and then the rush of greeting everyone and checking where to look for already-ticked species was on the cards. Rain was not our friend and soon we were all in our cars and driving up and down the roads in the area to work on our atlas cards, as playing in the rain wasn't too much fun. By midday we met up with Lisl and Jerome at the bridge to catch up on events. Lisl was kind enough to show us the area where we could sit and stake out the Lesser Moorhen. Strolling back to our vehicle and chairs, I happened to mention to Lisl our great sighting of a Dusky Lark a few hours earlier as it was a lifer for Elouise.
After a few seconds I realised I was talking to myself. Lisl had dashed back to Jerome and his bakkie and was muttering furiously. She turned around with eyes wide and pupils dilated. "Where, where, where?". By this stage, Jerome had started throwing their chairs and anything else lying around, into the back of the bakkie. After giving clear directions to Lisl, she lunged into the bakkie and was barely able to close the door before Jerome popped a u-turn and went careening into the village. From the time I muttered "Dusky Lark" to seeing them turn the corner only about 2 minutes must have passed. Elouise and Betsie were still getting our chairs out the back of the car when it was all over and the three of us stood alone on the bridge. Just us three, lots of water and hundreds of birds.
Not only did Lisl and Jerome physically move that fast but when we got a call a few minutes later to come and help join the search, we found another four cars filled with birders also looking for the lark. Either Lisl types smses really quickly or there's a technology grapevine at work that will just boggle the mind. Four other cars had literally appeared from nowhere in a few minutes and with the guys peeling out of those cars, the hunt was on.
That's how fast birders can move if they need to. After a while we abandoned the search and went back to the bridge to quietly stalk the Lesser Moorhen. 45 minutes of quiet patience (most of it spent on a chair next to the road) paid off and we were rewarded with two sightings of this rare bird. By this time is was after 1pm and having been up since 2:30am, we sluggishly packed the chairs and scopes up. We lethargically climbed into the car to tackle the road back home. We took a slow drive down the Zaagkuildrift Road to maximise the atlasing time, before joining the craziness of the N1 back south.
Whether you're a fast mover or a slow shaker, there is place for everyone in the birding world.
Why birders are crazy
Us birders are a crazy bunch. We have odd habits and people who aren't birders don't understand us. We get up early. Really early. We drive to unheard of places that no-one other than birders have even heard about. We drive and walk through informal settlements with binoculars hanging around our necks as if we don't have a care in the world. We confer furiously with each other about some or other blob in the distance. We type into our smart phones or list birds on little black hardcover books that barely fit into our pockets. We nibble a lot and tend to eat unhealthy snacks, just to fill the holes in our tummies between ticks. We own a pair of gumboots and know how to use them. We own numerous tubes of sunblock and inevitably forget to use it. Our headgear smells of mouldy linen along with our Drimacs which are kept rolled up in a backpack or tossed onto the back seat of our cars. Most of us own a steel flask that is battered and bashed but still keeps coffee and hot water, hot. We consider rusks to be a food group. We know how to take care of ablutions in seconds on a busy road. If we don't already own a 4x4, we know another birder who has one and we abuse the relationship ruthlessly to get to those unheard of places. We check our smartphones regularly throughout the day for Facebook updates on the locality of some hard to find species. We count lifers. We have the entire southern part of Africa broken up into tiny little blocks and we even count the birds we see inside those little blocks. Technology has become part of our daily activities and we struggle to remember the old days and how we ever birded without it. The longer the camera lens, the deeper the pockets. We tolerate the uninitiated but not the boasters or the liars. Our employer never gives us enough vacation days in a year. We dream of jobs that would pay us enough to stay out in the field to do what we love, every day. We understand a 2 terabyte hard drive is the start of a collection, not enough to contain all the bird photographs we will ever take in our lifetime. We're frustrated birding in national parks as we can't get out of our cars and stalk something small and brown that just flew into the undergrowth. We only stop for animals long enough to look for an oxpecker with a yellow bill. Red Bull is our friend. We're always planning the next outing or negotiating with spouses for time away from them and the kids. We live for the next adventure. Love us and know you will always need to keep the car filled with petrol because we never know when the next rare bird alert might arrive in our inboxes.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Tinkerbell is a Boy
Tinkerbell is a boy!
When I first heard the reports of the Green Tinkerbird earlier this year, I was blown away that something so special could be rediscovered in our region after so many years. I had often stopped at the barbet page in my field guide, wondered about the bird and then paged on as it was one of those "yeah right, someone my grandmother's age went on a twitch and for some silly reason, the bird is still in the book". Now I realised Tinkerbell was real and I wanted to meet her. I knew Etienne Marais would make the perfect guide for this trip as he believes in fairies along with his newly discovered passion of low-carb eating...
On Thursday 10th of October, Elouise Kalmer, Sue Oertli and I set our alarm clocks for 3am. We had to get to Etienne's place and be ready to leave by 5am as we had a very long drive ahead of us all the way to Mozambique. Thanks to Elouise's hubby we arrived on time and in we soon had the bakkie packed, with the border at Komatipoort in our sights.
We were three odd passengers. Sue was looking for the Eurasian Bittern, Tinkerbell and as many photos of the local birds as possible. I had a long list with the top three being Racket-tailed Roller, Crab Plover and Tinkerbell. Elouise said she just needed to see everything in the book. Etienne looked mildly entertained when we discussed our lists while we waited at our fourth STOP/GO near the border, but made no comment.
I can go into the first few days of our trip in detail or I can mention numerous low-carbs discussions that took place in the car, over brekkie and during lunch along the road. Refusing to be intimidated, Elouise and I continued to each have two Provitas each for brekkie with our boiled egg and another two at lunchtime with our tuna. Sometimes we would even have another two with a piece of cheese. Dinner included rice or chips and a salad. Mmmm. Sue was very quiet and refused to get drawn into any debates on the subject which was probably the wiser choice.
Day two we dipped on the Bittern and day three wasn't much better when the Olive-headed Weaver won a game of hide-and-seek after five hours. The only real winner was Elouise who continued to clock up the lifers one after the other. Her excitement kept us sane. The birding locations and our accommodation remained spectacular with the four happy travellers transitioning from birders to friends the more north we travelled.
Day four arrived and we were up at 3am ready to get to "Hugh's Coffee Spot" by dawn as that is when and where the fairies supposedly came out to play. There were many feathered distractions along the way and in-between searching, Elouise managed to clock up more lifers starting with the Red-throated Twinspot. We did not have a very lucky morning with regular stops, forays into the bush on tiny paths, calling, waiting, sighing and driving on. Thankfully we had the pleasure of atlasing while we spent hours on our search so we had much to do, see and record. We also took time to scare the local children (that was Etienne of course) who kept following us around and dashing off into the thick bush when we turned around to smile at them. Eventually it was Elouise and her camera that won them over when she took photos and spent 20 minutes showing them the results on her tiny screen.
We did not want to turn around and kept egging Etienne on for another kilometre and another. Around 9am Etienne thought he heard an Alethe calling. This had the potential of being a huge find so far south so we decided to give it a go and put our fairy search on ice for a bit. We grabbed cameras and headed into the roadside forest in record time, scrambling over and under the vegetation before getting comfortable and keeping as still as possible while we quietly played the contact call. After 15 minutes of listening, calling and debating, we realised the contact call sounded suspiciously like that of the Green Malkoa so staying with the green theme, we called it up. Within seconds we had a response and got excellent views right above our heads with Elouise picking up another tick for her life list.
Dejectedly we left our spot in the thickets and moved back to the road. We were about three hours into our search by then. It was hot and we were tired. It was getting late. Suddenly Etienne froze. He looked at me and together we heard a "toot to to doo". We couldn't get to the mp3 quick enough to let him know we were nearby. We were standing peering into the trees above us when Sue asked innocently about the small bird in a tree behind us. Four pairs of binnies shot to four pairs of very greedy eyes. There HE was! The sense of relief was incredible.
The speed at which Etienne got the scope out of the bakkie was phenomenal. He had the tripod standing upright in seconds and his right eye on the scope with his right hand furiously working on the focus wheel. Under a minute and all four of us had seen Realised through the scope. Team work at a time like this is critical especially when you have to negotiate tripod legs, deep sand and each other. We managed beautifully without even thinking about it. Sue and Elouise got clicking with their super lenses and I got my muk-en-druk up to the scope's eye piece to get my Tinkerbell shot. We enjoyed Tinkerbell for about 10 minutes before he flew off back to Neverland and the Lost Boys.
I think after those 10 minutes, I knew how Wendy felt on the very first night when Peter grabbed her hand near the open window and flew up into the night. Excitement, incredulity, shock and absolute delight. The grins on our faces seemed to last forever. Knowing we were a group of less than 50 local birders who had been able to tick this bird made us feel really special. All four of us look pleasure in selecting or writing down "Green Tinkerbird" on our atlas card. I have never had a thrill like that tick in my Lynx app when I made it and know I will glow in that for a while to come.
The rest of our trip was just as eventful with high's and low's (not just carbs) almost daily. We loved staying for two nights on the beach at Barra while we chased after Sand Plovers, Crab Plovers and Lesser Crested Terns. We changed our schedule to have a second go at the Olive-headed Weaver on the way home. During the breakfast stop on our last birding day we eventually had enchanting views of a pair of weavers dancing in the canopy along with Neergaard's Sunbirds who skipped from tree to tree like excited 6-year olds full of sugar at ballet class for the first time.
Etienne could not have chosen a better venue for our last night just north of Xai-Xai. A sea view to die for, an indigenous coastal forest, a huge freshwater lake covered with White-back Ducks, delicious locally caught fish for dinner, ice cold 2M's, gorgeous chalets and the pleasure of counting 7 different pods of Humpback Whales from our chalet's deck.
You can do a trip like this on your own with friends but there is something personal about spending 7 days locked up with three other people in a vehicle where you emotionally move from being strangers or acquaintances to friends. After that time together we understood Etienne's passion for his new eating plan, the dreamy outcome for Sue when doubled up on her malaria tablets, Elouise's ability to nod off with her chin on her chest without making a sound and my ability to get carsick after just a few kilometres on a bumpy dirt road.
I can only thank Etienne for his never-give-up attitude and my companions for keeping me entertained for a super fabulous week. I came home with 11 lifers while Elouise beat all records with 52 new ticks. Sue got 1 lifer to tick but loads of photo lifers which ready made this trip worthwhile for her too. Etienne of course was the overall winner as he got to spend 7 days imprisoned up with the three nicest ladies on this side of the Jukskei.
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