You might notice some recent changes to the blog. For one, the banner image above has changed from Mustang Island on the Gulf coast to a picture of a local birding spot near my house. Likewise, I plan to focus many of the upcoming posts on birding that area. On the right hand side of the page you will also see the addition of a new gadget that lists what birds have been seen in that area in the last 30 days. Further below, there is a link to ebird for more historic information about the birds seen at Bella Vista Creek. Feel free and contact me on the blog about what you think. Click on images to enlarge. (All photos by gbmcclure)
Jun 5, 2012
Bird Talk
I could probably count on two hands the times I was really close to a bird. A couple years ago a Great Blue Heron let me get to within about 5 feet. I was able to take this photo--even though he had moved away a little by then--with a 60mm macro lens that I had on the camera to shoot butterflies.
Earlier in May of this year, I had a close encounter with a Chestnut-sided Warbler. He was confident enough to come within a foot of my outstretched hand while foraging in the low hanging branches. But while these instances can be exhilarating, (what I've heard said, "moments that make birders out of non-birders"), they are hardly the norm. Most of the time it feels that birds operate at the edge of a frustrating perimeter where you are just able to get a brief look or catch a clear field mark. When one sits in the open for just a second or two, we say we got a "good look!"
I imagine that our brain often fills in what we don't actually clearly see when we spot a bird. In the initial flash, we get a good deal of information about relative size, shape, color and maybe a field mark. Then, based on knowledge from reading field guides, listening to more experienced birders, etc., our brain adds detail and tells us what we saw (or at least what we think we saw). This theory is similar to how we process language. Experienced listeners hear about every 3 words that are spoken but are able to use context and history to fill in the gaps. This is why people speaking other languages appear to be speaking at such a fast rate.
But is this unique to the spoken word? Once I heard an interview with a music historian talking about the intricacy of the music of Miles Davis.
(from Legacy Recordings on flickr)
He demonstrated this complexity by slowing down the music and playing much smaller segments of the songs within the songs, and the notes we do not even hear him playing. Instead, what we hear when we listen is the big picture of the song. Is our brain able to fill in notes even if we don't play music? My guess is yes.
I imagine we do the same when we listen to birds singing. At first, we hardly notice the different "languages" being spoken around us. Maybe one day, we start to listen but think how impossible it would be to learn. Eventually, with lots of practice we get good enough to recognize maybe a hundred words (though good luck ever trying to speak it).
Of course by this point I am completely off from where I started and where I intended to go with this post. Originally, I wanted to share a sound recording from this past weekend. There are a number of different sounds going on in this clip, but I wanted to point out two in particular. Two species of songbirds, the Carolina Chickadee and the Painted Bunting, are producing calls.
Listen to the short clip below. (I tried new software which attached a second-long clip over it, but just try to ignore it.)
You may or may not be able to pick them out depending on your knowledge of these birds. If you can't, try thinking of the calls described as phonetic text: the almost repeated "Chicka-dee-dee-dee" and for the Painted Bunting, a consistent but less frequent "tsick".
Were you able to hear each one?
Earlier in May of this year, I had a close encounter with a Chestnut-sided Warbler. He was confident enough to come within a foot of my outstretched hand while foraging in the low hanging branches. But while these instances can be exhilarating, (what I've heard said, "moments that make birders out of non-birders"), they are hardly the norm. Most of the time it feels that birds operate at the edge of a frustrating perimeter where you are just able to get a brief look or catch a clear field mark. When one sits in the open for just a second or two, we say we got a "good look!"
I imagine that our brain often fills in what we don't actually clearly see when we spot a bird. In the initial flash, we get a good deal of information about relative size, shape, color and maybe a field mark. Then, based on knowledge from reading field guides, listening to more experienced birders, etc., our brain adds detail and tells us what we saw (or at least what we think we saw). This theory is similar to how we process language. Experienced listeners hear about every 3 words that are spoken but are able to use context and history to fill in the gaps. This is why people speaking other languages appear to be speaking at such a fast rate.
But is this unique to the spoken word? Once I heard an interview with a music historian talking about the intricacy of the music of Miles Davis.
(from Legacy Recordings on flickr)
He demonstrated this complexity by slowing down the music and playing much smaller segments of the songs within the songs, and the notes we do not even hear him playing. Instead, what we hear when we listen is the big picture of the song. Is our brain able to fill in notes even if we don't play music? My guess is yes.
I imagine we do the same when we listen to birds singing. At first, we hardly notice the different "languages" being spoken around us. Maybe one day, we start to listen but think how impossible it would be to learn. Eventually, with lots of practice we get good enough to recognize maybe a hundred words (though good luck ever trying to speak it).
Of course by this point I am completely off from where I started and where I intended to go with this post. Originally, I wanted to share a sound recording from this past weekend. There are a number of different sounds going on in this clip, but I wanted to point out two in particular. Two species of songbirds, the Carolina Chickadee and the Painted Bunting, are producing calls.
Listen to the short clip below. (I tried new software which attached a second-long clip over it, but just try to ignore it.)
You may or may not be able to pick them out depending on your knowledge of these birds. If you can't, try thinking of the calls described as phonetic text: the almost repeated "Chicka-dee-dee-dee" and for the Painted Bunting, a consistent but less frequent "tsick".
Were you able to hear each one?
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