Six Things, Volume 12

Lapwings | magic | Florida man | gulls | more gulls | cherry blossom

Mar 24, 2023

Thing 1 – Lapwings

Here, to kick us off, is the song of a lapwing, closely followed by the same sound slowed down by a factor of five. Weird and wonderful.

Lapwings are ace, and their spring display one of my favourite spectacles. I extolled their many virtues in the excellent anthology Red 67, a celebration of all the birds on the UK Red List.

Both Red 67 and its sequel, Into The Red, are highly recommended for bird lovers – some wonderful writing, beautiful illustrations, and all raising money to help many declining bird species in this country. Red 67 has so far raised more than £40,000.

I also wrote about lapwings in Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear?, and because I’m too lazy to write anything new this week, here is that very extract:

A man approaches. Like me, he’s about fifty. Like me, he’s wearing binoculars round his neck. There the similarities end.
My demeanour is exaggeratedly buoyant, enhanced by exercise and the richness of avian life. His is downbeat, possibly exacerbated by the massive telescope/tripod apparatus that sits on his back and threatens to devour him like some monstrous sci-fi alien. As I hear the crisp tread of his feet on the gravel I tear my gaze from the glorious spectacle before me and acknowledge his existence with a brisk nod, a tight smile and what I hope is a birder’s, ‘Morning.’
We stand in silence for a few seconds.
If the gadwall is underrated, then spare a thought for the lapwing. Superficially black and white, it’s easy to take for granted. But the green and purple iridescence on its back and neck show beautifully in sunlight and at close quarters, and its crest, no more than a flick of the pen, lends it a quizzical air.
Attractive enough when standing on the tidal flats, in display the male lapwing is mesmerising. It’s an aerobatic trick show of effortless virtuosity, combining tumbles and swoops and sudden upward dashes with a song that brings to mind the soundtrack to the 1980s video game Galaxian.
For many years I assumed the bird’s name came from the lapping of its wings. The discovery that it is in fact a corruption of the old English for ‘crested bird’ was a kind of betrayal, and made me question all the easy assumptions I’ve made over the years. Be that as it may, the lapping of the lapwing’s wings lends plausibility to my supposition, the limbs in question broad and rounded at the ends, like wide-handled table-tennis bats. Yet from this apparent languor it produces astonishing control, improvising airborne flourishes and curlicues before gliding in to land with casual understatement, a Clooney-esque, ‘Hello ladies,’ to cap the display.
If I were a female lapwing, I totally would.
I’ve been watching four of them, rivals in love, each determined to advertise its suitability as a mate to its adoring lady-lapwing public. It’s a captivating sight.
My new companion seems immune to the joys of lapwings. His voice is flat.
‘Anything about?’
It’s the conventional birder’s opening gambit, and already I’m on the back foot. What is ‘anything’? I can’t list everything I’ve seen. What he means is ‘anything unusual’. Because I’ve stopped on the path, he assumes I’ve found ‘something’. But all I’m doing is watching lapwings. So what do I say?
I shrug, vaguely apologetic.
‘Oh, no... I was just... watching the lapwings. Amazing display.’
I might as well have given him a pair of grey socks for Christmas. After a short and unimpressed silence, he tries again.
‘No sign of the water pipit?’
I shrug. ‘Afraid not.’
Disappointed beyond endurance, he moves on. The lapwings send him off with an intensification of their display. I wonder if he and I inhabit the same planet.
Perhaps I’m being unfair. Perhaps he was pecked to death by a mob of lapwings as a child and has been traumatised ever since. Or perhaps he’s secretly enraptured by them but doesn’t want to show it.
Nonetheless, I make a silent vow never to submit to complacency, never to lose the sense of wonder at the glories of the everyday, that childish feeling of awe and discovery that fuelled my heinous sprint at the bar-tailed godwits all those years ago.

I just happen to have a pile of copies of Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear? (and other books) in the corner of the room. You can buy signed copies of any or all of them if you like.

Thing 2 – Magic

This is neat and clever and beautifully executed. Someone in the replies – there’s always someone in the replies – has said ‘these are just camera tricks’, which is like listening to Heifetz and saying ‘oh that’s just clever violin playing’.