Musically gifted
The article on the link between music and the natural world (Songs in the key of life, July 2020) reminded me of an occasion when I reflected upon how natural music really is. I was sitting beside an open window, listening to a recording of Herbert Howells’ string quartet In Gloucestershire. As the third movement started, a blackbird began singing from the rowan close by. His pace matched that of the third movement and his phrases were either half that of Howells’ or equal in length to them. It was an astonishing experience.
Even some of his notes matched the range of Howells’ music. It was quite a beautiful addition. The rests between the blackbird’s stanzas were of regular length. At one stage, he came nearer to the window. He sang for the full length of the movement and some more. His performance was paced, tuneful and beautifully phrased. I was spellbound. Stephen Mott, via email
Thank you for sharing that beautiful moment, reflecting how specifically musicians find inspiration in nature, consciously or otherwise.
Lately, on long country hikes, I’ve been reminded of the words of Elgar, who loved his walks in the Malvern Hills, musing on this theme: “This is what I hear all day – the trees are singing their music – or have I sung theirs?”
Mark discussed the closure of safari tourism.
it was his article on the effects of COVID-19 on wildlife and the environment (My way of thinking, July 2020) that drove me to hit the keyboard.
I have never come across anyone with whom I agree with whole-heartedly, all of the time – whether it’s about the obscene amount of money that people are prepared to spend on the arts, rather than invest in our planet; or his opinions on the impact of the use of land by farmers on UK wildlife.
Whilst ‘My way of thinking’ is clearly intentionally controversial, I find it enlightening, informative and interesting, and most of all, confirmation of my own thoughts and beliefs. Thank you, Mark, for speaking out where many wouldn’t dare. Ann Hilton, via email
he call crackled through on the radio – leopard! Spotted right in front of our lodge in Nxai Pan, north-east Botswana, it was the first that had been sighted in the area for months. The trouble was, we’d departed from camp an hour ago and were now parked up by a waterhole on the opposite side of the reserve.
It was another magical morning on safari. A line of silver wildebeest lolloped into the shallows, scattering a flock of cinnamon-coloured sandgrouse skywards in their wake, all eyed by a small, anxious herd of springbok. Yet the chance of seeing Africa’s most elusive big cat was simply too much to miss. We pleaded with our guide, Partner, to race us back to camp.
“We can go, but this is a national park,” he explained solemnly. “There are regulations. I cannot drive above the speed limit or go off-road.”
Soon, African pipits were bouncing ahead of us as we rumbled along. A southern yellow-billed hornbill played a game of chicken: from a stunted camel thorn, it watched our approach then flashed across the bonnet at the last moment. Partner
TSurged the jeep onwards, but resolutely stuck to the reserve’s speed restrictions, making the 60-minute journey feel like days. All around us, the short grass was bleached blonde, spiked with purple scrub and pimpled with ashy termite mounds. A distant baobab loomed like an upturned squid, its tentacle branches sprouting from the top of a thick, pink trunk. I drummed my fingers impatiently, praying that the leopard would stick around.
Finally, we approached the camp. Another guide appeared, waving and motioning for us to come to a halt, and pointed ahead.
There, no more than 100m away, the leopard was just leaving the waterhole. Before it reached the cover of the bush, it turned and offered us a moment to marvel. A long, lithe back was branded with a thousand paw prints, heavy hind legs were inked in dark hearts. With pale eyes, the cat looked directly at us, white-tipped tail curled behind it like a question mark, as if asking: “What took you so long?”
TTime and leopards (usually) wait for no man.
is a travel and nature writer. He received a BBC Wildlife travel writing award in 2012.
No more than 100m away, the leopard was leaving the waterhole.