Silhouette ID
I read about a Crystal Palace (‘The Eagles’) football fan who spotted the White-tailed Eagle flying over south London back in April 2021. I worry that, even if I had been lucky enough to see it, I wouldn’t have realised what it was. Perhaps I should work on learning raptor silhouettes, and I start looking for good illustrations to help me.
In 1934, legendary US ornithologist, Roger Tory Peterson, published his first Field Guide to the Birds. This precursor of our modern bird guides used an identification system from useful ‘ field marks’ or key features, flagged on simple diagrams. The third edition, published in 1947, included silhouettes of some common north American birds, a number of them in flight. Peterson contributed to the shift in bird identification from ‘ in the hand’ details, to features which could be seen at a distance – so preserving the lives of countless birds. His identification system was used by the US Army for teaching ‘airplane recognition’ in the World War II, so probably saving quite a few human lives too.
Survival has to be the most powerful motivator for improving recognition skills. Identifying raptors from their silhouettes might be a lot easier for us birders-in-learning if they were actually a threat to humans. There is some fossil evidence indicating giant raptors occasionally preyed on prehistoric hominids, but, no, being pecked while you’re trying to feed a wild Red Kite doesn’t count. Could that little shiver I get when I see a Peregrine or Marsh Harrier mean that I’m still in touch with my inner early hominid?
A train journey could be a good way of practising bird identification at speed. Being a 30-minute birder, I hate to miss an opportunity for squeezing in some birdwatching, and ask a network of birders what success they’ve had with train birdwatching. Fellow member of Birding London group, Max, tells me he birdwatches on a regular train journey. “My favourite grabbed birding opportunity is on the Southwest train line to see my dad in Devon. You can clock 30 species along the Exe estuary and the Dawlish coast if your ID skills are up to it!” he says, and I’m impressed.
I don’t have to commute every morning anymore, but, inspired by Max, I decide to give train birdwatching a go on a day trip to Brighton. I love travelling by train, but recently I’ve found it harder to read or work without feeling nauseous. Perhaps a more dedicated approach to birdwatching will help. Obviously I always keep half an eye out of the window for birds, but haven’t been giving it my fullest attention to date.
I get everything wrong on the outward journey. Pulling my binoculars out of my bag at East Croydon, I realise that I’m in a seat on the sunny side of the train next to a very dirty window. Scanning the trees lining the railway cutting turns out to be a fairly fruitless exercise, unless you are surveying Wood Pigeons.
Tantalising glimpses of lakes through the trees are particularly frustrating. As I whip my binoculars round to focus on a dark, moving shape, I inadvertently catch the eye of a woman a few seats away, who’s glaring at me from between the seats.
On the return journey, I’m more prepared and choose my seat carefully. The train’s quite a lot busier in this direction, but I’m now more relaxed about using my binoculars surrounded by other travellers. The two couples across the aisle are far too busy quaffing canned gin and tonic to care what I’m doing. Only a few miles outside of Brighton, I’ve already listed Carrion Crow, Magpie, Jackdaw, Feral and Wood Pigeon, Herring Gull and Mute Swan. Past the South Downs, I’m scanning the trees and horizon for anomalies and glimpse what I think is a Buzzard, but I’m not entirely sure. I’m rewarded for my hesitancy when a second one flies low across the train, giving me a lovely view of its fanned tail and splayed wingtip feathers. In that split second, I don’t see dark trailing edges on its wings, so perhaps it’s a juvenile.
The train now waiting...
Today is probably the first time I’ve cheered inwardly when I hear the words, “Apologies for the delay, but we’re stuck behind a Bedford train”. Everyone else is grumbling, but I’m delighted when we pull into Gatwick at the speed of a horse and cart. It gives me time to recognise the size and silhouette of a bird perched on the cross bar of a light in the car park, and confirm it’s a Kestrel. This doesn’t compare with Max’s list but it’s not a bad first go.
In the past, the wait for delayed trains has offered birding enjoyment too. In summer, I’ve been staring upwards, watching Swifts feeding over Sydenham station, while everyone else is looking in the direction the late train will come from. Another Birding London member, John, tells me he listened to a Whitethroat singing at West Sutton station last summer.
Perhaps it’s the nature of birding on the move which leads to those vivid yet fleeting moments. Former truck driver, Mick Rennison, describes some of those in the Autumn 2021 issue of Bird Watching Magazine. I’m going to be adding birdwatching by train to listing birds on car journeys, as I know both can deliver memorable experiences.
We were all a bit tired one late summer afternoon, a decade ago. The road we were following snaked up over Selworthy Beacon on Exmoor and sunlight spattered the heather with gold. As we reached the plateau, a large pale-grey shape appeared alongside the car for a moment, riding the stiff breeze. At first sight my weary brain thought Barn Owl, but something wasn’t quite right, and I instinctively made a mental note of its features.
At the time I was a sporadic birdwatcher, and, it wasn’t till we go back to the cottage and my trusty bird book, that I realised how lucky we’d been to have an encounter with a male Hen Harrier.
Despite the time passed, my other half and I still have a vivid mental picture of that moment and, for once, our memories are surprisingly consistent.