Blackbird; I'll 'Ave 'Ee ....!

 Game on ....! 

I've been feeding the blackbirds their apples for months on end now. So much so that my weekly bag of apples has just become part of the household shopping list and budget.

Worth every last penny though. Just to be able to look out through the back door and see them scarfing down their life assuring rations, within minutes of me putting it out there.

 Always cut their apple in half, 'mind. They don't know what to do with a whole one, it seems. I've always cut them in half anyway. Just something I've done. I like to give them half, then, now that the days are longer and they have the time, I'll give them another half later.

 Anyway; I've had a male and, more particularly, a female out there for ages now. Both rung. (I'm a licensed Ringer and my Trainer and I have caught most of the 'resident' birds, in Mist Nets, and rung them long since). More than one male bird gets around here. Sparrowhawk took one a few weeks ago.

 Today though, I've seen 'my' female bird, enjoying her apple. Then, she's come out from the shelter of the hedge, where I feed them, and started bouncing around, pecking up the ground! 'My' bird's never done this before!

 She also looked 'different'. Her brown wasn't the same tones. No doubt about that. I've grabbed the bin's and focussed in on her right leg. No ring!!!  I was right; This was a completely different bird! Straight away, I decided we'd have to catch her and sort that leg out!  

 But, here's the best bit: Five minutes later, there's a Male bird out there. And he's fucking about, digging the ground and such too. Glass on the bugger straight away. Dear god! He's somewhere between 'warm brown' and 'browny black'!  Probably last years hatch then? And no ring!!!

 Fuck this! These birds need catching and ringing! God knows where they've come from. But, rings may let us find out where they go. How they get on as they go there. How long they live. All sorts of fascinating and useful shit ye never knew ye didn't know. 

 Ringing even just the birds in my 'garden' has expanded my knowledge and understanding of the True dynamics here exponentially. 

 You may observe the birds at your feeders. Count them, even. And think your finger's on the pulse? I used to. But, no. You're really just looking at a procession  of Chinese.  They all look the same and ye really just seeing apparent numbers. But, are they passing by? Or just walking endlessly round the block?

 You too could be amazed. Start Here. 
 

 

I'm Gonna Be A Ringer ....!

  No! Din'! They're called " Campanologists ". Fucking rope hangers. See me yanking a rope to make some fucking great bell go 'Clang!'. Deaf enough as it is!

 No.  Ringing Birds. And I don't mean, " Hullo? Do ye offer a 'Full Service', home visit? " either. FFS!

 For anyone who's lived in a cave all their lives; This is about putting little rings on the legs of wild birds. Basically, we ring them in the nest or we catch them and ring them as adults.

  Ring has a # and that leads back to a load of information about that particular, individual bird. So, if I ring my Starlings, in my nest box right now? Their rings will be their little ID Cards.

  If one of them is then found dead, or caught by a Ringer, in Russia, three years down the line? He'll be able to trace that bird back to my cow shed wall. Hatched, May, 2011. I'll also be able to find out that one of my birds turned up in Russia.

 The scientists at the BTO (British Trust for Ornithology) will be number crunching Thousands of such records, of course. And that's how we come to have books and Papers, explaining how birds migrate and shit. 

 That sort of information isn't just snatched out of the ether. It's scientifically proven by quiet people, around the world, steadily finding nests and catching birds. Putting little rings on their legs. Recording it all. And adding that shit to the Big Data Base.

  This is something I've pipe dreamed of being involved with All My Life! But, I'd simply assumed the only way in was to be from a Grammar School ~ at least ~ education. Lick the arse of the local Nature Reserve Warden, day in, day out,  for years.

As well as being a non smoker. Not swearing, having a sense of humour, or ever taking ye head out of ye own arse. Except to lick the arse of that local Nature Reserve Warden ....!

 I dunno. Maybe, forty years ago, that was about right? Today? Forget it!

 Take the BTO. I'm involved with their Nest Record Scheme. I ~ like thousands of others across Britain and Eire ~ search for birds nests and record their progress. 

  It's headed by a Doctor. Obviously. Right there; Bet he went to Grammar  School. Doesn't drink. 'Retirement' age. Wears 'nice' jumpers, like Giles Brandreth, the whole shebang. Eh?

What? " Dave " ?! Ye fucking kidding me?! Listen; Dave and Carl are the two main men at the NRS. I'll never forget ~ and wish I could find! ~ a photo they published.

It was one of them posing a demonstration of how to search, with a stick, for warblers nests.
Caption read: " And here, Carl demonstrates poking around aimlessly, with a stick, amongst some bushes. "

 I laughed till I cried, when I saw that! Made all the better by the fact that this 'crusty, austere old wet blanket' was, in fact, patently young enough to be my son.

  And was having the piss taken out of him, by his colleague, who, himself looks like a Mad Hippy, in an official publication! :D Mad as a box of frogs, the pair of them! But, completely human and approachable for it.

Chris? The guy who's agreed to train me as a Ringer ~ an 'apprenticeship' which can take a couple of years! They don't just make ye do a days course and set ye lose to fuck about with wild birds, ye know?!

Chris' is also one of the best Nest Finders in Eire. He was here on Friday. Spent the afternoon with me. Muvva Fukka!!!

  I'll tell ye all about that, in a new Post. Otherwise, ye eyes would be bleeding, trying to read so much shit. But, there it is. I've been accepted as a Trainee Ringer.

  Shit. I've probably wasted most of my fucking life now. Because I always thought he had to smoke a pipe and wear a Fair Isle jumper to even be looked at.

Wrong!!!

Caught A Fuck Of A Magpie Today!

I mean, seriously! This fukka's a Beast!

I've been dimly aware of one 'in the area' for a week or so now. It's seemed to prefer Pat's lower top field. End of my track and towards the river. Between there and the big Ash.

Though Dean O' and I spotted one coming up my back hedge, last Sunday. What ever. I might have glimpsed it once before now, round my aviary. But I know my bird gets agitated when it's around.

Today then, I'm working away here when I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Spun round and, yeppers; Wild magpie at the door end of the aviary. I actually sent a note to the Bird Track peeps, to say it was on my land and targeted for " Taking Into Custody ". We log shit to the passing hour there. So I logged that at 15:00.

Got back to work. 17:00, I fed the Dogs and horses. That done, I decided to fetch the Larsen Trap down off my porch and set it to work. Then I carried on in here.

Couple of minutes to 18:00 and something else has distracted me. Like; I had the fucker! Great. Told the Dogs to stay out of it and went out there. I shifted the trap round, as I'd previously worked out I'd have to, to give me freedom of movement while reaching in there and catching the bird. Then I slipped my arm in and started trying to grasp the bastard.

Jesus fucking christ! It was like getting hold of a Gyr Falcon! As soon as my hand closed round this bugger, I knew he was big. Then I felt the muscles which were making him so big. Then I felt the sheer bloody force of the bastard! This was a magpie on steroids!

Told him so. Said, " You're a big bastard, aren't ye? Now; In there ye go. " And into the aviary he went.

Checking the grub situation, I figured I'd sling a last bit in there. In fact, I slung a fair old lump of minced beef in. Then sat in here and observed.

Dear god! That fucker didn't hang about either! He picked up a lump the size of a good sized mouse and popped about with it. I thought he'd choke himself. Finally got that down the neck and went back for More! I'm like sat here goggle eyed, just watching the bastard packing it away. I'm thinking, " Hey! I have to Pay for that, ye cunt! " Never seen a bird eat like it in my life!

Anyway, there we are. Now I have what I'd certainly take to be a gendered pair. Hulking great male and a lesser female. Let's see how these two get on in an 8 x 6 x 4' aviary.

Third Time Lucky? (Part One)

Just got back from Dean O's. We just had our regular 'Lads Night In'. I'd just mention that we traditionally watch a film. It's, more often than not, a war film too. Tonight, having worked our way to the end of two Boxed Sets Dean received as gifts along the way, it was The Thin Red Line.

Dear god. What can I say? After twenty minutes, I was asking Dean if this film was ever going to 'Start'. By two and a half hours, plus? Dean O' was doing something on his Lap Top, and I was Praying this shit would just fucking end and give me some peace! Good grief; It was fucking Dire!

Having, finally, seen the back of That damn turkey, I turned to Dean O' and said; " Fuck That! Now let's find something to Talk about. I mean; We can't just chuck a whole night up in the air like that and leave it. I need to gain Something from tonight! "

So we chatted. We talked about shooting. Dean showed me a couple of record shots he'd taken of some Gray Crows he'd wiped off his parents land recently. One involved an intended body hit. Only, using a .17 HMR, Dean has to be very aware of wind. It was puffing as he squeezed. But it stopped as the pin fired. Result was unintentionally brilliant! A head shot, on a Crow, at ~ if I remember correctly? ~ about the sixty yard mark!

He reckons there were tiny fragments of shit around the site. Best of all, this crow did a JFK; The back of its skull was laying on its own back! V Max round had seemingly entered 'Between The Eyes'. Exploded inside the brain. Come out the back in a misty cloud of pink vapour! Way to go! " Didn't know what hit him " doesn't say enough for That one!

So, that raised the mood. Always good to hear of those bastards being removed from our grounds.

My own offering was word of my pheasants. I have a couple, now regulars, at the bottom of my paddock. I was explaining how I see the cock bird, most days. He's never too far from my lower gate. In fact, he's never more than a few yards from it! That led me to considering this for the first time.

I've seen his mate down there, once. She was gliding about in the cover beside the ditch. Only ever seen her there the once now. Tonight, as I relaxed and considered it? I reckon that time she'd come off the nest and was having a crafty feed. I reckon they're nesting down there. That's why my man stands about, crowing and ruffling his feathers. 'OTC'? You're the man for this one, mate. Reckon that's it?

Anyway, I'm not going down there. Not just to poke about and try to find any nest. Not even for the BTO Nest Record Scheme. No. I'm afraid I killed a nest of Wrens, last year, due to my dragging them out of their nest, to count them. They were well feathered and 'Exploded'. I lost about all but one in the panic. That one I popped back into the nest ~ only to find it rotten a few days later. Now I just record eggs to hatching. I won't approach a nest once the young are old enough to abandon ship. Nor will I risk a desertion, due to my interference.

Anyway ..... So then we decided we'd fix a date, soon, to go out and do some serious shopping. Sort me out a whole new kitchen sink unit. Shower door and wall. Even some under sink equivalent of a Sadia. In short; This cottage will have hot water, 'On Tap', for the first time ever. And I'll have a shower! (Getting it all plumbed in is, of course, another story. But Dean O's a Plumber, amongst the other time served skills the young Skillaholic has acquired)

And that's where we left it. I was happy. Dean was sanguine. I called a cab. Steve, as it happens. It was a toss up between Steve ~ and a potentially 'handy' chat. Or Gary ~ and my first ride in his, brand new, 'People Carrier'. Why stink the mans new motor out? I can do that next week! I have that poor bastard ear marked to take me out for my Hearing Test. (Hullo? Who???)

And, here, I feel I've banged on enough. This has all, after all, been the aperitif for the actual event which prompted this whole post; And the feeling I came here to convey, and thus, maybe, alleviate.

If ye've just read this far and want to see more? I'm probably about to write it. Whilst it's still fresh. If not? Fuck yeself. Just skip over the post above this; And know that ye've just wasted the time ye took to read this part. Because, without reading the follow up, ye'll never find out what the fuck I was getting to. Your call. I'm not out here to waste ye time.