Dear Readers, when I was listening to the Cuckoo at Wicken Fen (see yesterday’s post), I suddenly became curious about what other cuckoo species sounded like. The birds are all described as ‘noisy’ and apparently some of them are specialist eaters of big hairy caterpillars that other birds turn their beaks up at. They are all brood parasites too. But I just love their ‘songs’ – see what you think of the examples below.

First up, the ‘ordinary’ Eurasian cuckoo (sadly not half as ordinary  as it used to be, but that will be the subject of another post)

Now, here’s the Black Cuckoo (Cuculus clamosus), a southern African bird with a rather plaintive three-note call…(see photo at the top)

Then there’s the African Cuckoo (Cuculus gularis). This bird looks remarkably like ‘our’ cuckoo to my untutored eye, and it’s  found right across sub-Saharan Africa – it migrates around the continent, but doesn’t come to Europe.

The call of the African Cuckoo is very like the Eurasian Cuckoo too, with a bit more emphasis on the second ‘syllable’ to my ear.

And here’s another African species, the Red-chested Cuckoo (Cuculus solitarius) – known as ‘Piet-my-vrou’ after its call. Let’s have a listen!

The Lesser Cuckoo (Cuculus poliocephalus) is found across Asia, and has the most complicated call that we’ve heard so far – between four and six notes!

The Sulawesi Cuckoo (Cuculus crassirostris) is known only from Sulawesi.

It has a rather mysterious little three-note song.

Sticking with Asia, here’s the Indian Cuckoo (Cuculus micropterus). With my biologist hat on, I am wondering about the relationships between these species, and whether their songs are similar depending on how closely related they are. Hmmm.

We have a four-note song in this case.

I would have expected the Madagascar Cuckoo (Cuculus rochii) to sound markedly different from the other cuckoos, but no. Another four-note song. The bird looks similar to the others, too.

The Himalayan Cuckoo has possibly the most monotonous call, with no intonation at all.

But then there’s the Oriental Cuckoo, which also goes for repetition in a big way…

And finally, the Sunda Cuckoo (Cuculus lepidus). These last three birds (the Himalayan Cuckoo, the Oriental Cuckoo and the Sunda Cuckoo) all used to be considered one species until they were ‘split’ a few years ago – I think if you listen to the songs one after the other, you can tell that the species are closely related, but there are subtle differences in the tempo and pitch of the calls. I would love to know what someone with a musical background makes of all this, for sure!

So here’s the Sunda Cuckoo, to finish off with. I think it sounds a bit like Morse code.

Dear Readers, on Tuesday I went for a post-exam trip to Wicken Fen with my friend L. This is a National Trust property close to Cambridge, and it is an absolute treat. People think that the NT is all about stately homes, and yet its original purpose was to safeguard areas of particular natural beauty and ecological importance – Wicken Fen is its oldest nature reserve. The Trust are aiming to buy up more land roundabout, and are aiming to restore it with the help of grazing animals such as Konik ponies and Highland cattle. While we there we noticed four fire engines, and on quizzing the staff we discovered that one of the ponies had fallen into a ditch, and there were three vets, the fire-people and various volunteers all working to encourage the animal to free itself.

The Fens are areas that have been reclaimed from the sea with the aid of windmills and water pumps of various kinds, but they are still very ‘wet’ – we saw hundreds of dragonflies and damselflies. Most were very unobliging when it came to photography, but this one stood still long enough for a  photo. I think this one is a Brown Hawker (Aeshna grandis) but happy to be corrected.

The fen was full of bird song, including a cuckoo, and numerous reed buntings, sedge warblers and reed warblers. Reed warblers have a rather frenetic and indignant song, as you can hear from the recording below. All that energy expended! Of course, in the reeds it’s hard for birds to see one another, so the song is really important for mate identification.

What was really striking, though, was the vast array of marshy plants. You aren’t supposed to have favourites, but I loved this Marsh Thistle (Cirsium palustre), growing in the dampest spots and attracting all manner of bees.

But we also saw the much rarer, and less spiky, Meadow Thistle (Cirsium dissectum) – just one flower on each stem, and very, very pink.

There was Common Meadow -rue (Thalictrum flavum), a first for me…

 

and all manner of meadow flowers. In effect there were two different habitats side by side and overlapping – the damp conditions of the fens themselves, and the meadows surrounding them. Plus, a little bit of woodland for good measure!