Soundscapes | The Music of Nature

Memories of Spring (Pilliga Goodnight)

by Lang Elliott · November 11, 2012 · 12 Comments

It is the tenth of November, at dusk, and I am gazing at a picturesque bend in the Missouri River. The sky is pink and autumn leaves still cling to oaks on the hillside.

Winter is almost upon us here in North America, yet I am immersed in fresh memories of spring from a faraway land. We have returned from our Australian expedition, arriving at Carl’s home-in-the-woods late last night. I slept a solid twelve hours and still feel as if I need more rest.

Today I browsed a number of recordings I made in Australia. I have a LOT of great material to sift through … enough, I believe, to put together at least two titles (70-min digital download CDs).

Below is a really nice recording made at dusk in dry forest in Pilliga Nature Reserve, not far from Coonabarabran, New South Wales. It includes prominent songs (calls?) of the Noisy Friarbird. What I like most about this recording is the way it ends, with the songs of several additional bird species, including White-plumed Honeyeater and White-throated Treecreeper (thanks to Vicki Powys for ID’s). Note too the measured low-pitched coos of a Common Bronzewing (a kind of dove), heard throughout. At the very end you will hear a single metallic squeak of a Galah (a kind of Cockatoo).

Noisy Friarbird and other species sounding off at dusk. 7pm, 13 October 2012, Pilliga Nature Reserve near Coonabarabran, Australia. © Lang Elliott

Below is a sonogram showing the last minute of the recording. It’s a work of art all by itself, at least to my eyes. My friend and bird song expert Vicki Powys of Australia (caperteebirder.com) has graciously labeled the various species that sound off.

___________

Sunday morn, November 11:

During the winter months my mind always wanders forward into spring. With a smile on my face, I tell my friends that “spring is just around the corner,” even when it is months away. This winter is special indeed, with spring so fresh in my mind, both in hindsight and in foresight. Truly, I feel surrounded and embraced by the warmth of spring, even as the cool autumn rains blows against the window and browning leaves flitter across the wintering landscape.

Grey Butcherbird Duets

by Lang Elliott · November 6, 2012 · 18 Comments

During my last morning of recording in Australia, I managed to snag a real jewel … the musical song-duetting of a pair of Grey Butcherbirds. What a surprising and delightful “grand finale” to my adventure Down Under.

Song duets of a pair of Grey Butcherbirds. Recorded at sunrise on 6 November 2012 in Karuah National Park, north of Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. Intervals between duets have been reduced for your listening pleasure. © Lang Elliott, all rights reserved.

The following sonogram shows the particulars … eight songs, all being duets. I followed the pair for nearly an hour in dry forest in Karuah National Park, just north of Newcastle. The is just a small sampling of the thirty or more song duets that I captured.

If you wear headphones or earbuds, you can clearly hear the different locations of the two individuals and their relative contributions to each song outburst. I’m not entirely sure how you can tell which is the male and which is the female, but I assume that the male usually initiates the duet, with the female chiming-in to fill out the song.

From a distance the duets sound like the work of just one singer, a bright melodic outburst of considerable beauty. Only when you get close can you hear the different positions of the two contributors and appreciate the close-knit quality of the duet.

There is really no comparison to this back in the United States. Sure, female Carolina Wrens and Brown-headed Cowbirds may chatter when their mate sings, but these are pale in comparison and the female outbursts are far from being musical. I have heard musical “call duets” between pairs of Great-crested Flycatchers, but these don’t hold a candle to the butcherbirds.

Australia seems full of such surprises. Next spring, I fully expect to find myself bored with my local soundscapes and longing to hear the exquisite melodies from Oz, from that magical land below the equator where birds sing like nowhere else on earth, their songs freshly sprinkled from the heavens.

Do I plan to come back to Australia for more recording? You betcha! C’mon, I still haven’t recorded the zen-whistling Pied Butcherbird, perhaps the greatest singer of all. That’s a magnet that will surely lure me back!

Magpie Composition

by Lang Elliott · November 4, 2012 · 25 Comments

A true signature sound of Australia is the gurgling, bubbling melody of the Australian Magpie, a large black-and-white butcherbird of open country as well as forest edges and clearings. During our recent trip to New England National Park, I was very fortunate to record the contagious singing of a group, in farm country just outside the park:

Songs of Australian Magpies recorded around 7am, 27 October 2012, just outside New England National Park, New South Wales, Australia. © Lang Elliott (note: set against background recorded in dry forest near Coonabarabran, New South Wales, Australia.)

The magpie’s musical song is a complex series of rich and varied gurgling whistles that lasts five or six seconds. It begins with soft low-pitched notes but quickly builds in volume and sometimes cascades downward at the end. The effect is quite pleasing, a real Australian “delicacy” for the ears.

Magpies live in family groups that defend territories. Males often begin singing in the wee hours of dawn, before other birds, although they usually continue to sound off well into the morning. The best performances happen in areas where they are dense, with the singing of one male eliciting the song of a neighbor, which may then elicit the song of another nearby male. This contagious singing pattern is quite evident in my recording, which involves at least four or five different males. Sometimes it sounds as if more than one male sounds off simultaneously from a single location. It’s also possible that females add notes when their mates sing, although I do not hear that happening in my recordings (duetting commonly occurs in related species such as the Grey Butcherbird).

A Soundscape Composition: The recording I’m presenting is actually a “composition,” in that I was compelled to place the songs against a different background to improve the listening experience. This is why I have called this post “Magpie Composition.”

Throughout my original field recording, there were several birds of an unknown species giving loud and obnoxious high-pitched (alarm?) calls almost continuously in the background. Perhaps these birds had a nest nearby and were disturbed by my presence. Whatever their cause, these calls pretty much wrecked the recording, at least from the perspective of human appreciation of the magpie songs. Fortunately, I was able to use advanced editing techniques to literally lift the magpie songs from their distracting background and then re-place them against a more pleasing backdrop from a similar dry sclerophyll forest.

I hope you like the result! While not an entirely authentic documention of the actual sound event, the recording does qualify as a “near-natural representation” of the magpie’s extraordinary musical talent … and it sounds WAY better than the raw field recording. In other words, the magpie songs are absolutely authentic and true to life (they have not been twisted, stretched or crunched), but their exact timing and the background ambience has been changed.

Fair enough?

p.s. Australian nature recordist Vicki Powys also tells me the following species occur in the background: Peaceful Dove (heard at the beginning), White-throated Treecreeper, Willie Wagtail, hint of Pied Butcherbird, Noisy Friarbird, Mistletoebird, Spiny-cheeked Honeyeater, a flycatcher species, Rufous Whistler, and Yellow-faced Honeyeater. Wow, Vicki’s got a great ear, doesn’t she!

ART CREDIT: The attractive painting of magpies is by Australian artist Katherine Castle. It is available in notecard form and as both paper and canvas prints. Check it out on her web site:

http://www.wildlifeart.com.au/2012/08/20/an-aussie-good-morning-magpies/

Off to New England

by Lang Elliott · October 25, 2012 · 12 Comments

We’re off to New England … New England National Park that is … where we will be participating in a survey for breeding frogs (see below for map showing park’s whereabouts in relation to Newcastle). My personal goal while there is to record the deep croaking of the rare Sphagnum Frog (Philoria sphagnicolus) that lives in high altitude beech forest.

We leave early tomorrow morning (the park is a six hour drive north) and I doubt if I’ll be able to blog during our trip because we won’t have internet up there. So, until my return late next week, feast your ears on the following long recording that I made last night in the Watagan Mountains south of Newcastle, a pleasing zen-infused mix of sounds:

From dusk to darkness at a small stream in the Watagan Mountains near Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. Features Kookaburras, two species of frogs, and the Southern Boobook Owl. 24 October 2012. Recording © Lang Elliott.

The recording features Kookaburras sounding off as darkness descends, set against the sounds of two frogs. The high-pitched crackling notes are made by the Green Stream Frog (Litoria phyllochroa). The low-pitched croaks are made by one of Australia’s largest frogs, the Giant Barred Frog (Mixophyes iteratas).

About halfway through this 9-minute recording, a Southern Boobook Owl (Ninox novaeseelandiae) begins calling. Also referred to as Mopoke, both common names refer to its distinctive two-parted calls. The Boobook is Australias smallest owl and is common in the Watagan Mountains just south of Newcastle. It would be difficult to find a spot in the forest where they will not be heard.

Maybe I’ll pick up a new owl or two in New England National Park, though I’ll be quite happy indeed to snag the croaks of the Sphagnum Frog, which has surely captured my imagination.

Pond at Dusk

by Lang Elliott · October 23, 2012 · 9 Comments

I love nature’s mysterious voices of the night, and Australia provides a fabulous potpourri nearly everywhere, especially where there is water. The following recording, “Pond at Dusk,” features frogs, insects, and birds sounding off in a small reed-edged pond in farm country not far from Newcastle, Australia.

Farmland pond at dusk featuring the sounds of insects, frogs, and birds. Photo © Lang Elliott, 19 October 2012, around 8pm, near Congewai, New South Wales, Australia.

The following is a “sonogram” (time versus frequency diagram) showing a small section of the above recording (click to enlarge it). I’ve labeled a number of the “instruments” – see if you can differentiate them while listening to the recording.

Below are descriptions of the main players contributing to the concert:

1. Birds – At least two birds can be heard. An Australian Reed Warbler periodically gives brief snippets of song (musical notes or trills). Listen also for low-pitched wheezy grunts of two individuals of an unknown species … perhaps some kind of crake or possibly bittern (does anybody out there know?). At times, I hear the very distant calls of a Southern Boobook Owl. Other distant bird sounds can also be heard.

2. Insects – Insects chime-in prominently at three different frequencies. Note the continuous trilling of tree crickets fairly low down, around 1500 Hz. Higher up, at around 6000 Hz, one can hear the short trills of crickets. And then very high up, around 10,000 Hz and higher, there is the continuous rustling or shuffling buzz of what must be meadow katydids (also called longhorned grasshoppers). The buzz of mosquitoes can also be heard periodically.

3. Frogs – Several species of frogs can be heard. Listen for the slowlly-repeated sharp puck! calls of a Striped Marsh Frog (Limnodynastes peroni). Higher up, one can hear the rising, creeking trills of the Eastern Dwarf Treefrog (Litoria fallax). And especially toward the end of the recording, the cackling of Maniacal Cackle Frogs (Litoria peroni) becomes quite obvious.

So whatya think? Does this recording qualify for easy listening? I find the balance of elements to be reasonably good, with sounds nicely-spread over a broad frequency range. Ignoring the occasional loud outbursts of birds, no one sound dominates or wrenches the ear. I’m rather pleased.

Song of the Reeds

by Lang Elliott · October 19, 2012 · 10 Comments

Yesterday evening, I sat quietly next to a marshy pond full of reeds. It was dead-calm and the marsh came alive with sound as darkness descended.

Soundscape from a reedy pond featuring an Australian Reed Warbler. Recorded at dusk 19 October 2012 along the western edge of the Watagan Mountains near Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. © Lang Elliott.

The clattering of frogs (species unknown) provide a continuous backdrop against which a variety of bird sounds can be heard, as the birds settle-in for the night. Listen for the bell-like tink notes of Bell Miners (featured in my previous blog post), along with soft plaintive whines made by some other bird, which one I do not know. Listen also for trilling tree crickets and the high-pitched buzzes of meadow katydids (long-horned grasshoppers).

But the main songster in the chorus is a very common inhabitant of reed-edged ponds, the Australian Sedge Warbler (Acrocephalus australis), a dull brown bird whose rich and varied songs add brilliance to the dusk chorus. The warbler sang from many different perches and usually was invisible to me, but at times I caught glimpses of him singing from tall perches in the rapidly-dimming light.

They say there is a sedge warbler in every patch of reeds here in Australia, no matter how large or small. This patch was no exception, and I could even hear another sounding off from a much smaller marsh some distance behind me.

How lucky I was to find this remote spot, nestled against the base of the Watagan Mountains at the end of a long and narrow valley. Though cows and horses were near, they said not a word and I was blessed to experience the pure voices of nature springing forth from the reedy pool, well out of range of the telltale sounds of humankind.

NOTE: Please don’t play too loud; adjust volume so that the reed warbler is at a pleasant level. And listen with headphones or earbuds if possible, so that you experience the full dimensional effect … my soundscapes are meant to convey the stunning poetry of natural sound, so it is imperative to listen correctly.

Forest Bells

by Lang Elliott · October 18, 2012 · 18 Comments

When I first heard them … bell-like tink calls coming from all around me in the dense understory of the eucalyptus forest at dusk, I thought I was hearing frogs, “Bell Frogs” was my guess. But when I described my experience to Carl later in the evening, he told me with considerable authority that the calls weren’t from frogs, but rather were from birds … Bell Miners (also called “Bellbirds”), to be exact.

The tink-notes of Bell Miners at dusk. Recorded by Lang Elliott 17 October 2012 on the western edge of the Watagan Mountains near Cessnock, New South Wales, Australia.

I had just driven up a long dirt road through farm country on the western slopes of the Watagan Mountains. Light was fading fast. I came to a gate, abandoned my car, and walked up a well-rutted road to the edge of the mountain forest. And that is where I found them, or rather “heard” them, tinkling away in froggy fashion.

This pristine soundscape is magical to my ears. I find the recording both relaxing and mesmerizing, with nearly continuous tink calls at varying distances set against the more subtle chatters and whistles of a variety of other birds (including a lyrebird singing in the distance toward the end).

What amazed me is that I didn’t see any of the callers. “Tinks” came at me from all around, both far and near, but I never once saw a sound-maker. How could these not be tiny frogs, well-camouflaged on understory stems and leaves? Really … how is this possible? I just can’t believe these sounds are made by birds.

The Bell Miner (Manorina-melanophrys) is a fairly common species in mountain eucalyptus forests from southeastern Queensland to Victoria. A small olive-green bird in the honeyeater family, it got its common name not from its bell-like call, but because (as I found on Wikipedia), it feeds “almost exclusively on the dome-like coverings of certain psyllid bugs, referred to as ‘bell lerps’, that feed on eucalyptus sap from the leaves.”

Bell Miners are highly gregarious and flocks of dozens are not uncommon. Their social life is complex, with pairs accompanied by non-breeders that help provide food for the young. I can’t help but wonder: “Do the tink notes constitute male territorial song, or are these primarily contact calls?” Given the Bell Miner’s social life, I think the latter. So all the calling at dusk might help members of the group stick together and roost at night in close proximity to one another.

Peaceful Doves

by Lang Elliott · October 16, 2012 · 13 Comments

The world over, members of the dove and pigeon family (Columbidae, with over 300 species) produce musical coos that fall in the mid to low frequency range, adding a pleasant bottom end to natural soundscapes that otherwise might be too shrill for the average listener.

Australia is the home of 18 species and I’ve been busy gathering sound portraits of all that I come across. My favorites so far are two species of the genus Geopelia (small, long-tailed doves), both inhabiting dry sclerophyll forests (multi-aged stands of eucalypts with an understory dominated by shrubs, grasses, sedges or bracken fern).

In a dry forested area in Kuranda National Park near Cairns in Queensland, I recorded the gentle, downward inflected coocoo-cookaw of a Bar-shouldered Dove (Geopelia humeralis), set against a pleasing dawn chorus:

Coos of a Bar-shouldered Dove. Recorded by Lang Elliott on 27 September 2012 in Kuranda National Park near Cairns, Queensland, Australia.

In Pillaga Nature Reserve near Coonabarabran in New South Wales, I recorded the coos of a Peaceful Dove (Geopilis striata). Its clear coo-wi-da … coo-wi-da … coo-wi-da is more high-pitched than the Bar-shouldered’s song and has a peaceful quality that I presume gave rise to the species’ common name:

Coos of a Peaceful Dove. Recorded by Lang Elliott on 13 October 2012 in Pilliga Nature Reserve north of Coonabarabran, New South Wales, Australia.

These two recordings are both quite soothing and will lull you into a sublime and blissful state if you but allow them to take hold of your psyche. Such is the power of nature’s music, especially when the gentle coos of doves and pigeons come to bear.

NOTE: Please play these soundscapes at a low level so that you are not distracted by subtle sounds, such as wing noises heard periodically in the second recording. To experience the full dimensional effect, listen using headphones or earbuds.

The Silly-Sounding Goofbird

by Lang Elliott · October 16, 2012 · 18 Comments

Australia is full of surprises sound-wise, not only yielding an abundance of beautiful and musical bird songs, but also laughable songs that border on the improbable, ridiculous, or absurd. Of all the sound delights that have come my way thus far during my journey Down Under, the silly chatterings and tootings of a group of Noisy Friarbirds are laughable in the extreme, bringing a smile and a chuckle to my face as I eavesdrop on their sweetly-intimate conversations:

Chatterings and tootings of Noisy Friarbirds. Recorded by Lang Elliott at dawn, 13 October 2012, Tammallallie National Park near Coonabarabran, New South Wales.

As usual, when I made this recording, I had no idea what bird was producing these endearing sounds. I must admit that I laughed out loud when I learned they were Friarbirds and saw Carl’s excellent photo … OMG, what a goofy looking bald-headed bird! This prompted me to give it my own name, The Silly-Sounding Goofbird, no doubt dreamt into existence by an Aborigine with an imaginative sense of humor.

The Noisy Friarbird (Philemon corniculatus) is a member of the honeyeater family and can be recognized by it’s naked black head (like our vultures back home) and the prominent knob near the beak. Preferring dry forests and scrubby heathlands, friarbirds feed in flocks and are usually quite noisy. The common call of the species is a loud chick-wow or churrick, heard at times in the above recording, and featured below:

Signature call of the Noisy Friarbird. Recorded by Lang Elliott at dusk, 12 October 2012, Tammallallie National Park near Coonabarabran, New South Wales.

Birds like the Noisy Friarbird draw me ever so deeply into the amazing Australian soundscape, which is quite unlike anywhere else on earth. Even the creatively fertile Peruvian Amazon would have trouble voicing anything quite so charming as the Friarbird’s silly-sounding performance.

More Possum Hollers

by Lang Elliott · October 15, 2012 · 7 Comments

Here in Australia’s wilds, I seem to be a possum magnet. On a pristine-calm night in the Timmallallie National Park near Baradine, New South Wales, two different possums greeted, or rather threatened, me with growls and barks as they stumbled upon my camp in the dark of the night.

My first visitor appeared around 2am … a Brushtail Possum (Trichosurus vulpecula), the largest of the Down Under possum clan, weighing up to 10 pounds (4.5kg). His loud, gruff growls shook me from sleep as I laid there on my tarp, wondering if I should be concerned:

Growls of a Brushtail Possum, given around 2am in Timmallallie National Park near Baradine, New South Wales. Recorded by Lang Elliott, 14 October 2012.

The Brushtail is nocturnal and semi-arboreal. Listen carefully, you can hear him running on the ground at the beginning of the recording. My guess is that he growled when he suddenly caught my scent, or else saw my tent looming in the darkness (Carl Gerhardt, my traveling companion, slept a few hundred feet away and he too had one growl at him in the night).

My second visitor, I believe, was a Squirrel Glider (Petaurus norfolcensis), which measures around 8 inches (200mm) from the tip of the head to the base of the tail. He probably glided to a tree near my tent and then voiced his disapproval with measured yaps or barks (frog sounds can be heard in the background):

Barks or yips of a Squirrel Glider, given around 3am in Timmallallie National Park near Baradine, New South Wales. Recorded by Lang Elliott, 14 October 2012.

It is possible that the glider was the somewhat smaller Sugar Glider (Petaurus breviceps), but the pitch sounds too low, leading my biologist friend Simon Clulow to identify them as the calls of the Squirrel Glider. About a week before in the Watagan Mountains near Newcastle, I believe I snagged the Sugar Glider’s higher-pitched calls:

Barks or yips of a Sugar Glider, given around 1am in the Watagan Mountains near Newcastle, New South Wales. Recorded by Lang Elliott, 8 October 2012.

What fun it is to sleep out in the forest and know that possums are about and prone to hollering. In North America, “holler” is how mountain folks in the Southeast pronounce “hollow,” referring to a small forested valley with a creek. So “Possum Holler” actually means “Possum Hollow.” But here in Australia, possums really do “holler,” especially if you dare to sleep on the ground in the forest at night.

NOTE: If any of you Aussies beg to differ with my identifications, please let me know. Even the folks here at Newcastle University could be wrong.