Dusk | 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.

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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.

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.

Acadian Twilight Song

by Lang Elliott · February 27, 2011 · 11 Comments

Sometimes when I browse my collection in search of a particular recording, I stumble upon another that I’d forgotten about, a jewel that I had somehow overlooked. And this is what happened today, while I was searching for a recording of a Northern Bobwhite for a project I’m working on. The “jewel” turned out not to be the bobwhite, but rather a recording of the twilight song of the Acadian Flycatcher that I had captured during one of my many visits to Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky.

The date was May 7, 2005. At dusk, I hiked down an old road into a remote hollow. I could hear the calls of Fowler’s Toads and Gray Treefrogs in the distance. I left the trail and walked into a cathedral forest of tall bottomland hardwoods. I sat down on a fallen log and listened. Crickets were trilling softly and I could hear the subtle, high-pitched shuffling of spring-singing katydids. I shut my eyes, feeling no urge to record. Darkness descended. Then, just I as was falling into deep relaxation, I was suddenly startled into action by the calls of an Acadian Flycatcher, no more than thirty feet away. He gave several loud peet notes and then transitioned into his special twilight song, a regular series of peet calls interspersed with more complex phrases. I was ecstatic! Over the years, I had recorded many examples of the Acadian’s twilight song, but none as sweet and beautiful as this one:

Twilight song of the Acadian Flycatcher. 8:15 pm, 7 May 2005, Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky. Recording © Lang Elliott.

NOTE: About a third of the way through the recording, listen for a twittering outburst of musical notes—these are given as the flycatcher takes flight and moves to a different perch (or else returns to the same perch, which is what I think happened in this case).

What makes this recording so special? I think it is the mesmerizing background ambience, the reverberant calls of the two species of frogs set against the trilling of the crickets. The listener know by these sounds that it is dark, or at least nearly so. And most likely dusk, because the frogs often quit calling well before dawn. Thus, the background brings life to what otherwise would be a rather sterile portrait of the bird’s twilight song pattern. I was also delighted that the flycatcher wasn’t too close. All these elements combined to create an intimate and exquisite species-portrait, full of life and sense of place. Would that I could gather portraits this powerful for all our native birds. Of course, it certainly helps that the Acadian Fycatcher’s endearing twilight song is a true gem unto itself!

Dusk Portal

by Lang Elliott · January 19, 2011 · 16 Comments

Our native thrushes often sing at dusk, just before going to roost for the night. I’ve always considered such songs to represent a transition into darkness, a “portal” into the mysteries of the night.

In early June of 2000, I was lucky enough to find a Swainson’s Thrush (Olive-backed Thrush) singing at dusk next to a small brook in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. A second thrush was answering in the distance and Spring Peepers were sounding off from a nearby marsh. I felt incredibly fortunate to witness this beautiful sound event.

Of all our thrushes, I like the song of the Swainson’s the best. It is an upward jumble of musical, flutey notes. It is quite magical, one of the most stunning performances that grace mixed forests and conifer woods of northern areas. Over the years, I have worked very hard to capture the essence of this species’ song, and this soundscape comes as close as any to fulfilling that impossible goal:

Swainson’s Thrush singing at dusk with another in the background, 8:15 pm am, 9 June 2000, Floodwood Road, near Lake Clear, New York. Recorded by Lang Elliott.

How could anyone not enjoy this recording? The balance seems perfect. The thrush songs are loud and clear, yet reverberant, and do not jangle the ear. The gurgling brook adds a relaxing element, as do the distant calls of Spring Peepers. A Ruffed Grouse drums every minute or so as if he couldn’t help but join the choir. This is the music of nature at its very best. Breathe it in and let go of all your cares and woes.

Question: While this recording is appealing to my ear, I wonder how long it would be comfortable to listen to. If I feature it in a soundscape title, should it run for just a few minutes, or up to seven or eight minutes? My friend Bob thinks he would get tired of listening to it after just a few minutes because it’s primarily composed of one bird singing song after song after song. My feeling is that I could listen to it easily for five minutes or more and still not tire of the experience, as long as I keep the volume at a comfortable level. What do you think?