But customers often ask; what is the difference between these recordings – surely a beach is a beach? So this is a good opportunity to discuss the variety of moods that nature presents on our wild coastlines.

‘Call of the Ocean’ was our first coastal album, recorded at various locations from Phillip Island in Victoria to the north coast of NSW. It features a diversity of recordings, taking the listener on a walk along an ocean beach, up into the dunes and coastal woodlands, and onto rocky headlands.

Here is a short audio sample from the album

During the course of the album you will hear waves washing up on a sandy beach, gurgling in and out of rockpools, breaking on distant rock platforms and, more spectacularly, whooshing from a blowhole. The calls of shore birds like Silver Gulls and Sooty Oystercatchers are heard against the surf.

The album wanders from shoreline into dunes and coastal hinterland. Dawn birdsong is heard in heath country, with grassbirds, coucals and wrens creating a delicate chorus, while from overhead come the calls of a majestic pair of White-bellied Sea Eagles. Drifting across a coastal freshwater lake comes the distant chiming of Bellbirds, and later the soft, braying calls of Fairy Penguins carry on the night breeze as they come ashore to their nesting burrows.

So ‘Call of the Ocean’ is quite a diverse coastal album, blending wave wash and birdsongs into a portrait of our wild coastlines.

‘Surf, Beach and Shoreline’, by contrast, features pure wave and surf sounds.

It consists of three extended recordings, each taking around a third of the album time. The first is waves breaking on a sandy beach, rolling in from the ocean and hissing up on the golden sand. The second comes from a beach of smooth ocean-worn cobbles. As each wave breaks and recedes, the stones can be heard softly rattling with the retreating waters. The final recording comes from a late afternoon on a sheltered beach, with small waves, their fury already spent, finally collapsing on smooth sands.

Here is an audio sample.

‘Surf, Beach & Shoreline’ is a recording for those who find the sounds of the sea relaxing and soothing.

The same can be said of ‘Moonlit Pebble Bay’.

This recording came about unexpectedly. Night is a good time for recording the ocean, as any sea breezes have often abated, allowing clear recording. And of course waves sound the same by day or night – or so I thought.

One evening I was at Mimosa Rocks on the NSW south coast, recording around the rockpools. After several hours I was getting sleepy, and sat down on the cobbled beach of a sheltered bay to listen before heading back to my camp. Maybe it was just me, but I found the lazy sound of the waves, washing into the bay and up onto the stones, deeply relaxing. Each wave would wash in, starting at one end of the bay and break cleanly around to the far side. Sometimes waves would arrive in small groups, with interludes of gentle lapping between.

‘Moonlit Pebble Bay’ contains the hour-long, unedited recording, just as I had heard it that evening. It is a beautiful meditation, which we’ve included in our ‘Nature at Rest’ collection.

Listen to the audio sample.

The more I record by the seaside, the more I come to appreciate the subtle sounds of the ocean, and find ways of capturing that beauty. A beach is not just a beach!

‘Call of the Ocean’, ‘Surf Beach & Shoreline’ and ‘Moonlit Pebble Bay’ are each available as either CD or for digital download, directly from our website; www.listeningearth.com

This unique lowland area in the northwest of India lies between the southern edge of the Thar desert and the Arabian Sea. With each monsoon, floodwaters flowing south get backed up here, creating a vast lake often less than a metre deep on which local villagers go fishing. In the dry season it becomes the moonscape we were now traversing. Even in the driest months, the Rann has RAMSAR-listed perenial wetlands, a refuge for huge numbers of waterfowl. Also dotted amongst this remote vastness were isolated ‘islands’ of thornscrub, known as phets, and it was to one of these that we were being driven in the predawn.

Our dilapidated Land Rover – with no windshield or doors, atrophied suspension and a top of speed of 30kph – felt like one of NASA’s Apollo moon rover buggies. Micro-fine dust was being kicked up by our wheels, and settled over everything, eerily flowing almost like liquid.

Beside me, our local driver Mahboob, his head completely swaddled in a shawl against the night chill, reminded me of some desert alien from a Star Wars or Dune film. In the days he had driven us around the Rann, despite little language in common, we had grown to enjoy his quiet, good spirits and easy smile. How he navigated unerringly around this featureless region was an utter mystery.

But now my faith in his uncanny ability was faltering. When we had set off, the setting stars of Orion had hung over our bonnet as we headed west. During the past five minutes they had drifted slowly to our left side, and were now almost behind us. A few minutes later they were over my right shoulder. We were going in a huge circle.

I looked over at Sarah huddled in the back, a pulled a face. Mahboob looked aglance at me, smiled broadly and wiggled one hand in the air. Yep, we were lost.

During the previous few days, we had been based at the Desert Coursers Lodge at Zainabad on the edge of the Rann, and Mahboob had driven us out each morning and afternoon to likely recording locations.

At first sight, the barren Raan didn’t look like a promising place to be recording nature sounds. Even Sarah was finding the empty landscape a challenge to photograph. It had atmosphere, no doubt about that, but at first we were wondering whether we would get any worthwhile recordings at all.

On the first morning, our doubts were swept away. Mahboob rolled the old Landie to a halt at the edge of some low bushes, and indicated that we should walk on. Pushing through them, we found ourselves on the shoreline of a broad, expansive wetland. Before us, mirror-still waters were covered with the graceful pink and white forms of hundreds of Lesser Flamingos. It was such an unexpected scene in this barren landscape, that Sarah and I found ourselves in a state of childlike wonder. It was a sight we had never anticipated to see. Ducks, pelicans, stilts and cranes were also out on the waters, silently feeding in this surreal place.

Later that morning, we came across a small herd of Wild Ass, or Onager, Equus hemionus. Found only in the Rann, loose family groups of these rare animals subsist on the sparse grasslands. They have a habit of hanging their heads over each other’s neck, which is quite endearing.

That afternoon we identified a promising recording location. Exploring one of the thornscrub phets, we found it to be a haven for small birds; babblers, prinias, silverbills, bee-eaters, coucals, doves and bulbuls were prolific.

Just on sunset, groups of Grey Francolins, Francolinus pondicerianus, began calling, their cackling calls echoing across the landscape, revealing them to be a much more numerous than sightings alone suggested.

So for the next few mornings we recorded among the thornscrub, and encountered some of their more secretive inhabitants. We were surprised to find Nilgai and other deer in such desolate surroundings.

Stone Curlews and Short-eared Owls were seen at dusk, and occasionally we’d come across small groups of Common Cranes, Grus grus shyly feeding among the scrub or flying overhead in stately formation on lazy wingbeats.

The Rann was slowly revealing its wonders to us.

With the first pale light of dawn arriving in the east, we were still lost on the Rann. Just as I was beginning to think we would miss a recording of the dawn chorus, a line of short grass appeared in the headlights, and beyond that ‘beachline’, a wall of low thornscrub. By good fortune, we’d found a phet, although probably not the one we’d intended. Relieved, I bundled out with my recording gear, and made my way into the scrub.

That last morning yielded a very good recording, with flocks of tiny Silverbills, Lonchura malabarica, winging overhead, and a diversity of delicate birdsong drifting over the landscape. The ringing of cowbells and occasional yell of a cattle herder in the distance added a human touch to the ambience.

Returning, something caught my eye on the ground. A pattern in the now-dried mud had been made by a large animal (deer or cow maybe) urinating. It was utterly unique and distinctive. But the extraordinary thing was that I had noticed this exact mark yesterday. Looking around, I recognised the patterns of scrub – it was precisely the same location that I had been on previous mornings. Mahboob’s navigational abilities were indeed redeemed!

Back at the Landie, Sarah shared some atmospheric dawn landscapes she’d photographed, and we prepared to set off. Mahboob fired up the engine but it promptly died. He leaned down and held up the accelerator peddle; sheared off completely. Despite everything, there was something amusing about our predicament. Mahboob wobbled his head and ‘tut, tutted’ to himself. Whilst not being alarmed, we were curious how we were going to get ourselves out of this one.

Mahboob rummaged around under the seat and emerged with… a used fan belt. Great, very useful… More rummaging, this time under the bonnet. A few minutes later, he’d tied the fan belt to the throttle cable and fed it back into the cab through a gap in the chasis under the steering wheel. He turned over the engine again, pulling on the fan belt to rev the motor happily. Big grins all round – the man was truly amazing!

Our album ‘The Great Rann’ presents nature sounds from this unique part of the world. On this 3 minute sample from the album, you can hear excerpts from each track.

Track 1 was made in the darkness of pre-dawn on the edge of one of the Rann’s wetlands. Waterfowl including stilts, ducks, teal, cranes and flamingos are heard calling quietly in the darkness. From the wetlands, we move on to the thornscrub phets, beginning with a dawn chorus of francolins, and progressing through that lovely morning of drifting birdsong. Towards the end a group of Common Cranes call as they fly leisurely overhead (track 3). Finally, on track 4 you will hear the dusk calls of francolins merge into a cricket chorus of nightfall.

The nature sound album ‘The Great Rann’ is available on CD or by digital download from our website: www.listeningearth.com

What is the most beautiful songbird in the world?

If we mean ‘musical to our ears’, then surely one of our favourites would be the Malabar Whistling Thrush, Myophonus horsfieldii, of India. Also known as the ‘whistling schoolboy’, this bird has the most haunting and tuneful of songs – it is indeed like overhearing someone whistling to themselves as they walk along a jungle path.

Our first encounter with this songbird was completely unexpected. Sarah and I were at the beginning of our first field trip to India, and the most of the birdsong we were hearing was exotic and unfamiliar.

We had chosen to visit Cotigaon Wildlife Reserve in Goa, on India’s Malabar coast. Cotigaon is an extensive evergreen forest nestled among the foothills of the western Ghats, seasonally drenched by the monsoon off the Arabian Sea. It is a truly beautiful place.

Although we didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, it was also an easy park to access. Due to a low population of large mammals such as elephants, it was relatively safe for us to find our own way around, even after dark. We simply hired a pair of scooters, and that first morning set off at 4am to ride into the core forest area where we had identified a likely recording location; a footpath leading through a dense part of the forest.

I left Sarah to await the dawn while I set off on foot with my recording gear. Everything was silent, with just a pattering of dewdrops falling from the canopy. Not far off, a softly raucous call broke the stillness, a sound that I would soon come to recognise as a Jungle Owlet.

I set up my microphones, and put on my heaphones, with little idea of what to expect of this exotic new environment. You can perhaps imagine my feelings; a mixture of cautious awareness and expectation.

I was listening intently. Another Owlet called, and the soft susurration of crickets permeated the air. Then the most inexplicable sound arose in the dark. Someone was whistling a tune… slow, soft, immensely beautiful, and with a carefree sense of aimlessness about it. It seemed to just hang in the air like the humidity itself. Listening, I was dumbstruck, in a state of suspended animation.

It lasted perhaps a minute, and before it had finished, another tune began from behind me. In all I think there may have been three birds singing that first morning, each moving from one songperch to another, so the forest seemed filled with sweet, sad melodies. Then they fell silent again.

I had just heard the Malabar Whistling Thrush giving its predawn song in its favourite haunt, the dense undergrowth of India’s evergreen forests.

I continued recording as the dawn arrived and the forest came alive with a wonderful diversity of other birdsong; Flamebacks, Hornbills, Yellow-browed Bulbuls, Drongos, Fulvetas… Particularly delightful were the groups of tiny and iridescent Sunbirds that darted among the canopy and understory.

That morning’s recording can be heard on our album ‘Sunbird Forest’. But while Sunbirds were numerous at Cotigaon, it is the Whistling Thrushes who are the real stars of the album. They feature on the opening track, which I’ve entitled; ‘Melifluous’, as I can think of no better word to describe the song of the Malabar Whistling Thrush, surely one of the most beautiful songbirds in the world.

Listen to a sample from ‘Sunbird Forest’ – the Whistling Thrushes can be heard during the first minute or so.

The nature sound album ‘Sunbird Forest’ is available on CD or by digital download from our website: www.listeningearth.com

The Painted Button Quail, Turnix varia, is a native quail of the drier eucalypt forests of eastern and southern Australia. Whilst they are widespread, they are quite uncommon, and their camouflage plumage makes actually seeing them in the bush a rare treat.

Our first encounter with them was fifteen years ago, whilst sound recording for one of our early nature albums; ‘A Morning in the Australian Bush’. In the Capertee Valley of NSW I recorded what I thought to be a pigeon, giving a series of resonant booming calls from low bushes. We didn’t actually see the bird, but it sounded so like the Common Bronzewing pigeon, that it never occurred to me to question. It was only a year later, after we had completed and published this album, that a naturalist friend confirmed that what we’d recorded was actually a Painted Button Quail.

Here is that recording of the Quail, as heard on the album. (The accelerating call, gradually rising in pitch, is diagnostic. Also to be heard in this sample is the clear, descending whistle of a Horsfield’s Bronze Cuckoo)

A few years later we bought a bush block and built our home in central Victoria. Imagine our delight to discover that we had these delicate little birds resident in the bushland around us. Not only in the forest, but sheltering by our back door, trotting past our office window, or taking a short cut through our car port!

It was our first occasion to really observe them, and what beautiful little creatures they are!

A female ‘PBQ’

Usually seen in pairs, they are quick and nervous in their movements, darting off or taking wing at the slightest disturbance – which is very wise for a small ground-dwelling bird! In Australia we have several introduced predators that these quail have had to learn to live with; foxes and cats being the most threatening. Add to that the distressing fact that over the years we have found almost as many dead quail by the side of rural roads as we’ve ever seen alive, and we have come to feel these birds are hanging onto existence by sheer tenacity.

For several years we enjoyed seeing them around our home and bush, and then we stopped seeing them at all. We put this down to either predation or drought. For years now, south-east Australia has been in the grip of one of its worst droughts on record. The unprecedented bush fires in Victoria have made headlines around the world, the bush is dry and colourless, and urban water storages are at all-time lows. Not seeing our lovely quail was just another depressing sign.

But two months ago, they reappeared! We first noticed them in a disused garden patch near the house, and most mornings since we can see them among the dried grasses that have taken over the old garden beds.

Male Painted Button Quail at a nesting scrape

This morning I spent some time quietly watching them feeding and scuffling around. They have a delightful habit of digging little nesting scrapes in soft earth, and one can see where they have been by the lunar landscape of delicate depressions they create. They are so animated, like little feathery balls on yellow legs. So quick and restless are they that getting a photo without blur is not easy! At one point I must have moved slightly, and they suddenly scampered off into the undergrowth. In doing so they slick their feathers down, no longer plump little feather balls, they run head outstretched like arrows to safety.

So a plump quail is a happy quail. Hooray for tenacity!

The nature sound album ‘A Morning in the Australian Bush’ features a beautiful diversity of Australian birdsong, and is available on CD or by digital download from our website: www.listeningearth.com

It is quite common for them to do this on well-illuminated moonlit evenings. Not only Magpies, but other birds such as Willy Wagtails, are well-known for this behaviour. What is interesting with Mapgies is that they have quite a different call nocturnally than their usual day-time calls.

Magpies are regarded by many as having one of the most beautiful songs in the bush, a liquid series of rippling notes, sort of an extended warble. Being a bird found throughout the continent, their calls can be thought of as a characteristically Australian bush sound.

Magpies have thus featured on several of our albums, such as ‘A Morning in the Australian Bush’, ‘Favourite Australian Birdsong’ and ‘Birdsong Virtuosos of Australia’.

Nevertheless, we’ve had requests from listeners who were hoping for an album dedicated just to Magpies – a celebration of Magpies.

At first I thought such a project could be an overdose of Magpies! However on listening through some of our recordings, I realised that they have such character and diversity in their songs that they are effortlessly entertaining.

When I came across the collective noun for Australia’s Magpies, I new I’d found the ideal title for the album: ‘A Madrigal of Magpies’. Very evocative, appropriate, and preferable to the northern hemisphere’s ‘murder of magpies’ (entirely different species of course).

One of the recordings we chose for the album features the Magpie’s nocturnal song. It is much slower and lazier than their diurnal song – as nocturnal birdsong often is (listen to the 3am Pied Butcherbird song on ‘Spirit of the Outback for instance). But the Magpie’s nightsong is also structurally quite different too. Why this is, and why they sing like this at all, I don’t know, but their lazy warbles on a moonlit night are a pure delight.

Here is a sample from ‘A Madrigal of Magpies’ to listen to.

It features four excerpts edited together. The first minute or so is from a morning in bushland, and you can hear the Magpies’ typical daytime call, including some nice warbling among a chorus of other birdsong. The second is the nocturnal call (with some White-plumed Honeyeater dawn calls), and you can hear how lazy and relaxed it is compared to the diurnal ones. The last minute or so comes from Magpies recorded near suburban Melbourne and in an open rural district.

‘A Madrigal of Magpies’ is available on CD or by direct digital download exclusively from our website: www.listeningearth.com/albums/40MadrigalMagpies/40MadrigalMagpies_Album_info.htm

The nature sound album ‘A Madrigal of Magpies’ features not only Magies, but a diversity of beautiful Australian birdsong, and is available on CD or by digital download from our website: www.listeningearth.com

Several years ago, Sarah and I journeyed to the Australian outback, hoping to record the calls of Cockatiels.

We were not having any luck finding them (they are highly nomadic birds, and seemed to have departed the area a few weeks previously). However we did discover something unexpected – a group of ephemeral lakes in the desert, filled with water for the first time in 40 years.

The parched and flat expanses of the Australian outback may not seem the kind of place where one expects to find lakes. But when water arrives, it brings the dry landscape to life in a most spectacular way.

Birdlife, particularly waterfowl, is attracted to these inland water bodies to breed. They arrive from possibly thousands of kilometers away in response to rainfall, and we found these isolated lakes to be refuge for a huge numbers of ducks, coots, black swans, maned geese, dotterels and cormorants.

We nearly wouldn’t have known about the lakes at all. It was the local landowner who suggested we may find them interesting for our sound recording, and directed us to them through the flat, scrubby country.

We set up camp near the shore of Pine Lake, one of the smaller ones of the group. Being limited in size, the birdlife was concentrated, offering better opportunities for sound recording than larger, open water locations.

During the day, waterfowl could be seen resting across the lake. I tried making some recordings, but the birds were largely silent. It was at only night that they really got vocal.

This surprised us at first. One thinks of birds roosting at night, at least being quieter and less active. But water birds are the opposite, they really party after dark!

Throughout the night, ducks, geese and swans could be heard calling in the still air, their voices echoing eerily across the landscape. Every now and then, wings could be heard overhead as ducks took to the air or flew in from nearby lakes, alighting with a soft splash. Along with the waterfowl, nocturnal crickets chimed quietly, and small bats could be heard echo-locating for insects over the water’s edge. Tiny dotterels patrolled the shoreline, occasionally giving their characteristic ‘ratchetty’ calls.

I had set up my microphones on the water’s edge, and ended up leaving the recorder running for many hours. As Sarah and I sat in the dark, we found ourselves being gently lulled by these hauntingly beautiful sounds.

We found out later that we were not the only ones to find this symphony of waterbirds restful.

Meeting up again with the owner, he shared his delight in these nightsounds too. Despite a challenging life on the land, he had a deep appreciation of nature. He described how it was only the second time in his life that he had seen these lakes fill, and how his family would drive out to them after dinner, to sit quietly in the moonlight listening to the ducks with a glass of wine in hand.

Here is a short sound sample of what we heard on those evenings. The full recording is featured on our album ‘Meditation at Pine Lake’.

‘Meditation at Pine Lake’ can be purchased on CD or as a digital download from our website: www.listeningearth.com

Here are our Top Ten popular misconceptions about nature recordings!

Nature recordings…

1. …are just birdy noises

Well yes, plus insects, frogs, animals, the elements…

Our ancestors knew their place in the world by listening to nature. Scientists speculate that in the distant past, humans first learned to sing by listening to birdsong, and then refined that into spoken languages.

So what have we lost when nature seems just a meaningless background noise? Perhaps we can learn again to appreciate the music of nature – after all, to fully enjoy jazz, classical or any art music, we have to spend time and learn about it.

The more I listen to the natural world, the more complex and marvelous I find it. Not only does each species have its unique songs, some of them extraordinary, but the whole symphony of nature is finely crafted. All the sounds fit together like an orchestra, creating a music that changes continually throughout the day, responding to the weather, and from season to season. Every habitat sounds unique, every place in the world singing its own songs.

The musicality of nature, once heard, will delight you for life.

2. …are new-age

I can understand people thinking this. For the last 30 years, music companies have been pumping out ‘nature CDs’ because they sell (let’s face it, anything will if it’s priced low enough). We’ve heard some truly appalling stuff. Those stories about making a ‘rainforest waterfall’ by recording a bathroom tap? Or taking one bird sample and just looping it in the studio? True. Those kinds of crappy CDs are out there.

Which is a shame, because it not only degrades the work of skilled recordists, but it trivialises nature. Nature is dynamic and alive, and if a recording captures that, you will fall in love with what you hear, rather than move on when you’ve had your fix.

3. …are boring

Pardon? Is our marvelous, living planet boring someone? If nature isn’t interesting, what on earth is?

Nature is universal. Nature is essential to life. There are many ways of connecting with nature, and listening is one of the most enjoyable. The more you listen, the more you will hear. Every one of our recordings is full of diversity and activity. Just grab a pair of headphones and listen for how many species you can hear calling at any one time.

Boredom has been described as a lack of engagement. We reckon that if someone finds nature boring, they’re just not really listening!

4. …are good because one day these species and habitats will be extinct

You’d be surprised how often we are told that our recordings are great because “one day we won’t be able to hear these sounds any more”.

We find this attitude shocking, really disturbing. It expresses an undertone of resignation to the inevitability of extinction. It is a kind of warped affirmation. The more we shock and numb ourselves with the concept of extinction, the more familiar and accepting of it we become.

It also implies that humanity will continue normally as nature collapses around us. That might happen in a Hollywood movie, but in reality, it is actually humanity that is in peril now. Nature is adapting, we’re not.

Our recordings may be useful scientific documents in the future, but that is not why we publish them. We do it because we want to share and inspire. Voyeuring on extinction isn’t a part of our vision.

5. …aren’t sexy

Are you kidding? Why do birds sing? They want to attract a mate! “Come on, let’s fluff some feathers!” Frogs too, and insects, animals… Our nature recordings are full of sex!

But we know – our recordings aren’t the latest hip, cool thing. We’re talking fashion here aren’t we? Which raises the question; is nature really unfashionable? Sadly, that may be true in the mainstream of our culture, and the new-age’s ‘romanticising’ of nature doesn’t help.

We guess our customers must have grown beyond the tyranny of fashion, because for them our recordings really are ‘cool’… Perhaps even a little sexy!

6. …are easy, anyone can make a nature recording

Yep, and anyone can play the guitar too, or piano, or tuba… Like playing a musical instrument, sound recording in the wild is a wonderful pastime. We heartily encourage you to grab a microphone and get out there! You’ll discover a lot more about the natural world than you thought.

You’ll probably also discover that making good recordings takes more than just good equipment; it requires skill, persistence, field experience and a fair dose of luck.

In some instances, it also requires a bit of courage. There have been many times in Asia I have walked alone through dense forest in the pre-dawn darkness, to get on location before the dawn chorus. Bumping into an elephant in such circumstances is not a good idea. On one occasion I found out how quickly I could dump 10kg of expensive sound recording gear and run, when a king cobra slid across the path ahead of me.

7. …are a bit creepy

Its funny, but people who find our recordings a little scary are not usually concerned about elephants or king cobras. They’re thinking bugs. Flies zipping past the microphones seem to inspire images of dark jungles full of creepy-crawlies.

I feel this is largely a fear of the unknown, or at least unfamiliar. The more time I spend in jungles, the more amazing I find them, and the more comfortable I am to be there.

One of the most relaxing experiences of my life was to be in a tropical rainforest in the depth of night. All I could hear was insects chirruping all around me. It was hypnotic, mesmerising, and after a few hours in pitch blackness, I was floating. You can listen to what I heard on our ‘A Walk in the Rainforest’ album, and as you do, think bliss not bugs.

8. …are nice and relaxing

Well, yes, listening to nature sounds is very soothing on the nerves. But to think of nature as only ‘relaxing’ is to limit our emotional responses. Some birdsong is exhilarating, electric, it sends thrills up the spine. The calls of big Woodpeckers in Asia could not be called relaxing listening. The sound of Hornbills flying overhead is awesome. Tawny-crowned Honeyeater song can be sublimely beautiful, and as I’ve mentioned, a chorus of nocturnal insects deeply meditative.

Life is more than just relaxing, and you will find all your emotions reflected in your response to nature.

9. …all sound the same

Really? Purchase more than one of our albums. Compare them, spot the differences. Better still, go out into a wild place, sit and listen as different birds and animals come and go, and sounds change throughout the day. Listen to the vocalisations of one species, and learn its repertoire of calls and songs.

The more you listen, the more you’ll hear…

10. …are a replacement for the real thing

We reckon our nature recordings are very enjoyable. If you are meditating at home and want to create a more natural environment, or travel to work immersed in the sounds of a rainforest, then they are great. With headphones on and your eyes closed, you can easily imagine being out there.

But our recordings can never replace your experience of being in nature. We hope though, that the next time you are out there enjoying the morning birdsong, your album listening will prepare you to hear so much more.

My heart sank. “How do you know?” I replied.

“It is part of my area as Field Officer for that park, and I never hear any birds in that area.”

“But it is the heart of the forest, there must be birds there, surely?”

“No sir, if you want birds you must be going here, by the lakeside”.

I looked down at the park map on the desk between us in the gloomy office, and followed his finger indicating a large dam marked outside the park boundary. Nearby were several villages, a town, a major trunk road and, finalising any remaining doubt, a temple. “No, this area will not do. I wish to record forest birdsong. There are villages here, and a road, it will be noisy…” I didn’t mention the blaring devotional broadcasts I expected from any temple in rural India. Instead I pointed to the centre of the extensive Sunabeda Wildlife Sanctuary. “We need a quiet place for sound recording. Here must be the best area”.

View Larger Map

I really had no idea. I was looking at the map for the first time, and guessing. We had taken a week driving to this remote part of western Orissa state. The roads had been appalling, even for India, and the continual jarring had injured my back, leaving me in considerable pain. We had come because Sunabeda looked a promising park to visit; an extensive plateau of dry woodland country in central India, much of it inaccessible, and reportedly with its own remnant population of rarely seen Tigers. Now we were in the dusty back-block town of Nuwapara, at the decaying regional headquarters of the Indian Forest Service, with a park ranger telling me in all sincerity that we had made the journey in vain. The Field Officer smiled even more at my resolve to go to the forest anyway, and gave that wonderful sign that can has many meanings; the Indian head wobble.

Sarah and I were soon in an adjoining office, with senior staff all seated around. Our Field Officer was there, but it was an intense Muslim man with an impressive henna-died beard who was leading proceedings. Not for the first time in Orissa, surprise and curiosity at our presence was expressed, and we learned we were their first western visitors. We presented our papers and explained our purpose.

When in this kind of situation, being quizzed by Indian officials about what we hoped to do, we had learned to feel somewhat concerned. Rules are rules in India, and we knew from experience that our aspirations could be squashed by the most helpful of staff who bring up some regulation that is impossible to get around. However on this occasion, we were amazed at the assistance offered by these park staff. Not only were we granted full permissions, but we were to be assigned a cook for our 4-day expedition, and accompanied by our smiling Field Officer as guide. And there was more: “The Indian Forestry Service will contribute 1000 rupees towards your expenses”.

2 hours later, our cook had bought up half the market, and we had enough food packed into the back of our vehicle to feed an army. He climbed into the tiny remaining space, balanced 50 eggs on his knees, and signaled he was quite comfortable. I however found my front seat had to be vacated for the benefit of our Field Officer, and spent the next few hours and 70km being tossed around in the back, attempting vainly to protect my back from further injury.

The road into the park was arduous. After threading through fields and villages we arrived at the foot of the range. The dirt road ascended in one long gradual incline, but it soon degenerated into a path of rocks and boulders. Frequently we would all have to pile out to give the vehicle enough clearance to continue. Our usually jovial and easy-going driver, Shiva, was getting seriously concerned for his vehicle. Only the Field Officer’s assurances, and an encounter with another vehicle similar to our own going down, eased his anxieties that the road would be impassable ahead.

Once on the plateau, the wet deciduous forest of the slopes thinned to open woodland, and we immediately knew we’d made the right choice in coming here. It felt like Australia. Here was open savannah country similar to what we were familiar with back home, particularly the tropical scrub we knew from places like Kakadu. The landscape was a mosaic of open rocky areas, grassland, scrub and woodland – the kind of country that we were confident would be home for a wide variety of birdlife.

After dark, we arrived at the Forest Lodge, and our cook got to work in the humble kitchen, managing to serve us up a truly spectacular meal. That evening, the Field Officer (I wish we could remember his name, but it escapes us) asked what we expected to hear in the morning. He was not in the least defensive of his earlier assertion that there were no birds here, indeed he seem to have forgotten ever saying it. “Well…” I began, “in the pre-dawn we might get the last calls of Owlets as they go to roost, and after a short break, we might hear a Drongo, as they’re usually the first diurnal birds to call at dawn. A few more species will likely join in for a dawn chorus, but I’m not expecting it to be very loud or prolonged. Then it will probably go quiet for an hour or so until the sun actually rises. Once the air warms a little, the birdsong will get stronger, and with luck we may get a few hours of good diversity until mid morning, when it will taper off until only species like Parrots and Orioles are left calling.”

I had experienced mornings in India that followed this pattern, but I had no idea of whether it would happen like that here. Or happen at all.

At 4am the next morning, we were up and driving out to a likely location, a mosiac of open and wooded habitats we had earmarked the previous evening. Sarah and I left our ‘team’ by the vehicle, building a fire to warm themselves against the pre-dawn chill. We walked off into the scrub, hoping any tigers were indeed as unlikely here as they were supposed to be. I set up my microphones in the stillness of pre-dawn, and Sarah moved off with her cameras to await the light.

It was a wonderful morning, one of the best symphonies of nature we had heard in India. Not that the birdsong was particularly loud, dense or overwhelming, it was just very beautiful. Lovely melodic songs from White-browed Fantails and Indian Scimitar Babblers entwined with each other throughout the morning. At one time there was a small bird, which I didn’t identify but could have been a Prinia or Flycatcher, singing its heart out from the top of a shrub. Tiny Yellow-capped Woodpeckers climbed tree trunks, giving a rapid drumming reminiscent of a door creaking open. Turtle Doves ‘coo’ed happily, and even the Barbets, which can be monotonous in their calling, were here somehow more expressive. One even sounded uncannily like a Kookaburra laughing for a moment! For the first time I definitely identified an Alexandrine Parrot calling, a distinctly more gravely-textured cry than the more common Plum-headeds. Not only the birds were calling; nearby a family of Hanuman Langurs were moving in the treetops, their occasional full-bodied whooping echoing across the landscape in the crisp morning air. Finally, to cap off a perfect morning, a pair of Indian Grey Hornbills flew in with a subtle whistle of wings, and began feeding in a nearby fig tree.

Eventually everything quietened down and I packed my gear. I found Sarah nearby, sitting on a rock contentedly composing leaf pictures. After all the uncertainties of achieving anything in India, we were feeling the kind of elation that comes from sheer emotional exhaustion.

We walked back, and found our team still standing quietly by their fire as we’d left them, rugs draped around their shoulders. We must have approached with broad smiles, to which our Field Officer responded with an equally warm grin and an energetic head wobble. “Ah, very nice”, was all he said. A very nice morning indeed.

Listen to a sample of this morning of birdsong, from the album ‘Indian Woodland Birdsong’. You can purchase the full album as a digital download directly from our website: www.listeningearth.com

So perhaps you can understand why for us, the thought of these beautiful little birds in captivity is saddening. Nevertheless, we can appreciate how pet birds bring joy to so many people.

Over the years, we have heard from many owners who report that playing our birdsong recordings seems to be beneficial for their feathered friends. Anxious birds were observed to calm down when they heard other birdsong, and lethargic ones seemed to become active and engaged, some singing for the first time.

Here are some examples of what we’ve heard:

“Since its mate died a year ago, I could see our pet Budgie was bored and under-stimulated. I have been trying to liven it up a bit in many ways (music, diet, toys…), but without much success. I bought your ‘Spirit of the Outback’ CD and played it back to our budgie. It went crazy instantly and started eating more, flying more and socialising more with us!!! By any chance, would you have any other recordings of budgies in any situation? Thanks for the good work, you have made a major impact in a life (of the budgie!).”

“Do you have, or can you recommend, a recording of budgies in the wild? Something my daughter can play for her birds to help them have that “part of the flock” feeling?”

At first we were surprised at these dramatic changes in behaviour, but it is easily understandable. Social bird species, such as budgies, are often favoured for aviaries because we enjoy watching them interact. With all birds, but especially these social species, vocalising and communicating is a vital part of their survival and wellbeing. So it makes sense that hearing the sounds of their own kind should have a profound impact on their mental and emotional wellbeing. For a budgerigar, silence must be very disturbing.

We can perhaps understand what it may be like for them, because humans are pretty social too (most of us . For instance, when we’re on our own at home, many of us will put the TV or talkback radio on in the background. We may not be watching or even listening all that closely, it is just comforting in some way to have a voice in the background. Birds are likely similar, and this is why they respond to birdsong in their immediate environment.

For many years, we have been recommending our ‘Spirit of the Outback’ album for budgie owners, as it has some nice calling from them (plus it is a great listen all round). But we felt that something ‘more budgie’ would be appreciated. Hence (and after many requests from bird owners!) we have created an album specifically for our feathered listeners. For their wellbeing.

“Happy Budgies” is recorded in central Australia – budgie country! It features the sounds of wild budgerigars interacting contentedly in their natural environment, plus a diversity of other outback birdsong. We have avoided any distress calls, or calls of obvious predators. It begins with the sounds of a flock of budgies waking in the morning; the chatter of the communal roost, then flying off to feed, calling on the wing and still communicating amiably. Later we hear quiet, contented subsong, and the sounds of preening and group interaction.

Why the title “Happy Budgies”? Well, for us, seeing them in the wild brings happiness. I don’t know whether wild budgies really are ‘happy’, but they often seem to be, they appear to be having a great time. And ultimately, we hope that it makes your budgie happy to listen to these sounds.

Have a listen to a sound sample from the album.

“Happy Budgies” is only available for digital download from our online shop.

(We anticipate that some people may prefer to have this album on CD, for instance so they can put it on loop from their CD player whilst out during the day. At this stage, we have no plans for it to be available in retail outlets. However we can supply it on CD – contact us for details. Alternately, one can always burn the digital download version to CD-R at home)

In late September, Sarah and I undertook a short (but adventurous!) field trip to Mutawintji National Park in outback NSW (more later!).

We arrived home just in time for a gathering of local members of the Australian Wildlife Sound Recording Group. A small mob of us southerners convened at the Clarkesdale Bird Sanctuary near Ballarat, for a weekend of camping, sound recording and workshopping, somehow also fitting in the group’s AGM.

The previous week had presented some wet and wild weather, but fortunately the weekend was still, sunny and calm – absolutely perfect for nature recording.

The location I chose to record was a creek-line called ‘The Bird Paddock’. Dense shrubs lined the watercourse, with huge eucalypts towering overhead. The wattle and grevilia were in full bloom and birds seemed to be everywhere. Wrens, fantails and scrub-wrens flitted around the understory, while rosellas, cuckoos, treecreepers, sitellas, shrike-tits, kookaburras and brush bronzewing pigeons could be observed higher in the treetops. Occasionally corellas or cockatoos provided a noisy fly-past.

I am delighted with my recording from the morning. As it was a semi-rural area, I anticipated some local road traffic or other interference, but the Sunday morning was quiet and the birdsong rich. Eventually we hope to release the full recording as an album, but for the time being, here is an excerpt for your enjoyment.

Spring morning at Clarkesdale Bird Sanctuary, Linton, Victoria.