Singing bushlark spotted in Coimbatore

Singing bushlark spotted in Coimbatore - TAMIL NADU - The Hindu





In what appears to be a rare sighting, Coimbatore-based bird watcher Balaji P.B. spotted and photographed a Singing bushlark (Mirafra cantillans) in Coimbatore recently.



First record



Mr. Balaji, a member of Coimbatore Nature Society (CNS) and Salim Ali Naturalists Forum, claimed that his sighting of the bird in an open field at Kalangal near Sulur on March 19 was the first record of the species in Tamil Nadu.



Mr. Balaji, who holds a certificate in ornithology from Bombay Natural History Society, said that the rare sighting of the bird in Coimbatore was verified using ebird, an online platform for birdwatchers to report sightings.



“The identity of the bird has been confirmed with experts. Singing bushlark will be Coimbatore’s 390th bird, based on second edition of the check-list of the Birds of Coimbatore released by Coimbatore Nature Society on July 21, 2018,” he said.



A species of lark found in Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia, Singing bushlark is largely seen in open dry shrub, fallow cultivation and grassland.



The bird feeds on insects, ants, seeds of grasses and weeds among others.



Song-flight



In his book ‘Book of Indian Birds’, Salim Ali, the birdman of India, has noted that the song-flight of the male during breeding season is a “remarkable performance”. According to him, it is very difficult to distinguish the bird from other similar larks.



“The bird rises about 30 m up in the air - a lower ceiling than the skylark’s - and hovers on stiffly quivering wings in the style of the skylark, drifting hither and tither in the breeze, and back and forth over an extensive area for considerable periods,” notes Ali about the bird. The spirited and sustained rendering of the flight song of Singing bushlark incorporates imitations of the calls of most of the birds which share its habitat.



With a breeding season ranging from March to September, the bird makes a shallow grass cup lined with fine grass as its nest. It is placed on the ground, well concealed in a clump of grass. The bird usually lays two to four eggs.



Mr. Balaji, one of the editors of ‘Birds of Coimbatore’ brought out by CII-Yi and CNS in 2015, is credited with several first sightings in Coimbatore like that of White stork, Black stork, Rufous-tailed Lark and Indian Spotted eagle.

those names that we only read about...

Martin Woodcock obituary

Stephen MossMon 11 Mar 2019 16.05 GMT

Artist admired for the illustrations that grace the pages of the monumental The Birds of Africa, first published in the early 1980s

Amid the economic uncertainty of the mid 1970s not many people gave up a job in the City of London. But in 1974, Martin Woodcock did just that, swapping life as a stockbroker to become a freelance bird artist.

He never looked back. Martin, who has died aged 84, spent the rest of his distinguished career travelling through Asia and Africa to observe, draw and paint some of the world’s most elusive birds. His masterwork, which kept him busy for almost three decades, was the monumental, multivolume The Birds of Africa, for which he painted more than 200 colour plates.

Born in Sidcup, Kent, Martin was educated in Sussex at Ashdown House prep school, Forest Row, and Christ’s Hospital, Horsham. His father, Percy, who died when Martin was six months old, was a stockbroker; his mother, Norah (nee Blake), worked as a secretary at the BBC. His only sister, Nan, was 12 years older than him, so as a child he was often left to his own devices.

A history teacher, Bert Bury, encouraged his interest in birds, which had been sparked by an encounter with a flock of goldfinches at the age of eight. Exploring Ashdown Forest by bicycle, with the Battle of Britain raging overhead, Martin began keeping an illustrated diary of the birds he saw, a habit he continued for the rest of his life.

He taught himself to draw at a young age, and was influenced by the early 20th-century painters Archibald Thorburn and George Edward Lodge. But in those days, there were virtually no opportunities for professional bird artists; so after national service in the Royal Artillery (1954-56), Martin followed his late father into stockbroking, staying in the profession for the next 18 years.

The impetus to switch careers came when he was asked to illustrate the forthcoming Field Guide to the Birds of South-East Asia, written by the ornithologists Ben King and Edward C Dickinson, which was published by Collins in 1975. Other commissions soon followed, but it was The Birds of Africa that gave him his big break, and some level of security in a precarious profession. He illustrated all seven volumes published between 1982 and 2004 (an eighth book appeared in 2013).

 Spoonbills on Cley marshes by Martin Woodcock

Spoonbills on Cley marshes by Martin Woodcock

Martin had first visited Africa in 1961, staying with Nan at her home in Kampala, Uganda. In his delightfully informal Safari Sketchbook (2010), he recalled that the very first bird he drew was a kingfisher, which he found dead on the tarmac after landing at Entebbe, “before I had taken 10 steps on [Africa’s] red earth”.

 Watcher’s Cottage by Martin Woodcock. It is used by the warden of Cley marshes, Norfolk, and owned by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust.

Watcher’s Cottage by Martin Woodcock. It is used by the warden of Cley marshes, Norfolk, and owned by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust. Illustration: Martin Woodcock

For much of the 1980s and 90s, Martin went on research expeditions throughout the continent, making field notes and sketches of some of the world’s rarest birds, many of which had never been illustrated before. By the time the project finished, he had completed over 5,000 separate illustrations of more than 2,000 different species.

In 1994, Martin became the first chair (and later president) of the African Bird Club. His experience, network of contacts and the high regard in which he was held by the African birding community soon helped to establish the organisation at the forefront of international conservation efforts.

Following encouragement from friends, Martin published in 2013 a slim volume of poetry, Drawing Together, which revealed an acute eye for observation and sensitivity to language. In one poem, A Tale of Two Wars, he recalled his crucial early encounter with the goldfinches, “like lively notes hung on a silver stave, traced out in scarlet, white and gold”.

In 1963, he had married Heidi Schön, with whom he had three children, Marcus, Nicola and Kirsten. They divorced in 1971. A year later, Martin met Barbara Skailes (nee Paine), who had two children, Duncan and Geraldine. They married in 1977 and brought up their children together.

After moving to north Norfolk in 2000, Martin continued to draw and paint, while the energetic Barbara carried on her picture-framing business.

Even when diagnosed with cancer late last year, he continued to welcome visits from friends. He would regale them with entertaining stories, reflective thoughts about the decline of so many of his beloved birds, and new poems. The last time I saw him, he spoke about that life-changing moment when he gave up his career to become, as he put it, a penniless bird artist – a decision about which he had absolutely no regrets.

He is survived by Barbara, his three children, two stepchildren and 14 grandchildren.

• Martin Wedgwood Woodcock, bird illustrator and artist, born 14 January 1935; died 24 February 2019

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Meet the littles

Meet the littles - Chennai - The Hindu
Prince Frederick




Pint-sized birds make the most of a boggy patch that is fast drying up

A thing of beauty.  Little ringed plover (left); on a slushy patch at Akkarai in
SholinganallurPrince Frederick  

When a birdwatcher’s attention has to be divided among a wide variety of birds, the little stint often receives very little of it. In the Perumbakkam Wetland, I have seen this pint-sized winter visitor getting lost in the crowd. For a few days now, I have been paying this bird almost-undivided attention, thanks to a change of scene. I have once again inked Akkarai into my morning-birdwatching peregrinations. Sometime ago, I stopped having a look-in at a huge boggy patch of earth at Akkarai in Sholinganallur, as the water level there had plummeted significantly and the avian presence on the ground was getting thinner. However, nudged by some sort of a gut feeling, I visited the space a few days ago. Predictably enough, the ground was free of standing water, except for two or three patches.

These patches, located close to a kucha road, had drawn the little stints which probably had earlier been looking for food in the further reaches of this boggy parcel of land, punctuated here and there with grasses.

A day or two from the time of this article seeing the light, these odd patches will dry up. And, on these few remaining days, you can count on me to be in attendance there. The little stints are quick-footed, and in busy flocks, they can rival the nervous energy of ants.

Besides the little stints, an occasional little ringed plover or a lone but cheerful wagtail would show up on these patches. In the avian world, the little ringed plover has one of the most striking colour patterns involving the forehead, crown, eye, nape and throat.

If the avians ever get as self-absorbed as we humans are, and start organising beauty pageants, the little ringed plover can enter a whole range of categories, from beautiful eye ring and eye mask to striking collar. I get all Keatsian when a little ringed plover stays close enough for me to keep staring at its yellow eye ring: It is most definitely a thing of beauty.

Winter field notes - Chennai

Seeing the blue-tailed bee eater this season has been a bonus for me personally, as well as the Spoonbills.



With winter nearing an end, look out for these birds - The Hindu



FIELD NOTES ENVIRONMENT

With winter nearing an end, look out for these birds

Prince Frederick



For a good part of the mornings in Chennai now, the view is marred by a heavy haze effect. Recently, through a white film of fog, I sensed something bumbling through the branches of short trees overlooking the southern section of the Perumbakkam wetland. Following the clutter of claws on these branches, I saw a shock of brown and black settle awkardly on a redwood tree on the other side of the road. It was a greater coucal jumping from branch to branch with its characteristic two left feet.



Walking down the road in Sholinganallur that trots alongside the southern section of the wetland, I once again focussed on the waterbirds. And then it caught my eye again; this time, with its partner in tow. They were exploring this heavily wooded residential area, which is still sparsely populated. A few mornings later, a resident told me about the pair. The same day, I laid eyes on them again. There is a glimmer of a hope that I may chance upon these birds with their brood soon. In these parts, greater coucals are known to breed after the monsoon. The koels and greater coucals belong to the Cuciloforms order. However, unlike the koels, which are brood parasites, laying their eggs in the nest of other birds, usually crows, the greater coucals raise their young.



As a pair ranges over a really wide area, considering it their territory, they may build their nest far removed from their many stomping grounds.



However, knowing that these birds see the leaves of screw-pine trees as a great nesting space, I may take my luck with me to Thaiyur lake, where screw-pine trees grow wildly along the bunds. Well, birdwatcing is not only about patiently waiting for birds to show up. It's also about showing up wherever a bird life cycle takes it.



***

The other day, a bird watcher remarked that the northern shovelers have dwindled in numbers at the Perumbakkam wetland, which led me to focus my attention on this spatulate-billed dabbling duck.



The northern shoveler is one of the four migratory ducks that arrive in large numbers in our parts at wintertime.



This observer seemed to have got it right — their current number at the wetland is probably just one-fifth of what it was, only a month ago.



The northern shoveler displays sexual dimorphism, which is striking during the breeding season. The male northern shoveler is a riot of green, white and chestnut. In the rest of the time, during various periods, the male may lose its iridescent green sheen due to factors such as moulting. At some of these periods, it may take on a shade that is not too removed from the female's. However, at any time, the black bill and the yellow in the eye, serve as the distinguishing marks of the male northern shoveler.



Most of the male northern shovelers hanging around at this wetland still display some shades of their arresting combination of colours.



***

In the last column, I echoed birdwatchers' concern over fast-receding water levels on the southern section of the Perumbakkam wetland. However, this week showed that the situation is nowhere near as bad as feared. The section is hardly bleak. In the early part of this week, I witnessed a huge congregation of ruffs. On Sunday last, marsh sandpipers put on a great display.



However, the news from a boggy patch near Akkarai, where I have noticed interesting birds flock, is disappointing. It has gone dry, dashing my hopes of clicking some good photographs of the little ringed plovers, which have been flocking there in modest numbers of five or six in the mornings. Last morning, when I set foot in this patch, I felt like Thomas Moore, who expressed desolation the best way it could be in his immortal The Light Of Other Days: “I feel like one/ Who treads alone/ Some banquet-hall deserted!”



There is however a happy takeaway from this section, this season — An image of a spotted dove as it was perched briefly on the dead branch of what had earlier been a prosopis juliflora tree. This bird, which is native to our parts, is a necklace-wearing beauty. Judge for yourself.

Winter visitor on a wire

Blue-tailed bee-eater (Merops philippinus) - winter visitor

Season Watch - Porana volubis again

A Photo essay.  Continued from here.  

And the brilliance of the mallow.

PTJ redux

Beautiful capture of Jacanas with a new born chick by Mr Ramanan.  Mr Ramanan's photo essay from the 2017 breeding season is here.  

I went looking for them a few days later with Sheila, and while we did not see the eggs (they had probably all hatched), we saw what was in all likelihood, the third chick.

When we reached, we heard the male PTJ calling in agitation and looking eft and right.  It appeared that he was calling the chicks.  Initially, we saw a slightly larger chick, which subsequently we did not see at all.  (I have read that when they hear an alarm call from the parent, the chicks hide under a floating leaf.  I wonder if that is what it did!

We did spy a littler chick, unsteady on his feet, which seemed to follow the parent, and I marvelled at how they stayed afloat and knew instinctively that they had to put their feet on the leaves and not in the water.  All the time we were there, it was not fed by any parent, unlike other bird chicks, who are constantly crying for food.

The wetlands was filled with the calls of the jacanas, the honks of moorhens, interspersed with the impatient school bus and a motorcycle driving by.  

I was dismayed at the amount of construction that is going on in the marsh.

Its a completely bizarre and distressing site.  There are homes, apartments even, and raised roads, while all the empty plots are filled with water, reeds and remnants of marshland.  It seems insane to come and build here, and even more insane to buy and live here.

The birds are returning to Arunachala

... Enough to warrant a book.

Arun is the kind of modern super hero the world needs. A green warrior who has let his actions speak.  And Chennai's loss is Tiruvannamalai's gain.  He has mobilised and focussed native tree replanting on the hill, along with the prompt dousing of forest fires, and the results are beginning to show, as a forest and an ecosystem comes back to life.

And the returning birds have played their part, dispersing seeds and exponentially leading to forest revival.

The book, published by The Forest Way Trust this year on recycled paper, lists over two hundred species of birds that now can be seen in a 10 km radius around the hill and in the water bodies.  The restoration has been supported by the district administration as well.

Hearing Arun speak about the revival of streams, the local communities working to put out the fires and the survival rate (some 1%) of planted trees, brings home the efforts that have led to this.

In the Introduction to the book, is a paragraph that I particularly like:

But while we humans may feel proud of our efforts to reforest the mountain, thinking that we have proved a home for birds in the process, the truth is that birds themselves have done far more to reforest the Hill than us.  Many of the trees that we see now growing on the mountains were not planted, but came naturally, and it is often the birds that spread the seeds.  And because they can fly, it is possible for birds to bring seeds a good distance from other forest areas, thus increasing the plant diversity of each place.  With this, many forest birds not seen here in living memory, have made their return, like the wonderful Racket-tailed Drone.  This is the most important lesson that we all must learn from nature; that other animals live their lives while making their home a better place for other life too.

All the original artworks in the book are photographs of paintings dome by Tiruvannamalai artist Kumar on limestone slabs in the Arunagiri Forest Park, at the base of Arunachala.

The book introduces Kumar, who began his association in the project as an artist painting birds, and has now become an expert birdwatcher.

Louvre Abu Dhabi again

Continued from here.  

The marble bust of a bedouin chief stared gravely down upon me.  I loved the careless folds of his shawl

And Da Vinci's La Belle Ferroniere fixed me with an even more piercing stare.
I stared back, no hurry, no  jostling crowds, trying to figure what makes a Da Vinci so special.
This is the only one of his 15 paintings outside of Europe.
This museum has bought Salvatore Mundi as well.

What are the odds of coming across 9,000 year old neolithic statues from Ain Ghazal in
two museums in two different countries?  I had just beaten those odds. I had seen
them at the antiquities museum at Jordan and now here again I was face-to-face
with the two-headed beauties.

A museum is a wonderful place, in general, and so too the Louvre at Abu Dhabi.  It is not crammed to the gills with stuff, and some of it is quirky and odd. Like this statuette of female fertility from the early villages gallery.  There was
one of a Bactrian princess which is also ancient.

The influence of the French museum collection was evident in the presence of these two paintings.

Portrait of King Louis XIV, Rene-Antoine Houasse, oil on canvas, 1674

Napolean crossing the Alps.  by Jacques-Louis David.  He painted five versions of this,
believe it or not - a precursor to today's clients requiring colour options - the versions
differing in colour of horse, sash, as also the look on his face.  I gathered that is the Second
Versailles version.

A Chinese dragon, A Chola beauty and a prince from Lagash

This bronzed winged dragon from the 3rd century BC was a beauty

... as was this Chola bronze, 

and this black stone carving of Gudea, the prince of the
Kingdom of Lagash, south of Mesopotamia, (modern
Iraq)  Dated at 2120BCE, the diorite stone is
believed to have been imported from the Oman
peninsula.

The floor was cross-crossed with a place-names map

"Young Emir Studying" - Osman Hamdy bey, from Istanbul in 1878

On loan from the Musée d’Orsay:​​​​Vincent Van Gogh’s Self Portrait, 1887

Edouard Manet - one of his Gyspy series

Hans Holbein's portrait of Sir Thomas Wyatt

And the Picassos!

Matisse

Kandinsky

Piet Mondrian caught my eye because of my aunt

"The Residence of  a Sugarcane planter in Brazil" - by the Dutch painter Frans Post, reminded me of home.

And the three W's - Walden, Warhol and the Whistler

The Docks of Cardiff - Lionel Walden.  I loved this one.

"Big Electric Hair" - Warhol, again this is a series, in many colours.

Whistler's Mother

A Koran and a Tora sat close to each other.

Chinese screens

And Japanese ones too

Egyptian frieze

An Islamic frieze of Quranic verses  in sandstone , from the Ghazni empire, about AD 1200

And Durga, Krishna and Maithreya too

The description read, "Between the 5th and 15th centuries, India was a leading creative centre in the domain of religious sculpture.  The lives of venerated individuals were illustrated in works produced to accompany the spread of Buddhism and Hinduism into Central Asia, and from South-East Asia, into China, Korea and Japan.  Their purpose was to encourage meditation by devotees and their encounter with the divine."

A Chola dynasty granite Durga, 12th century

A Krishna painting - supposedly they have a 150 Krishna paintings, which they will display in rotation!!

Maithreya, from the Gandhara period.

So much more - The Horses of the Sun, Cy Twombly's series in blue, Alexander the Great's bust (what's remaining of it actually), cuneiform, Isis, Chinese pottery, Japanese Edo paintings of Mt Fuji.....

I would love to go back, potter around the Cosmology gallery a bit more maybe, see the Bactrian princess again, and my little female statuette from south America  ...  and probably Salvatore Mundi will be displayed.

Peaceful exhilaration

Today, I visited my mother's garden for a special reason.  The Horse Tail creeper is in bloom and that is an annual event not to be missed, for it is brief, spectacular and never fails to delight me.

For 350 days in the year, the vine is like a dark green curtain, cocooning my parents from the squat cement wall of the neighbours.  And then for a couple of weeks every year, the vine blooms.  And how!

Usually, the two weeks are in January, sometimes even February, but here we are this year, in December, with a poor monsoon, and some clock in the plant has struck the blooming hour.

Porana volubilis, of the Convolvulaceae family - Horse tail creeper in bloom

Do the bees feel the awe and delight that I do, I wondered as I quietly watched them flit from flower to flower. Somewhere, a honeycomb was being filled with sweet nectar from my mother’s garden.

Exuberant bunches, swathes of white, sweet fragrance, the drama of it all.

The softly falling petals. So much beauty. So temporary. So mortal. In a few days, maybe even tomorrow, they will be a memory.

The wild mallow seemed to keep a watch.

Until next season then, I bade goodbye to the blooms.

Trees in our cities

Watch: Off Centre With Pradip Krishen:News18 Videos



I wish that we could translate this interview into all the main Indian languages and get more people to listen to this simple, convincing dialogue about -

• how we citizens need to protect our forests and tree cover, and ensure better governance and urban planning
• how future afforestation in order to cut trees for development doesn't make sense.
• what is a native species and why that's good to plant
• how plantation forestry has weakened and destroyed mixed deciduous forests, and are continued by the forest dept

And here's another one from the him as well.

Plain tales from the hills

Delhi’s bad air is an opportunity to underline linkages between the degradation of the Aravallis and the need for good legislation.

I spent a considerable part of 2018 driving across Rajasthan searching for specimens of rock to take back as exhibits to Jaipur. Rhyolite, granite, sandstone, ironstone, stromatolitic phosphate, rippled quartzite — these were some of the specimens I was looking for. This doesn’t make me an expert on rocks or mining but I did gain some perspective on the disappearing hills of the Aravallis.

It’s true, the hills are melting away before our eyes. About 50 km before you reach Jaipur on NH 8, you drive past an imposing hill of quartzite looming over a small hamlet called Deo ka Harmara, near Chandwaji. Like a giant cone of shawarma, the rock is being pared away layer by layer and eventually ground into gravel-sized stones to be used for road-building. I have watched it shrinking by noticeable increments each time I drove past and regret that I didn’t photograph it to record its deconstruction in time-lapse. This is not an illegal mining operation, just one of hundreds of tekra outcrops that are being dismantled and crushed for roadworks all over Rajasthan, and no doubt, elsewhere in this country.

Mining is big, easy money in Rajasthan today. The state boasts a long list of valuable minerals hidden in its hills and below ground — zinc, silver, uranium, copper, limestone, some of the most colourful marble in the world, mica, dolomite — but I don’t think that all of these minerals add up to a tenth of what is actually mined in small, reckless, fly-by-night operations. Most of the mining is about relatively less-valuable Aravalli quartzite and granite. Or drive out in almost any direction from Jaisalmer town and the stony ground is pitted and broken by shallow digging for the ochre limestone that lies exposed on the surface. There is no reason to doubt that someone needs to restrain the unregulated digging and looting of rocks and minerals before Rajasthan disappears down a large dusty hole of its own making. But what a shame that it has to be the Supreme Court that steps in and not an enlightened and concerned state government.

Countries like South Africa and Australia, which do a colossal amount of mining have their problems too, but they have evolved policies that address important issues of how to steer a course between challenge and opportunity. It can be nobody’s case that mining is all bad and should be banned — these countries recognise that along with economic benefits and employment, mining threatens to severely pollute and degrade the environment and have created strong regulatory regimes to encourage compliance with environmental and mitigatory rules.

Why do we find it so difficult to do anything like this in India? Part of the problem is a lack of probity and enforcement, because there are rules and regulations in place although no one can seriously argue that the rules have been framed with any serious intent or rigour. Naam ke vaaste is the name of the game.

This applies all around, to every parameter of the environment in this country. Whether we look at the quality of water in our rivers and lakes, at the contamination of fossil water in our aquifers, at the fouling of the air or the stripping of topsoil from fields, at pesticide residues in our food, at natural old-growth forests and wilderness being lost — and this is by no means an exhaustive list — it is painfully evident that India has simply not summoned up the will to enact and enforce regulations to curb degradation. No aspect of the environment figures in the election planks or promises of any political party. Maybe it is foolish or at best naïve to expect environmental legislation to arrive unbidden from our legislatures. Maybe it needs a groundswell of public support and pressure for any of this to happen — just like it needed insistent demand from the outdoor recreational angling community to push through the Clean Water Act in the US.

The trouble with hoping for or expecting significant public support for these issues in India is that they it tends to attract the attention of small communities who are easily brushed aside as being “elitist”. The environment is not likely to attract sufficient support on a large enough scale until its downside effects are seen to impact significantly on health or mortality. This is where Delhi’s filthy air seems to represent a real opportunity to mobilise public opinion and recruit support for a better environment all around.

It may seem tragic and ironic that the National Capital Region’s dreadful plight is seen as an opportunity, but this is the sad reality in India today: It is the first high-profile crisis we have faced that everyone recognises is squarely an environmental one. More, it is seen as having a set of discrete, preventable causes and even if everyone doesn’t agree about how to ameliorate the situation, everyone does agree that it can be mitigated by a set of measures that curbs some things and outlaws others. Realistically, this is how environmental intervention in public life is likely to take place in this country — as a response to widespread public perception and concern by enacting laws and putting in place restrictions in order to bring about change for the better.

It is in this sense that Delhi’s bad air presents itself as an opportunity to underline linkages between the degradation of our air, soil, food and water, and the need for good legislation, and indeed, better enforcement of such legislation. I expect Delhi’s crisis to usher in a new general understanding of how important it is to protect our environment. I expect that political parties too, will start talking about environmental issues. The sad truth is we sometimes need to come to the very brink before we pull back and learn to act sensibly.

Krishen, an environmentalist, is the author of Trees of Delhi