It's May Day parties for some - for the uncommonly swift ...
A view of the Kunsulma Ridge in early January 2011, before the erection of the Zain (now Bharti-Airtel) tower
Since April 29, when my bird observations resumed in northern Sierra Leone (9*N by 12*W), until today I have been watching flocks of up to 80 "Common" Swifts. Quite possibly they are all members of the same 'meta-flock' as all my observations have been within a radius of 6 km of our Tonkolili study site.
There were heavy evening showers earlier in the week, hopefully the beginning of the northbound ITCZ rains, after which there have been some substantial emergences of small black 'flying' ants and other insects.
Each day, from about 8 a.m., often until late evening, the "A.a." swift flock can be found somewhere - busily feeding. They clearly prefer the hill evergreen forest, degraded, but a forest none the less. A sumptuous community in fact, a multi-storied living carpet that still clings to life, along the Kunsulma ridge-line, sabout 150 metres above the new 'village' of Tonkolili. If there is low cloud, when the forest canopy becomes misty, the swifts tend to feed individually. Or rather, flying very low over the canopy, each individual scything back and fore only a metre or so above the leafy crowns of the forest trees, yet all seek to remain part of one very loose, almost evenly-spaced, flock. If the sky is clear, or there have been recent insect emergences, or in the early morning hours after overnight rain, more than likely they will be found foraging in a tall wheeling column, sometimes high above the eutrophic stream which flows out of the village. When in a column they may call, and call frequently, contra what is said in most of the Afro-ornithological literature that I've read.
Since April 29, when my bird observations resumed in northern Sierra Leone (9*N by 12*W), until today I have been watching flocks of up to 80 "Common" Swifts. Quite possibly they are all members of the same 'meta-flock' as all my observations have been within a radius of 6 km of our Tonkolili study site.
There were heavy evening showers earlier in the week, hopefully the beginning of the northbound ITCZ rains, after which there have been some substantial emergences of small black 'flying' ants and other insects.
Each day, from about 8 a.m., often until late evening, the "A.a." swift flock can be found somewhere - busily feeding. They clearly prefer the hill evergreen forest, degraded, but a forest none the less. A sumptuous community in fact, a multi-storied living carpet that still clings to life, along the Kunsulma ridge-line, sabout 150 metres above the new 'village' of Tonkolili. If there is low cloud, when the forest canopy becomes misty, the swifts tend to feed individually. Or rather, flying very low over the canopy, each individual scything back and fore only a metre or so above the leafy crowns of the forest trees, yet all seek to remain part of one very loose, almost evenly-spaced, flock. If the sky is clear, or there have been recent insect emergences, or in the early morning hours after overnight rain, more than likely they will be found foraging in a tall wheeling column, sometimes high above the eutrophic stream which flows out of the village. When in a column they may call, and call frequently, contra what is said in most of the Afro-ornithological literature that I've read.
I should mention that, apart from seeing one southbound migrant flock in December, Common Swifts have not been found here during the long dry season, between October and April; when Pallid Swifts are present, foraging in exactly the same areas, between mid-October and mid-March.
At eight o'clock, on the very clear morning of May 1st, the 'entire' swift flock was feeding, and calling more noisily than usual, over the crest of the ridge, west of the village.
I had just sweated up to the bald crown of a still largely wooded minor summit, where an Airtel mobile phone telecommunications tower was erected early in 2011. And I was busy taking "habo snaps". Around about 9 a.m. the swift flock came down to the tower, at first in ones and twos, or threes and fours, then quickly in larger number. They converged to dash and circle close about the top of the red-and-white scaffold of the metal tower. Often they flickered past it tightly, or seemed minded to dash themselves against it, just as if this tower were their "home in the Palearctic". From time to time they would disperse, fanning out in a broad rush-off, completely vacating the scene, to soar high for a minute or two before descending to repeat what was for me an exhilarating performance. Especially so, because I haven't been in their breeding range since July 2009. I must say that listening to their full volume nuptial season screaming party - their summer song - was one of those unanticipated joys that keeps the pursuit of natural history so very keen. They continued belting around the tower for about fifteen minutes. Then, when seemingly they'd had enough, they dispersed to feed, rising quickly, up to a couple of hundred metres, above the forest canopy of the ridge line. And were still up there at 1300 hrs when I left the area.
Better yet, yesterday morning, at the same hour under a sky which was heavily overcast, I was four kilometres distant, as the swift flies, in the lower Mawuru river valley. This is, or rather was, a very beautiful area, a 'tranquil rural land' which has until very now sustained fertile fields of rice, sweet potato and beans, surrounded by high quality Guinea savanna spread across its rounded hills and slopes. A valley threaded throughout by a few ribbons of riparian evergreen woodland and clots of permanent valley swamp along the Mawuru and its tributaries.
In relatively cool and overcast conditions I had walked (without much sweat) to the top of a low hill, very recently clear-felled and burnt-over, trees all gone, save for three tall palms. Here a hundred or so Sahel-bound White-throated Bee-eaters were swirling noisily, they appeared to be indulging themselves in all the trills of a major confidence-building session, of 'zugunruhe', in English - pre-migratory restlessness.
At about 9.30 a.m. a group or 'our group' of sixty to seventy Common Swifts descended from the lead-grey sky and began to dash about the blackened hill. Often birds were tearing past me, audibly slicing the air with their wings, only a few metres from my head. Then, as on May Day, this loose flock coalesced into a spectacularly snaking screaming party and whirled all around the three palms who still stand proud on the blackened skeletal hill top. For those few, like me, nostalgic in our world, these sixty birds might have been dashing round an old church tower. Against such a cloudy sky, entranced by the birds, I was cast back through time, into distant memory drifts of swifts. Yes, in those they were common swifts, yet essential swifts more like, swifts all screaming, as they have been, throughout the building of our common history in Europe. Screaming for clean and quiet air. Air filled with insects. Trees and buildings old, and riddled with holes. The air they can still find in Africa. Ancient giant trees too. They can find free air over poor villages, down these ignorant lands. Down in developing nations, not yet multi-laned nor fully degraded nations. Nations not mauled or scarred, not choked by masses in motors, scurrying down rat runs, into-and-out-of town, on behalf of the GRIM - our Gross International Misery.
I had just sweated up to the bald crown of a still largely wooded minor summit, where an Airtel mobile phone telecommunications tower was erected early in 2011. And I was busy taking "habo snaps". Around about 9 a.m. the swift flock came down to the tower, at first in ones and twos, or threes and fours, then quickly in larger number. They converged to dash and circle close about the top of the red-and-white scaffold of the metal tower. Often they flickered past it tightly, or seemed minded to dash themselves against it, just as if this tower were their "home in the Palearctic". From time to time they would disperse, fanning out in a broad rush-off, completely vacating the scene, to soar high for a minute or two before descending to repeat what was for me an exhilarating performance. Especially so, because I haven't been in their breeding range since July 2009. I must say that listening to their full volume nuptial season screaming party - their summer song - was one of those unanticipated joys that keeps the pursuit of natural history so very keen. They continued belting around the tower for about fifteen minutes. Then, when seemingly they'd had enough, they dispersed to feed, rising quickly, up to a couple of hundred metres, above the forest canopy of the ridge line. And were still up there at 1300 hrs when I left the area.
Better yet, yesterday morning, at the same hour under a sky which was heavily overcast, I was four kilometres distant, as the swift flies, in the lower Mawuru river valley. This is, or rather was, a very beautiful area, a 'tranquil rural land' which has until very now sustained fertile fields of rice, sweet potato and beans, surrounded by high quality Guinea savanna spread across its rounded hills and slopes. A valley threaded throughout by a few ribbons of riparian evergreen woodland and clots of permanent valley swamp along the Mawuru and its tributaries.
In relatively cool and overcast conditions I had walked (without much sweat) to the top of a low hill, very recently clear-felled and burnt-over, trees all gone, save for three tall palms. Here a hundred or so Sahel-bound White-throated Bee-eaters were swirling noisily, they appeared to be indulging themselves in all the trills of a major confidence-building session, of 'zugunruhe', in English - pre-migratory restlessness.
At about 9.30 a.m. a group or 'our group' of sixty to seventy Common Swifts descended from the lead-grey sky and began to dash about the blackened hill. Often birds were tearing past me, audibly slicing the air with their wings, only a few metres from my head. Then, as on May Day, this loose flock coalesced into a spectacularly snaking screaming party and whirled all around the three palms who still stand proud on the blackened skeletal hill top. For those few, like me, nostalgic in our world, these sixty birds might have been dashing round an old church tower. Against such a cloudy sky, entranced by the birds, I was cast back through time, into distant memory drifts of swifts. Yes, in those they were common swifts, yet essential swifts more like, swifts all screaming, as they have been, throughout the building of our common history in Europe. Screaming for clean and quiet air. Air filled with insects. Trees and buildings old, and riddled with holes. The air they can still find in Africa. Ancient giant trees too. They can find free air over poor villages, down these ignorant lands. Down in developing nations, not yet multi-laned nor fully degraded nations. Nations not mauled or scarred, not choked by masses in motors, scurrying down rat runs, into-and-out-of town, on behalf of the GRIM - our Gross International Misery.
Anyhow, in my attempt to embrace information technology, and so better prepared this time, I managed to grab, or loose-off, a few short videos of the "three palms screaming party". With my iPhone indispensable of course!
The footless party continued for some ten or twelve minutes more. Unfortunately it seems that the best video, consuming 30-something Megs, is far too heavy to upload from a non-military server in impoverished Sierra Leone. Somehow though I will make it available once I'm "far up north", in a safe house in broadband-land, near to where these swifts likely 'make their home' at the end of this month.
Phenologically, I'm thinking - Latitude Leningrad, or the spires of St Petersburg, if you prefer that name!
The footless party continued for some ten or twelve minutes more. Unfortunately it seems that the best video, consuming 30-something Megs, is far too heavy to upload from a non-military server in impoverished Sierra Leone. Somehow though I will make it available once I'm "far up north", in a safe house in broadband-land, near to where these swifts likely 'make their home' at the end of this month.
Phenologically, I'm thinking - Latitude Leningrad, or the spires of St Petersburg, if you prefer that name!
The view from three palms hill top yesterday May 3, 2012
