The Clowns of Forests

It’s not as though I knew of them growing up. They had always been quite remote to me. Neither their size, nor their scent seemed any familiar. Just one of those things that my senses seldom bothered to take note of. At least, not until I camped at Algonquin, only to be reminded of why they were called - quite rightly so - the clowns of forests.

A friend of mine once told me a story. It must have been late evening when she had finally finished setting up her tent. Given that it was Fall, walking on dry leaves while one looked to some tranquility was no apparent fun. Every step Priscilla took echoed through the wilderness only to be greeted back with silence, chilling silence.

The Sun had already made his way out.

Priscilla set out to build the fire. An eerie silence set forth across the entirety of the wilderness, one that could instill fear even in the most adventurous.

Following a brief period of silence, “Churr-ah-churr-ah-churr” - a reverberating sound echoed through the woods.

Priscilla could’ve sworn it was a bear!

She rushed back into her tent, shut the door, and sat there ready to strike with her bear spray held high.

After a brief minute of silence, “Churr-ah-churr-ah-churr” - the unsettling sound reappeared. For a split second although it seemed to be coming from the far end of the camp site, the next second, it would appear to be originating right beside her.

As things ensued, she could hear the food containers scrambled across; the garbage bags teared apart.

After what seemed like an hour, Priscilla mustered courage and decided to step out and face her interloper head-on.

“Churr-ah-churr-ah-churr” - Priscilla jumped! She felt something slide through her feet out in the dark.

Holding her ground, Priscilla held the flashlight in the direction of the sound.

From far across the edge of the camp site a pair of piercing eyes stared back at her, right through the empty dark hollow.

Priscilla remained relentless. She held the flash light high and cranked up its intensity. Just as she waited for her eyes to settle-in, the figure before her started to become more and more clearer.

‘A Squirrel?’ - Priscilla jumped.

Far by the edge of the camp site bothered by the dazzling light a little squirrel appeared to be making his way to the top of the tree as fast as he could.

‘Get out of here!’ - Priscilla chased him across before letting out a deep sigh of relief and moved on with the rest of her evening.

It must be instances like these that bring them close to our hearts and put a smile regardless however-much ever trouble we end up absorbing.

Fall

Fall - the season when colours come alive; a second-spring, when leaves blossom into flowers.

It is true, we all love Fall. There is something that makes the season so irrefutably endearing. Is it the bright-red, yellow palette that lights up the woods. Or the fact that it comes as a prelude to an even more bewitching snowy winter?

The season has got it all.

From higher up at the tree top a red maple leaf effortlessly begins her descend; motion akin to dancing duchess. By her side, one another, and follows the third. Soon, one by one, the whole canopy touches the ground in a gentle voluntary submittal to the will of nature.

Could it be just the leaves? A young dad clad in wool makes his way along while his daughter gleefully drags her feet through the fallen leaves. A older woman dressed in bright orange sends forth season’s ambience. Kids, riding up and down, prepare for a Halloween treat filled with fairies, witches, warlords and monsters.

The one season has got it all.

Life in Pairs

One thing that I have always wondered from observing birds is how sociable, intimate and affectionate they are with one another. Let's take a look around in our backyards; the Sparrows, Cardinals, Finches and Chikadees - they all display such seemingly gentle courtship. Experts see this intimacy taking several forms. While some of our feathery-friends such as penguins and albatrosses form a life-long relationships, others such as Grouse and Hummingbirds show no strong connections whatsoever.

The birds that I have spotted have in most cases shown an exceptional level of courtship. For example, the tree Swallows featured here were found by a makeshift pond at the Montreal Botanical Gardens. As a human would, beside their partners, one swallow here can be seen courteously waiting for the other to enter. What was equally fascinating was that although these birds seemed aggressive at times, they could easily reconnect through mutual preening, coordinated dance moves, and a suite of calls, foraging and general calmness. Experts call these the ‘bidding interactions’ that help male and females reestablish their relationship after a harsh winter apart.

As entertaining as it may seem, the courtship behaviour exhibited by these tree swallows is markedly softer than the more elaborate displays put out by Western Grebes; the males and females execute a choreographed duet that culminates in a rapid tiptoed dance. Looking at such strong and yet subtle and intimate pair-bonds just got me wondering, if we humans are at a stage where establishing deeper connections is becoming increasingly impossible, maybe there is a lesson to be learnt for us from our backyard neighbours?

Quiet and Longing

Time and again, it has been talked about how silence is not a reflection of someone’s cognitive or emotional capabilities. It is kind of its own mental state. Some choose it voluntarily, while for some others, it is a gift.

The little bird here is a ‘Swallow’ whom I found perched up at the very edge of a tree, all alone. A bunch of her kind were fishing by the water, flowing in and out, glancing invitations at her to join along. But, she barely moved. A beautiful sunny morning that it was, it appeared as though she just really wanted to be there, which is quite distinctive to swallows, who are a hole-nesting kind. A couple of joggers passed by and with them an equally enthusiastic group of dogs followed along. The swallow just kind of looked down, saw them out out of her sight, and went back to her mental space of tranquility. I certainly am no behavioural psychologist to break it down what exactly these behavioural patterns mean. But, it just got me wondering, if we humans aren't averse to savour tranquility, why should they not be?

Man vs Wild

Did you do know over 83% of our terrestrial biosphere is under direct influence of humans? Just as our lives are changing constantly through urbanization and rapid introduction of new tools and technologies, the ecology that surrounds us is also changing - probably at an alarmingly faster rate than it really should be. One always wondered how our fellow-beings, plants, birds and animals, cope with such a change.

There may be some good news.

Mammals have learnt to cross major roads and railways. Plants have adapted to grow on roof-tops. In fact, the urban areas are swarming with biodiversity in close competition with wilderness. But, what about birds? After all, they are the ones most studied to understand animal response to urbanization.

The photograph here is a strong testament to concur that birds are extremely well adaptive. Belonging to sparrow family, the black-bird is seen here using a metal-rod as a launchpad to assist in its hunting. Adaptations of these kinds may come in several other forms. 'Great tits' - another bird family have developed a wide frequency range that they adjust to local noise levels. If the trends do continue in a similar manner - a likely scenario - there may even be an evolutionary response of the kinds we have never seen. Males of dark-eyed junco, a kind of a sparrow, are already showing loss of white striations on their tails in urban environments, where there is less competition for mating. While it is great that nature is able to accommodate in this way, the real question is, how far along can it stretch before completely back-firing upon us - the answer maybe unsettling.