Turkey Haunt

Written by Lang Elliott on February 24, 2011 · 6 Comments

In the spring of 2000, I embarked on a quest to record dawn choruses and other nature soundscapes, having in mind that I would produce a series of relaxing and meditative CDs (which I am finally going to pull off, over ten years later!). My trip lasted nearly two months and was fraught with horrible weather. Wherever I went there was either high wind or rain (or both). I spent weeks trying to outrun bad weather systems, but to no avail. Many times, I would drive all day to get out of one storm only to have a new one overtake me from a different direction. I am amazed that I got anything of value during that trip.

One lucky spot was Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge in southwestern Oklahoma. Containing a variety of habitats (eastern deciduous forest, mixed grass prairie, lakes and ponds, and steep rocky slopes), the refuge has always yielded good recordings (at least when jets from nearby Fort Sill aren’t flying overhead). The following is a good example. It is one my favorite Wild Turkey recordings, with two males gobbling intermittently from oak woods next to a small creek. Chuck-will’s-widows sing prominently throughout. Listen also for the songs of two Tufted Titmice:

Wild Turkeys call intermittently next to a small brook while Chuck-will's-widows sing in the background. 6am, 5 May 2000, Wichita Mountains NWR near Lawton, OK. Recorded by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

I have other turkey recordings where there are more individuals involved and where the gobbles are louder and closer. This one is more laid back, which is why I like it so much. I didn’t know the turkeys were there. I arrived at the break of dawn, heard the chuck-wills and quickly set my soundscape mike near the stream. Minutes later, the turkeys chimed-in, which was a welcome surprise!

Let me know if you like it!

The Limpkin and the Alligator

Written by Lang Elliott on February 21, 2011 · 17 Comments

I want to tell you a funny story. Way back in 1989, during my early years of nature sound recording, I visited the Alexander Springs Wilderness Area in Ocala National Forest, not far north of Orlando, Florida. The date was March 29 and it was unseasonably hot and humid. I canoed about a mile downstream into the heart of the wilderness. At one bend in the creek, I spied a Limpkin foraging along the shoreline. I had never recorded a Limpkin, so I got excited and followed him for nearly an hour. But to my dismay he never said a thing. The humidity began to drive me frikkin’ crazy. I fell into a negative state of mind and soon decided it was impossible to record the dad-blasted bird. So I canoed like a madman back upstream to my van. I threw everything inside and took off down the road, only to discover that my air conditioner was broken. In a fit of complete frustration, I decided to drive north to the Smoky Mountains (a full day’s drive), just so I could cool off a bit (I kid you not).

I was having an enormous battle in my mind. On the one hand, I wanted relief, and a loud voice was telling me to keep right on driving, that it would be an absolute waste of my time to go back and wait for that stupid Limpkin to sound off. But another loud voice argued the opposite, telling me that I had promised myself that I would camp where I’d seen the Limpkin, and that I owed it to myself to give it a try. “You never know,” that voice would say, “maybe you’ll snag a recording of the night-crier himself!” Then the other voice would snap back: “Bah, impossible, don’t turn around, keep heading north!”

For an hour the two voices wrestled. I mostly heeded the voice that said “keep driving north,” but in the end, the other voice won out. I pulled off the road and gave myself explicit orders: “You go back down there Lang, camp next to the daggoned creek, and just sweat it out. You’re right, you won’t get anything in the way of a recording, but you owe it to yourself to try.” So I clenched my teeth and drove back to the creek. I tossed my gear in the canoe, and headed downstream to the Limpkin spot, cursing the whole way: “Lang, you are an idiot— this will never work!” Hurriedly, I put up my tent, ripped off my clothes, and threw myself inside just as the sun was setting. In a pool of hot sweat, and with an inner voice repeating “idiot, idiot, idiot,” I eventually fell asleep.

At around 1 am, I was startled awake by loud calls from across the creek: kreeow, kreeow, kreeow, kreeow. Oh My Gawd, the Limpkin is calling! I was totally unprepared. I stumbled out of my tent without a stitch of clothes on. I couldn’t find my headlamp. I fumbled to locate my gear, tripped over my microphone cable, and fell to the ground. I struggled to locate my parabola, finally got it hooked up, and began creeping barefoot in pitch black darkness toward the creek, recording the Limpkin as I went. I was smiling, elated. Then I heard dripping water and realized I was right at the edge of the creek. I remember thinking: “You’d better not go a inch further or you’ll tumble headfirst into the water”.

What happened next startled the b-jeezus out of me. A huge roar suddenly erupted right in front of me. Oh My Gawd #2! An alligator is bellowing only ten feet away. My heart raced. I wasn’t afraid . . . I was excited . . . hyper-excited. I couldn’t believe my ears. An Alligator and a Limpkin, calling back-and-forth, a sound event “beyond my wildest dreams.” Kreeow, kreeow, kreeow the Limpkin called, and the Alligator answered with his resonant roar:

Limpkin and Alligator calling back-and-forth in the Alexander Springs Wilderness in Ocala National Forest, near Orlando, Florida, 1 am, 29 March 1989. Recorded by Lang Elliott. Monaural parabolic.0:00 / 0:00

The moral of the story? If you promise yourself you’re going to do something, just do it. Don’t argue. Just do it!

End of story.

p.s. Another alligator sounds off at times much further off. Can you hear it?

p.p.s. The limpkin and alligator appear to be alternating, the gator calling when the limpkin is quiet and vice versa. Certainly not random, eh? Almost a “duet”!

p.p.p.s. At the time I made this recording, I had little or no fear of alligators because I thought they wouldn’t attack someone my size. In recent years I’ve read of alligators chewing the arms off of fellows far bigger than I, and fully clothed to boot. Perhaps I was a wee bit stupid way back then?

p.p.p.p.s. This is not a soundscape in the strict sense of the word. It is a monaural parabolic recording and it’s rather brief. But it’s pretty cool nonetheless, don’t you think?

p.p.p.p.p.s. Ahhhh . . . such a sweet memory. How exciting were those early years!

Whitethroat Migration

Written by Lang Elliott on February 20, 2011 · 5 Comments

I figured it would be a good idea to follow up the snapping turtle recording with something a little easier on the ears. So here is a pleasant soundscape I recorded in late late April of 2000 at Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky. It features the sweet, pure whistles of several migrating White-throated Sparrows, along with other bird sounds and the gentle trickle of a spring freshet:

White-throated Sparrows singing during migration, 8am, 25 April 2000, Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky. Recorded by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

This soundscape is rather brief—after about three minutes, the white-throats moved off. But I was happy with my catch, which reminds me of the pleasure I feel when I stumble on to small groups of white-throats during spring migration. Their rather subdued “migration songs” seemed so out of place, given that this species breeds in spruce and fir forests nearly a thousand miles to the north.

D’ya like?

Wrensong

Written by Lang Elliott on February 13, 2011 · 16 Comments

When I launch my soundscape series of products, I plan to include a title called “Songbird Portraits,” which will include recordings of a variety of my favorite singers. These will differ from most of my other soundscape recordings in that individual singers will be prominently featured, even though embedded in a wide soundscape.

The following recording of a Winter Wren is a good example. The male was singing from the top of a tall conifer next to a babbling brook and I was excited by the pleasurable mix of sound. The wren’s complex and silvery song was prominent but not overwhelming. The gurgling of the brook sounded nice to my ear. What’s more, there were two Wood Thrushes fluting in the background. Everything went well, except that while setting up I tripped over the microphone cable, lost my balance, and fell into the stream! Hrmph! No damage done, thankfully, and I managed to get my recording with a smile on my face:

Soundscape portrait of a Winter Wren with a babbling brook, Wood Thrush, and other bird songs, 6am, 9 May 2006, Shindagin Hollow near Brooktondale, New York. Recorded by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

I would like some feedback here. I believe most folks will like the sound of this recording, but I wonder how long they might want to play it. Would it get tiring to listen-to after a few minutes?

For relaxing soundscapes, I intend to offer tracks that are five to ten minutes long. But for species portraits like this one, my hunch is that tracks should should be shorter, perhaps lasting around three or four minutes. What does everyone think? One advantage of making species portraits rather brief is that I could cover more birds and include fifteen or more species portraits in the one title (for a total of 60-70 minutes). Or maybe that would be foolish. Maybe a recording like this should last five minutes or more. Whatya think?

Pasture Dawn

Written by Wil Hershberger on February 12, 2011 · 10 Comments

Hello, Wil Hershberger here. One of my favorite times of day is dawn. From first light through sun-up, as the world awakens and song returns to the earth I get a feeling of renewal, of rebirth. I feel invigorated for the rest of the day.

A particularly magical morning occurred last summer near my home at a large pasture along a lonely country road. There were American toads singing from a pond in the distance and grassland birds were singing from the field. Not far to the right was a copse of trees that supported a variety of open habitat birds. It was still well before sunrise when I started this recording. Grasshopper sparrows were the most vocal and evident species. Spring field crickets, American robins, tufted titmouse, American crows, red-bellied woodpeckers, American toads and green frogs can all be heard in the background, along with cows mooing near the end. I particularly enjoyed the counter singing of the grasshopper sparrows as these males vie for mates and sing to the world that this spot in the pasture is theirs.

Grasshopper sparrows in pasture. Berkeley County, WV. May 23, 2010. ©Wil Hershberger.0:00 / 0:00

What do you think? Are the grasshopper sparrows too loud? Is the presence of cows a turn off or do you like them? This is the time of the year when farmers separate the calves from their mothers and I don’t think that she was very happy with this situation! I was really impressed that I was able to record for nearly 20 minutes without a jet, car, truck or dog contaminating the aural beauty.

Robin Dawn Song

Written by Lang Elliott on February 7, 2011 · 9 Comments

I used to chase after birds with a parabolic reflector, trying to get the closest and cleanest recordings possible. The idea was to to “slice the bird out of its environment,” so that only one singer would be heard in the recording, with minimal reverberation. I lost interest in this rather sterile approach a number of years ago, even though such recordings have their place in identification guides and are clearly useful for scientific analysis. Now I primarily record soundscapes which include the sounds of a variety of species, usually with no one individual dominating a recording. Nonetheless, I still have an interest in gathering nice “species portraits,” recordings that emphasize the sounds made by an individual bird, but that include a spacious soundscape backdrop.

For example, consider the following recording of an American Robin singing excitedly at dawn, which I made in 1995 (back in the early days!) in the Adirondack Mountains of upper New York State. I find it pleasing in most respects. It emphasizes the robin, but there are plenty of other sounds spread across a wide soundscape. Listen especially for the whistles of White-throated Sparrows, the two-parted high-pitched songs of a Nashville Warbler, and lots of Mink Frogs giving their tapping calls from a nearby wetland:

American Robin dawn song, with White-throated Sparrow and Mink Frogs. Dawn, 15 June 1995. Recorded by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

Do you like it? As far as “species portraits” go, I think this one rates fairly high. The robin’s song doesn’t rattle the ear (like most closeup robin recordings do), yet it stands out clearly against the busy background. I’m biased for sure, but I can’t help but crow a bit about this species portrait.

Raven Resonations

Written by Lang Elliott on February 5, 2011 · 5 Comments

Today, I spent some time searching through our sound archives in hopes of finding something special that I had overlooked. I was not disappointed. I uncovered the following wonderful recording of Common Ravens, captured by Ted Mack in Alaska in 2002. I was unable to find the exact date and location, but I thought I’d go ahead and share it anyway.

As you will hear, the magic is in reverberation. When the nearby raven calls, his deep croaks bounce off the landscape, creating a resonant echo that decays ever-so-slowly:

Raven croaks. Recorded in Alaska in 2002 by Ted Mack.0:00 / 0:00

Isn’t this fabulous? It’s a true “dimensional soundscape” in the strictest sense. There are a number of other birds sounding off in the recording. I hear Ruby-crowned Kinglet, American Robin, Varied Thrush, and a distant Sandhill Crane. You tell me who the really high singers are. The woodpecker, I would guess, is a Three-toed (because its drum trails off at the end).

What a terrific find!

Greenly Thrush

Written by Lang Elliott on February 3, 2011 · 8 Comments

For those who can read music, the Field Book of Wild Birds and their Music by composer and naturalist F. Schuyler Mathews is a real treat (the book was first published in 1904). Mathews worked very hard at converting the songs of our native birds into musical nomenclature, with varying degrees of success. One species with songs that translated pretty well is the Hermit Thrush. Mathews deciphered dozens of different song patterns, comparing certain ones to themes in classical music (such as the wild movement that opens the finale in Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata).

My friend John Greenly, a Cornell physicist, musician, and birdwatcher, took on the task of playing some of Mathews' transcriptions on his clarinet, with piano accompaniment by Bill Cowdery. I recorded their effort and then mixed it with a background of Hermit Thrush songs and a babbling brook (I love those babbling brooks!). The result is quite interesting. It is straightforward musically, but powerful in its naked simplicity—a relaxed and heartfelt tribute to one of our most beautiful avian songsters.

Clarinet interpretations of Hermit Thrush music as transcribed by F. Schuyler Mathews. John Greenly on clarinet and Bill Cowdery on piano. Nature sounds and final mix by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

Pretty sweet, huh?

Tallgrass Symphony

Written by Lang Elliott on January 27, 2011 · 5 Comments

Soundscapes from tallgrass prairie are alive with sound. The problem is finding good places to record. Many prairie refuges are small wildlife management areas surrounded on all sides by busy roads, offering considerable frustration to the nature recordist. For this reason, I home-in on larger tracts, such as the 1360-acre Tabervile Prairie Conservation Area in west-central Missouri (it is one of the state’s largest remaining tallgrass prairies).

The following soundscape, which I recorded near a hedgerow at the edge of the preserve, is chock-full of bird song. The species that stands out the most is Henslow’s Sparrow—its high-pitched insect-like tslick! can be heard clearly against a backdrop that includes the songs of Field Sparrow, Dickcissel, Yellow-breasted Chat, and Northern Cardinal. Listen also for the occasional chuckles of a Southern Leopard Frog.

Dawn chorus featuring songs of Henslow's Sparrow and many other species. 5 am, 12 May 2005, Taberville Prairie Conservation Area in west-central Missouri. Recorded by Lang Elliott.0:00 / 0:00

All prairie soundscapes are music to my ears. The emotions they evoke are complicated. On the one hand, I appreciate the extraordinary array of sounds purely from the standpoint of their artistic merit. On the other hand, I am struck by how few tallgrass prairie patches survive, and I find myself longing for the days when they, and their corresponding soundscapes, stretched for miles in all directions.

This is a busy soundscape, and some may find it a little dense. Others may be bothered by the closest Henslow’s Sparrow, or else the nearby cardinal when it comes in; both of these may be a little loud (please let me know if you have this response; I can always lower the offenders). But all in all, I am thrilled by this catch. The astounding variety of birds singing excitedly at the break of dawn conveys how full of life the prairie can be, and invokes a sense of joy and appreciation for this natural wonder.

NOTE: You may be surprised to hear my voiced introduction in the recording. This is an experiment concerning how to “brand” these soundscape productions so as to develop name recognition and popularize “musicofnature.org.” This is especially helpful if I post these soundscapes in other places, such as on Facebook, where the source could easily be lost or ignored. Let me know what you think about this. Can you endure listening each time to a 30 second introduction by yours truly? As the recording loads, you can avoid listening to me by clicking on the sonogram after the section with my voice—the recording will immediately jump to that position.

Chuck-will’s Lullaby

Written by Lang Elliott on January 24, 2011 · 3 Comments

Having just posted a music+nature piece with Chuck-will’s-widow in the background, I’ve decided to follow it up with a recording of just the Chuck-will’s, singing against a backdrop of insect songs. This is yet another jewel collected by my friend Ted Mack during a visit to Everglades National Park in 1994.

For your information, the Chuck-will’s-widow is a member of the Nightjar family. It is a close relative of the Whip-poor-will. Chuck-will’s are common night-singers in the southern states, preferring sandy pine woods habitat. Whip-poor-will’s, which sound a little different, are more familiar and are more northern in distribution. Many people confuse the songs of the two.

Chuck-will's-widows singing in a pine woods, with a backdrop of insect songs and occasional hoots of a Barred Owl. 11pm, 16 May 1994, Everglades National Park. Recorded by Ted Mack.0:00 / 0:00

This recording once again demonstrates that some birds sound better when recorded at a distance. We have many in-your-face examples of Chuck-will’s, but this one appeals most to my sensibilities. The main singer is far enough away for his reverberant song to fall lightly on the ears, yet he is close enough to stand out in comparison to several other Chuck-will’s singing way off in the distance. The Barred Owls add variety to the recording. The insect chorus also sounds nice, and I believe its level is okay (those of you with excellent high-frequency hearing can tell me if I should bring the insects down a bit in loudness).

Let me know what you think. This track will be included in a title called “Everglades Soundscape,” due out in a couple of months. My notion is to trim it to about five or six minutes, so that it doesn’t go on for too darned long (personally, I could listen to a soundscape like this for a half hour or more without ever getting bored).

« Previous Page
Next Page »