This will be my third night back in the loft again. Blessed cool weather meant at last it was possible. Ironically, my beloved swifts left the area at the beginning of the week, so I didn’t have any hope of my sleep being disturbed by their beautiful screams.
Now I want to hear them again, more than ever. As soon as possible.
I’ve checked the Oxford University Museum of Natural History’s website. They have swifts in their ventilation shafts, how cool is that? They also believe in careful reporting of observed facts, which is not only cool, it’s one of the very best things humans do. (A form of love, even: paying attention to that which is, without false sentiment, and without wanting it to be what it isn’t.)
The swift webcam shows swifts. Right now. In Oxford. The charming brief diary called "statistics" tells me that this year’s cold May left some pairs breeding very late - while some of the young are already grown, 2 were still in their eggs in mid July.
It’s also not unknown for swift parents to be absent for a while, maybe blown off course by a storm while feeding hundreds of kilometres away: “observations at Oxford have shown that chicks can survive fasts of up to 10 days and a weight loss of up to 50%”. This is critical. It confirms what I was told by a rather lovely RSPB woman yesterday. She said that swift chicks have a unique ability to go into a torpor to conserve their energy, but she hadn’t said how many days they could survive until their parents returned.
She said they slowed their activity right down… she didn’t say anything about them making constant little silvery whistling noises, all night long, sometimes almost too faint to hear, sometimes loud and insistent. She didn’t say that at 6am they could make sounds sharp enough to make me hope I was hearing full adult screams.
It’s got to take energy to make that much noise. It works though. I don’t believe in interfering with wild creatures, or with the harsh pressures of natural selection. However, tonight I will be lying there, planning to ring a wildlife sanctuary in the morning, and wondering if I’m brave enough to try feeding the chicks. I am weak-willed and human, and those little plaintive piping noises are enough to make anyone want to give them a beakful of regurgitated flies.
I know what I really want, though. I want to hear swifts flying through the air, screaming. Soon. Please.
Now I want to hear them again, more than ever. As soon as possible.
I’ve checked the Oxford University Museum of Natural History’s website. They have swifts in their ventilation shafts, how cool is that? They also believe in careful reporting of observed facts, which is not only cool, it’s one of the very best things humans do. (A form of love, even: paying attention to that which is, without false sentiment, and without wanting it to be what it isn’t.)
The swift webcam shows swifts. Right now. In Oxford. The charming brief diary called "statistics" tells me that this year’s cold May left some pairs breeding very late - while some of the young are already grown, 2 were still in their eggs in mid July.
It’s also not unknown for swift parents to be absent for a while, maybe blown off course by a storm while feeding hundreds of kilometres away: “observations at Oxford have shown that chicks can survive fasts of up to 10 days and a weight loss of up to 50%”. This is critical. It confirms what I was told by a rather lovely RSPB woman yesterday. She said that swift chicks have a unique ability to go into a torpor to conserve their energy, but she hadn’t said how many days they could survive until their parents returned.
She said they slowed their activity right down… she didn’t say anything about them making constant little silvery whistling noises, all night long, sometimes almost too faint to hear, sometimes loud and insistent. She didn’t say that at 6am they could make sounds sharp enough to make me hope I was hearing full adult screams.
It’s got to take energy to make that much noise. It works though. I don’t believe in interfering with wild creatures, or with the harsh pressures of natural selection. However, tonight I will be lying there, planning to ring a wildlife sanctuary in the morning, and wondering if I’m brave enough to try feeding the chicks. I am weak-willed and human, and those little plaintive piping noises are enough to make anyone want to give them a beakful of regurgitated flies.
I know what I really want, though. I want to hear swifts flying through the air, screaming. Soon. Please.
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