HABITAT WETLANDS
Marshes come alive in spring. The sound of wind whispering through winter reeds is replaced by noisy shouts and constant chatters. The wan, pale brown stems are suddenly enveloped by fresh green leaves, and unseen, a profusion of insects hatches. It is as though a deprived neighbourhood has had a makeover to become a swanky, sought-after locale attracting new residents.
The soundtrack is the most obvious change – and soundtrack is the word. Go to a large reedbed in late April to June and the chuntering of grumpy Reed Warblers seems never to stop. Their long, rhythmic phrases, uttered in quickstep, are like the constant beat of a nightclub – and they do indeed carry on into the darkness at this time of year. Sedge Warblers, vocalising mainly from bushes near the reeds, lack the regular rhythm, with changes in speed and harsher notes, but their phrases are equally long, like a soliloquy. Add to this the halting ‘three blind mice’ phrases of Reed Buntings and you have the reedbed muzak, as pervasive as that of a department store. Every so often, a Moorhen will utter its loud, always surprising ‘kurruk’ as a form of percussion,and maybe a Water Rail will squeal. A Cetti’s Warbler might shout its song-phrase with a storming start, and a Bittern may boom, foghorn-like, audible for up to two kilometres away. The atmosphere is never quiet.
Just as the marshland is noisy, it is also a place of secrets. Many of the most exciting birds are those that allow fleeting glimpses. Marsh Harriers fly low over the tops, but you know that most of their life, from their grabbing of prey, to family life on their platform nest, is shrouded by the masses of stems. Cetti’s Warbler might be the voice, but it’s a disembodied one – just how do you see this bird? Water Rails are ghosts in the spring, even more impossible to spot than they are in the winter – at least in the latter you have a chance. And what about Bearded Tits? They appear briefly, give their curious pinging calls, sounding like a mini cash-register, and then are gone. Other than the Moorhen’s cup-like pile of vegetation on the
