Birding By Ear: Urban Birds of Europe

There you are: jet-lagged and in a park near your hotel, before dawn, binoculars in hand. It’s the beginning of your European vacation and your family is still passed out upstairs.

How nice of you to let them sleep.

As the morning begins to brighten in Paris (or maybe London, or Berlin) an unfamiliar dawn chorus begins to emerge from the greenery around you.

Maybe you studied your European field guide a little on the flight over but, as you know, every bird in the world has an unique vocalization and knowing that Common Chiffchaff and Willow Warbler are differentiated by leg color is of little use to you now, in this dim light.

Are you new to “birding by ear”? No worries, it’s never been easier.

Using reference CD’s and MP3’s from websites like Xeno-canto.org, create a playlist of the most common birds in your area. Play it on your commute to work, at your computer, or at the gym, until the songs become familiar to your ears. Now, when you next encounter the dawn chorus in full force, you can mentally sort the sounds you recognize, and focus on the ones you don’t. Chase down a couple new sounds and, once you visually identify the species, add them to your playlist.

You are now developing a mental reference library for bird sounds, and you might be surprised at how quickly new sounds will “catch.” You’ll remember new sounds by comparing them against the catalog you’re building. For example, you’ll note that the song of Purple Finch has the same liquid-like quality of a House Finch but it sings shorter, distinct phrases and lacks the upslurred end that House Finches often broadcast.

“Well, that’s helpful and all,” you interrupt, “but I’m still in Europe and I have no idea what I’m hearing.”

Don’t worry—this technique can still help elsewhere in the world. I’ve compiled a short reference of most common urban birds in Europe to help you prepare for your European vacation. Have a listen: some may sound quite similar to common birds back home.

Common Blackbird

May remind you of: American Robin

Blackbirds don’t have “yellow heads” or “red wings” in Europe, in fact this plain black bird with a yellow bill is in the same genus as the American Robin: Turdus. Appropriately, most of its vocalizations, from song to alarm call, are reminiscent of the vociferous songster you likely have in your backyard, albeit a bit more languorous, inebriated even.

Song Thrush

May remind you of: Northern Mockingbird

Another member of the turdus genus, the Song Thrush more closely resembles our own Swainson’s or Hermit Thrush. But once it opens its beak, expect a song similar to a Northern Mockingbird: short, distinct, discordant phrases repeated in two’s and three’s.

Eurasian Wren

May remind you of: Winter/Pacific Wren

Hear a sweet, frantic song similar to your Winter Wrens back home? Well, up until 2010, it was the same species. But the wren you hear now—the Eurasian Wren—is its own species, and the only wren found outside the Americas.

Common Chaffinch

May remind you of: House Finch

This boisterous singer can be heard in green-spaces throughout urban Europe. The song is crisp, “chippy”, and descends in pitch, but not in strength. When I first arrived in Paris, I likened it to the song of a House Finch, a common urban vocalist in North America. Their call—a “pink-pink”—is also quite distinctive (the recording below features the song in the foreground, with the call in the background).

Goldcrest

May remind you of: Golden-crowned Kinglet

It sure looks like a Golden-crowned Kinglet (it’s in the same genus) and yup, it sounds like one, too. If you are near conifers and hear some small twittering coming from the canopy, you can bet it’ll be a flock of Goldcrests, a.k.a. the kinglets with goggles.

European Greenfinch

May remind you of: Pine Siskin

Hearing the slurred end notes that remind you of a Pine Siskin? Well, Pine Siskins go ↑UP↑ and the European Greenfinch goes ↓down↓. The song of the greenfinch is a bit “goldfinch-like” but they are often in large flocks so the down-slurred notes are easy to point out.

Great Spotted Woodpecker

May remind you of: Downy Woodpecker

This common urban woodpecker has a call similar to the “pik” of a Downy Woodpecker, although much louder and more resonant. The Great Spotted Woodpecker, however, is closer in size to a Hairy. Green Woodpeckers—the second most commonly occurring urban “pecker”—has a boisterous, laughing call, so if you hear something that sounds like a woodpecker back home, it’s most likely a Great Spotted. Lesser Spotted Woodpecker is possible, but much less common: listen for a soft, descending whinny similar to a Downy.

Great-Spotted-Woodpecker-Wikipedia-500px

Short-toed Treecreeper

May remind you of: Brown Creeper

The “creepers” of Europe maintain the same soft, fluting, liquid-like songs of the Brown Creeper back home. Are you in the U.K.? You’re hearing the long, descending song of a Eurasian Treecreeper. On mainland Europe, you can be hearing Eurasian or the more upbeat, ascending song of a Short-toed Treecreeper.

Short-toed Treecreeper © Jimfbleak

Other Common European Birds

Common Chiffchaff

This widespread phylloscopus warbler has one of the most distinctive songs in Europe: a continuous string of single notes that quickly jump up and down the octave scale. If you watch any European programming that requires the use of bird sounds, you might find him there, too. A few of the audio samples highlighted on this page have Common Chiffchaff somewhere in the background as well.

Eurasian Blackcap

While a plain warbler in appearance, the Blackcap is anything but once it open its beak. Its beautiful song has the length and intricacy of a Winter Wren, the vocal variety of a European Starling, and the boldness of a Northern Mockingbird. Fortunately for visiting birders, they are vocal and widespread in spring and summer, and respond quickly to pishing.

European Robin

The song of the European Robin is high and melodious one second, and wheezy the next. To me, it sounds like the male is struggling to get his song out as he inhales and exhales laboriously.

European Serin

This urban canary—literally, it’s in the same genus as the wild ancestor to the popular cage bird—doesn’t have the lyrical chops of its fellow Serinus. To me, its song is continuous, metallic chatter, similar in quality to an Anna’s Hummingbird. They are boisterous singers, though, which makes them easy to find. Don’t expect to find them in London, however, as this species is absent on the British Isles.

European Goldfinch

The song of this handsome dandy is a continuous, and often quiet, string of trills and chatter, similar to that of the American Goldfinch. Also like its American counterpart, it’s most easily identified by its call, which it freely interjects into its song: an upslurred “te-LITT.”

Eurasian Nuthatch

The only audible similarity that this nuthatch shares with the Red-breasted in the States is how unique its call is in its respective habitat. To my ears, it sounds like a scolding water drop. And when it decides to call, it will do so quite adamantly, thus making them easy to locate.

The Tits (A few of them at least)

Great Tit

The Great Tit has one of the richest vocabularies of any European bird—nearly 40 different call types at last tally—but considering it’s also one of the common urban species, if you hear a bird that you don’t recognize during your outing, chances are good that it’s a Great Tit. Song is usually a see-sawying, ringing, two syllable little diddy.

Eurasian Blue Tit

The second most common tit, if not the second most common species, the Eurasian Blue Tit has a four part song: “DEE-DEE-d-d-d-d-d-DEE-DEE-d-d-d.” The quality is higher and more piercing than that of the Great Tit. Start pishing at any urban green space and you’ll have the chance to hear its scolding call in person, after the Great Tits have come to investigate, of course.

Long-tailed Tit

Similar in proportion to Bushtits, though larger and more boldly colored, the Long-tailed Tit is readily identifiable by voice. Listen for the very quick, descending, scolding call and wait for the flock to pass through.

Marsh Tit

The Marsh Tit will most closely resemble North American chickadees of the tits mentioned here and I find, personally, that its call is one of the most distinct: a quick, ascending two-note “pi-CHAY.”

Already mastered these species or have a specific target bird you are looking for? Use Xeno-canto.org to find crowd-sourced recordings that you can download to your computer.

March 13, 2013May 13, 2023

Wild Goose Chase

Yeah, it’s cliché, and I am certainly not the first birdwatcher to use, or perhaps abuse, this phrase. But when one travels to The Netherlands in winter to look for geese—totaling nine commonly occurring species—“Wild Goose Chase” suddenly seems awfully appropriate.

I’d learned of the bounty of Branta when my wife and I relocated to Paris in 2012 and I began to research what European birds were found where, and when. The Netherlands in winter quickly fell on my radar because several goose species that show up rarely in North America, like Pink-footed, Barnacle, Graylag, and Tundra Bean, occur commonly in this low lying country, sometimes in flocks of 10’s of thousands. Greater White-fronted Geese are found on both continents, but it’s diminutive cousin, the cleverly named Lesser White-fronted, is much more scarce and found few other places on earth. Brant occur on both continents as well, but Dutch population is the bernicla subspecies that breeds in Russia. The widely distributed Canada Goose and Egyptian Goose, both established species from exotic origins, round out the nine commonly occurring species. Throw in a rare species like Red-breasted, Taiga Bean, Ross’s, or Snow and you have the potential of a double-digit goose count in a single day.

Of course, you have to care about geese, and Steven, a Dutch gentleman I met through BirdingPal, was a bit surprised about my obsession. Nevertheless, he was excited to help an American birdwatcher find some new birds and we scheduled a full day of goose chasing on March 8 to coincide with Kristi’s work trip to Amsterdam.

For several weeks prior to this trip, I checked the Dutch reporting website, www.waarneming.nl (Dutch version of eBird.org) routinely for updates on rarities. Rare birds in the Netherlands can stray from North America, Africa, or Siberia but if they do stray, you can almost guarantee they’ll be found, and then subsequently seen by hundreds of Dutch birders within hours. Steven estimated that there are 400-500 expert birders in the Netherlands, i.e. people who can readily identify any bird that occurs in Europe—no matter the age or sex—by sight or sound. Another 10,000-15,000 people care enough about birding to contribute data to waarneming.nl (waarneming means “sighting”). Considering that The Netherlands is the same size as Greater Los Angeles, you can safely assume that every bird that penetrates Dutch borders will be scrutinized by this cadre of birdwatchers, and likely on a daily basis.

In the weeks leading up to my trip, I checked this site routinely. A couple Red-breasted Geese, a flamboyantly colored diminutive goose that breeds in northern Russia and winters near Turkey, were seen in flocks of Barnacle Goose. This is a bird that frequents waterfowl collections in North America, and one I had wanted to see since childhood.

But then something awful occurred during the week leading up to my trip: the weather began to improve.

Bright sun and clear skies clearly signaled that winter was coming to a close. There was jubilance across Paris as warm temps improved spirits, but I was nervous; I feared that the geese may be getting itchy to start their northward migration.

A couple days before my trip, an email from Steven confirmed my fears: the Pink-footed Geese were already gone and the Tundra Bean Geese were beginning to follow suit.

Crap. “The Lesser White-fronts are still around,” Steven wrote, sensing that my mood would need to be lightened. As scarce as they are—and declining—it would indeed be a highlight of my trip. “At the very least, we can just go birding.”

Very true.

At 7:00AM on the 8th, he pulled up in front of our hotel in Amsterdam. I shook his hand, gave him a coffee, and we were on the road, heading north.

For 20 minutes, we drove around the nearby town of Heiloo (“HIGH-low”) to look for a second winter Iceland Gull that was spending the winter in a small canal in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac. Unfortunately, the man who had been feeding the gulls hadn’t yet put any bread out and only a handful of Black-headed and Herring Gulls were frequenting the neighborhood. I hadn’t seen a single goose yet, so I was getting anxious.

Four Lesser White-fronted Geese, showing their smaller build, short bill, steep forehead, and eye-rings.

Three species: Greater White-fronted, Brant, and Barnacle.

Our next stop was further north to Camperduin (“CAN-per-dine”) to drive the narrow roads through agricultural fields interspersed with small homesteads and iconic windmills. Within minutes, we rolled past a small flock of Graylag Geese (#1) that cradled a pair of Greater White-fronted Geese (#2). We continued a couple hundred meters and found a much larger flock of Greater White-fronts. After scanning with binoculars, we realized that the flock was intermixed with some smaller geese. We quietly got out of the car and set up our spotting scopes to find the shorter bills, steeper foreheads, and distinct eye-rings of Lesser White-fronted Geese (#3). In the immediate area, we tallied 38 of this vulnerable species which has a global population of about 30,000. They had thankfully waited for me, or at least had avoided taking off in the thick clouds that hung low in the sky. While only numbering a few hundred birds, this flock also produced a small number of Barnacle Geese (#4), a few Brant (#5), and a distant pair of Egyptian Geese (#6). Meadow Pipits were doing their flight displays despite the subzero wind, which drove Steven and I back into the car.

We continued to explore this expanse of flat agricultural fields where we found several large flocks of Barnacle Geese, a favorite hiding place for Red-breasted Goose. We scanned each flock for the black back and distinctively colored head and neck of this rare visitor, but we came up empty. Out of 100,000 Barnacle Geese, 1 or maybe two Red-breasted Geese will be found: odds certainly not in our favor.

“Have you seen ‘Pied Wagtail’?” Steven asked me, referring to a black-backed form of the normally gray-backed White Wagtail which breeds in Great Britain but migrates through mainland Europe. Some authorities consider it a separate species.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Within minutes, we were driving a small country road next to a wetland in Abbestede (“A-buh-stay-duh”). As if on cue, three wagtails fell from the sky, including two adults: one with a gray back, the other black. Check.

Back on the road, I confided that I had never seen a Common Eider, an Arctic seaduck composed of white, diffused pastels, and long-sloping forehead. “Easy, we’ll be driving by a beach where a couple were recently reported,” Steve responded, checking his phone.

We were soon pulling in to the parking lot of Falga (“Fall-Hah”) surrounding by coastal conifer trees. We walked over sweeping coastal dunes for ten minutes before arriving at the beachside restaurant and expansive sandy beaches; the boarded up windows and sand drifts hinted that this was the off-season. Two beautiful male Common Eiders were easily found just beyond the surf, providing easy scope studies of a bird I’d only seen in pictures since childhood. They are even more colorful in person; Steven laughed in disbelief every time I excitedly pointed out whenever one flew by. The rough surf also hosted several Razorbills—a relative of puffins that I’d never seen before—in both breeding and winter plumages, as well as Slavonian Grebe and Red-throated Diver (Horned Grebe and Red-throated Loon to North American birders), both of which were additions to my European list.

The fortified shoreline that runs parallel to Den Helder Boulevard.

Our next stop was along a fortified shoreline a little further north on Den Helder Boulevard to look for Purple Sandpiper. A handful of Ruddy Turnstones, Red Knots, and Dunlin greeted us, but the real action was offshore where spring migration was just ramping up: flocks or European Wigeon, Northern Pintail, Northern Shoveler, Red-throated Loons, and various shorebirds, all flying north. I soon picked out my lifer Common Scoters (a species recently split from the Black Scoter in North America) and several Northern Gannets, a relative of boobies and another addition to my European list.

It was a short drive to Hippolytushoef (“HI-poh-li-tus-hoof”) to case the agricultural fields for a large wintering flock of Brant. We quickly found them, and the large roadside flock of sheep neighboring them quickly found us: the cacophonous greeting is not one I’ll soon forget.

Seeing such a large flock of brant—we counted over a thousand—was a new experience for me. The fact that they were foraging on grass was also new; Seattle birders are not used to seeing our local “Black” Brant far from beaches in Puget Sound where they are especially fond of eel grass, a type of seaweed. Steven and I sifted through the foraging flock of brant—the “Dark-bellied” bernicla subspecies that breeds in Russia—looking for the “Pale-bellies” of the hrota subspecies from Greenland. The first two were paired together and we soon picked out another six before we put the scopes back in the car.

My goose count stood at six, respectable in North America but lower than the total I’d expected today. We needed to continue our search.

Dark head and bill of a Tundra Bean-Goose (center) with Graylag Geese.

Thankfully Steve saw a distant, but promising, flock of Graylags. We drove slowly up to the piles of dirt and rotting carrots and Steve found the dark chocolate heads of #7: Tundra Bean-Goose. I fumbled to get a couple photos of this confiding lifer before we were on the highway south to Amsterdam.

Surely my number would still climb once we found a Canada Goose.

“What?” Steven replied, incredulous as to why I wanted to take valuable time to find a nuisance species. Although from exotic origins, like the Egyptian, it’s established in The Netherlands and “countable” in birder parlance.

Seconds later, we zoom past another flock of geese feeding on the side of the highway. Brown bodies, black necks, white cheek patch: Canada Geese. #8.

And we didn’t even need to slow down.

We chased the waning daylight to Waterland (“VA-ter-lund”), another vast agricultural area just east of Amsterdam. We stopped to scan the first flock of Barnacle Geese we found, numbering 20,000, hoping to find one Red-breasted. A resident stopped to talk to us, explaining that the government compensates farmers for any crop damage inflicted by the wintering hordes of roaming lawn-mowers.

After scanning five different flocks, I was feeling as if the tally would remain at eight. As twilight swallowed the day, we perched up on a dyke to scan a small, vegetated bay at the last flock of Barnacle Geese. Slowly, this evening roost of vociferous waterfowl continued to grow as V’s of geese returned from the fields behind us. Within 30 minutes, the chatter grew to a roar as the flock swelled to 50,000 birds. My search became futile. Finally, the light got too flat for me to tell the difference between white and red, so I had to give up my quest for a Red-breasted Goose.

Steven pointed out the elongated profiles and slender bills of two Caspian Gulls. Another lifer: a nice consolation.

You always have to save something for next time.

March 7, 2013May 13, 2023

Cow Pies in Paris

March 1, 2013May 13, 2023

Sedgley Goes to Sedgley

An abandoned tavern on the two mile walk from the train station.

Turls Hill Road, my final ascent to Sedgley

Barclay’s Bank on the edge of the Bull Ring

Sedgley Hall Road, the only road in town with my name on it

February 15, 2013May 13, 2023

Paris at Night: Eiffel Tower and Bir-Hakeim Bridge

It happened again.

The sky looked damned tempting when I glanced out of our window: puffy balls of cotton back-dropped by dark storm clouds. In between those clouds was a celestial commodity that had grown rare in recent weeks: blue sky. I threw the tripod and camera in to my backpack and headed to the metro in pursuit the increasingly elusive Parisian sunset shot. Emerging from the Javel – Andre Citroen stop in the 15th arrondissement I glanced upwards—the skies still looked promising.

Tonight could be the night. I quickly took some shots of some apartments lining the Left bank of the Seine before heading across the Pont Mirabeau (“Mirabeau Bridge”) to the Right Bank.

It had rained a lot recently and the waters of the Seine were the highest—and brownest—I’ve ever seen. In fact, the riverside highway, Georges Pompidou, was closed due to flooding. I joined a handful of Parisians who assembled, by foot and wheel, to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

Unfortunately, an enormous storm cloud moved in that, while only giving periodic spits of rain, kept every other cloud in the sky from absorbing the light of the setting sun. Tonight won’t be night, as it turns out: the atmospheric unicorn eludes me yet again. The dry lining to this storm cloud, however, were reflections shots afforded by several puddles underneath Pont Bir-Hakeim. Both pools swelled and receded with each passing barge.

A passing French photographer, Pierre-yves Calvat, captured me taking a photo with the Eiffel Tower in the background. It is now featured on my about page: be sure to check out his website.

It was a nice, mostly dry evening photographing two bridges, some brown water, and a large metal spire.

Apartments and office buildings along the Left Bank.

High water rushes past Pont Mirabeau, completed in 1897. This sculpture—one of four gracing this bridge—depicts “navigation on inland waters”. She’s got her work cut out for her … but she’s facing the wrong direction.

Two trains approach one another on the Line 6 metro while crossing Pont Bir-Hakeim.

The one fourth sized replica of the Statue of Liberty, built three years after its larger cousin in 1889
as a gift from the Parisian-American community to the French govermment.

The elevators pass each other towards the top of the tower.

A tourist boat passes underneath Pont Bir-Hakeim, built in 1905 and later named for the victorious battle against the Nazis in Libya in 1942.

A half-submerged Georges Pompidou highway, looking south towards buildings on the Left Bank.

Eiffel Tower with Bir-Hakeim Bridge in the foreground.

A train passes on Line 6 on top of Bir-Hakeim Bridge.

A tourist boat passes the Eiffel Tower, as shot from top of Bir-Hakeim Bridge.

A long exposure shot of the Eiffel Tower “light show” that happens every hour, on the hour, after sunset.
In this photo, flashbulbs appear to all be illuminated at once when in fact they fire rapidly in quick succession.

February 7, 2013May 13, 2023

Paris by Night: The Two Arches

Say “Parisian Arch” and most will think of the Arc de Triomphe. For good reason, too: the “Triumphal Arch” is one of the most famous monuments in Paris. The 164 foot stone structure was commissioned in 1806 by Emperor Napoleon after he defeated the Russo-Austrian Army at the Battle of Austerlitz (and completed three decades later). True to its origin, the Arc de Triomphe has been a pivotable symbol of France’s military might for two centuries. To this day, the French government celebrates Bastille Day every year by parading every type of vehicle it owns—from tanks and armored personel carriers to backhoes and small fire trucks.

Every other hour of the year, however, the arch hosts a more unrelenting and chaotic procession of civilian hardware unhindered by lanes or traffic signals. In fact, insurance companies refuse coverage to drivers who dare to enter this swirling mass of liability.

The Arc de Triomphe held its ground as the world’s largest triumphal arch until a larger one was built in 1982. Any guesses where it was built? Modern day world leader with a Napoleon-complex and careless disregard for misappropriating scarce resources? Yup. Kim Jong Il built one 33 feet taller in Pyongyang to commemorate his father, the founder of the Democratic People’s Republic of (North) Korea.

The Arc de Triomphe is also pivotal in the urban design of Paris, literally. It serves as the linchpin on the historic axis that connects Champs Elysées and the Louvre to the east with La Défense—and the second arch of Paris—to the west.

In 1989, La Grande Arche was built as a 20th century interpretation of Arc de Triomphe. Despite towering over the aforementioned arches at 330 feet, Pyongyang’s placement in the record books holds firm; La Grande Arche emphasizes humanity instead of military might (and thus is not a “triumphal arch”).
It serves as a government office building.

La Grand Arche is the architectural highlight of a business district built in the 1980’s to compete with London and Switzerland. Actually, this district was originally slated within historic Paris, but once the first high-rise was built (Montparnasse), the French cursed the ghastly addition to their cherished skyline, mandated that no future construction could challenge the height of the Eiffel Tower, and built La Défense to the northwest of the city, at the terminus of the “historic axis”.

I took an evening in late January to photograph both arches, starting with La Grande Arche at sunset, and ending with the Arc de Triomphe later that evening. They are only two metro stops away from one another. Unfortunately, most of the clouds cleared before they could be illuminated by the setting sun.

La Grande Arche, La Défense

High rises of the La Défense business district.

The unusual art installation at the base of the arch.

View from the steps of the La Grand Arche.

A carousel spins near a metal art installation. La Grand Arche looms in the background.

A woman stands in front of a spinning carousel.

Looking southeast on the historic axis towards Arc de Triomphe.

L’Arc de Triomphe

Jump on the Metro Line 1 and in 10 minutes, you will arrive at the Charles de Gaule station, directly underneath the Arc de Triomphe.

Le Arc de Triomphe with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

The blue flashing lights of a police van convoy pass the arch.

Resources:

January 30, 2013May 13, 2023

A Birder in Paris (2012 Recap)

When my eyes met binoculars in 2012, they were likely in pursuit of the feathered occupants of Paris, from tits to creepers. My wife and I moved to the capital of France in early June and I averaged about one morning of birding every week until late November, when we traveled back home to Seattle by way of Eastern Europe for a month. I mostly birded in green-spaces near our flat just southwest of Paris (in the city of Boulogne-Billancourt) with periodic trips further afield.

With moderate effort, I tallied 72 species in the City of Light.

There aren’t many birders in Paris. I met four of them and while I learned quite a bit, I almost always birded solo (during the week). Consequently, my ears failed to find the less common songs/calls and I am sure my eyes missed a few of the expected fall migrants in all their dull greatness (i.e. phylloscopus warblers). I also missed spring migration entirely.

Highlights include a Lesser Redpoll working an alder with two European Goldfinches on November 8th, a European Honey-buzzard migrating over Parc des Beaumonts in mid-August, separate sightings of Tawny Owls in two different parks southwest of the city in the summer, two sightings of Black Woodpecker in the Bois de Boulogne, a pair of Hawfinches in early November, and several sightings of Eurasian Bullfinches throughout the year—the handsomest of the European line-up.

Biggest miss: Lesser Spotted Woodpecker. I’ve heard a couple but so far these small trunk-climbers have eluded me.

I’ve included a full species list below, with codes denoting where I saw them. Most locations are slightly outside Paris proper but all are easily accessible by the Paris metro system. Each code links to a full description (and MAP) in my blog post, “Birdwatching in Paris.”

Bois de Boulogne (BdB)
Parc de l’Ile St Germain (PiSG)
Ile de Seguin (IdS)
Parc du Beaumonts (PdB)
Jardin des Plantes (JdP)
Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise (CdPLC)
Bois de Vincennes (BdV)

Canada Goose (BdV) — Flock on Lac Daumesnil, Bois de Vincennes.

Mute Swan (BdB–BdV) — Easy to spot in many of Paris’ waterways, especially in large park lakes.

Mallard (BdB–BdV) — Common on any large lake and on the Seine.

Common Pochard (BdV) — Wintering flock found in Lac de Minimes, in east Bois de Vincennes.

Ring-necked Pheasant (BdB) — Seen a couple times in the deeper recesses of Bois de Boulogne.

Great Crested Grebe (BdV) — Found in winter on Lac de Minimes, Bois de Vincennes.

Great Cormorant (BdB–PiSG–BdV) — Can be seen flying over many points in Paris, especially near water.

Gray Heron (BdB–BdV) — Hard to find on the fortified banks of the Seine. Can be found on smaller lakes with vegetated shores.

European Honey-buzzard (PdB) — Uncommon migrant through Paris. I joined expat birder David Thorns at his beloved Parc du Beaumonts on an afternoon in mid August and this was the first, and closest, raptor to pass us during the two hour skywatch.

Eurasian Sparrowhawk (BdB–BdV) — Uncommon but can be seen any time of year in wooded areas.

Eurasian Moorhen (BdB–JdP–BdV) — Common near lakes and streams. Surprisingly, I found a couple in Jardin des Plantes, well away from any lake.

Eurasian Coot (BdB–BdV) — Common in lakes, even the Seine.

Little Ringed Plover (IdS) — A pair were spotted in the dirt construction areas of Ile de Seguin in July.

Black-headed Gull (BdB–PiSG–IdS–BdV) — Widespread.

Herring Gull (JdP–BdV) — Uncommon but can be seen at or near any body of water, especially the Seine.

Common Tern (IdS) — Seen during migration on the Seine on Ile de Seguin.

Rock Pigeon (BdB–PiSG) — Widespread.

Stock Dove (BdB–JdP–BdV) — Widespread but uncommon and can be difficult to separate from the abundant Common Wood-Pigeon.

Common Wood-Pigeon (BdB–PiSG–IdS–PdB–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Widespread; one of the most abundant species in Paris. You can’t scan the skies without seeing several of these guys. Their silhouette is frustratingly similar to a raptor in flight to North American eyes.

Tawny Owl (BdB) — The alarm calls of Eurasian Blackbirds alerted me to my first Tawny Owl in Domaine Saint-Cloud (across the river from Boulogne-Billancourt). My second was seen the following week after hearing the startled call of a Green Woodpecker on a run through the Bois de Boulogne.

Common Swift (BdB–PdB) — Look upwards in Summer, and you can’t miss Common Swifts—a fixture of Parisian skies.

Common Kingfisher (BdV) — A single bird fishing a small stream in Bois de Vincennes.

Middle Spotted Woodpecker (BdB–BdV) — I encountered this species on four separate occasions in the Bois de Boulogne; once in Bois de Vincennes.

Great Spotted Woodpecker (BdB–PiSG–CdPLC–BdV) — The most common woodpecker in Paris. Uncommon to common in nearly any park with mature trees.

Black Woodpecker (BdB) — Chasing down the sounds of a foraging woodpecker yielded fantastic views of my first Black Woodpecker in Bois de Boulogne in August. I found a second, more vocal bird in November.

Green Woodpecker (BdB–PiSG–BdV) — The second most frequently encountered woodpecker. Very vocal.

Eurasian Kestrel (BdB–BdV) — Six sightings, all flyovers or perched on edge of open patches in wooded parks.

Eurasian Hobby (CdPLC) — One quick fly-by in Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise in mid October.

Rose-ringed Parakeet (BdB–PiSG–JdP–BdV) — Most frequently seen at Jardin des Plantes, but possible elsewhere as the breeding population has expanded in recent years.

Eurasian Jay (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Common, likely in any wooded park.

Eurasian Magpie (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Widespread and abundant (and vocal).

Rook (BdB) — Three flew over Bois de Boulogne in early November.

Carrion Crow (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Widespread and common throughout the city.

Barn Swallow (PdB) — Two flew past skywatch hill at Parc des Beaumonts in August.

Common House-Martin (BdB) — Common at north end of Lac Inferieur in Bois de Boulogne in summer.

Marsh Tit (BdB–BdV) — Uncommon in more wooded parks. Often in mixed flocks of tits.

Coal Tit (BdB–PiSG–CdPLC–BdV) — First sighting was two birds behind our flat in a construction area. Possible (but uncommon) in many of the cities parks.

Crested Tit (BdB–BdV) — Uncommon in parks with patches of conifer trees.

Great Tit (BdB–PiSG–IdS–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — The most common tit. Pish in front of anything green and you’ll attract a Great Tit.

Eurasian Blue Tit (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — The second most common tit (see location instructions for Great Tit)

Long-tailed Tit (BdB–PiSG–BdV) — Flocks of varying sizes were found in several parks.

Eurasian Nuthatch (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Possible anywhere there are mature trees.

Short-toed Treecreeper (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Likely anywhere there are mature trees. Even saw one working a grave in Montparnasse Cemetery.

Eurasian Wren (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Possible anywhere there is a thick understory.

Goldcrest (BdB–JdP–BdV) — Flocks of varying sizes are possible year-round, especially in stands of conifers.

Firecrest (BdB–CdPLC) — Most likely to be seen during migration, but a smaller number stay for the winter.

Willow Warbler (BdB–PiSG) — Most easily seen during migration. Paler legs than more common Chiffchaff.

Common Chiffchaff (BdB–PiSG–PdB–CdPLC) — Song can be heard all summer. Less numerous but still possible in winter.

Blackcap (BdB–PiSG–CdPLC) — Widespread in Parisian parks and very responsive to pishing. Breeds in parks and gardens throughout Paris.

Greater Whitethroat (PiSG) — I spotted my first during fall migration in Parc de l’Ile St Germaine.

Spotted Flycatcher (BdB–PiSG) — Breeds in wooded parks throughout Paris but I found my first in late August during migration in two locations.

European Robin (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Common and widespread wherever there is decent understory.

European Pied Flycatcher (BdB–PiSG–CdPLC) — Uncommon migrant. Found my first in Bois de Boulogne, my second in Parc de l’Ile Saint Germain and my third during a small migratory fallout in Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise.

Black Redstart (Domaine de Saint-Cloud) — There was a reliable pair across the river from Boulogne in Parc de Saint-Cloud.

Eurasian Blackbird (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Widespread and common in any city park.

Fieldfare (PiSG) — A thrush that winters in Paris. I found my first in November.

Redwing (BdB) — Another wintering thrush. I found my first in Bois de Boulogne in November with a flock of Eurasian Blackbirds visiting a fruiting conifer tree.

Song Thrush (BdB–PiSG–CdPLC–BdV) — A boisterous songster. Present in Paris year-round but most abundant during migration.

Mistle Thrush (BdB–PiSG–BdV) — I found my first in October in Bois de Boulogne and had three additional sightings (in other locations) through early November.

European Starling (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Abundant and widespread throughout the city.

Dunnock (BdB–PiSG–JdP) — A member of the accentor family. It took me several weeks to find my first but it’s a fairly common bird in parks with brambles.

Western Yellow Wagtail (IdS) — Seen along the fortified banks of the Seine, across from Ile de Seguin.

Gray Wagtail (BdB) — Seen near water in Bois de Boulogne.

Common Chaffinch (BdB–PiSG–BdV) — One of most common contributors to the dawn chorus in spring and summer. Can be found year-round.

Eurasian Bullfinch (BdB–PiSG) — In my opinion, the most attractive of Europe’s urban birds. I chased down some soft call notes in June to find a pair foraging quietly in the grass (beneath a stand of conifers) just north of the Reserve Ornithologique in Bois de Boulogne. I didn’t see any others until I found a small (but reliable) flock visiting some fruiting shrubs in Parc de l’Ile Saint Germain. Handsome devils.

European Greenfinch (BdB–PiSG–JdP–CdPLC–BdV) — Possible in many parks, especially in fall. Had several males singing from rooftop TV antennas near our flat.

Lesser Redpoll (PiSG) — Probably the most unexpected bird I found in Paris. While birding in early November in Parc de l’Ile Saint Germain, I was attracted to a small flock of European Goldfinches flying amongst a small patch of alders. I noticed that one was particularly tan. Once I noticed the subtle reddish cap and black mask, I knew I had a redpoll but I had never seen one so awash in brown. I studied the bird as it foraged for several minutes. My Princeton Birds of Europe guide was printed in 1999 and only had Common and Arctic (Hoary) Redpoll. Once I returned home, I learned that the cabaret subspecies that best matched this bird (as depicted in my book) was split in to a new species: Lesser Redpoll. I returned to this patch of alders several more times and never saw any other redpolls.

Eurasian Siskin (PiSG) — I finally found my first siskins near the patch of alders that hosted the Lesser Redpoll above. After several attempts, I found four that were visiting a small pond as I was leaving the park via the western entrance.

European Goldfinch (BdB–PiSG–IdS–BdV) — This was one of the first birds I saw on my first morning of birding in Paris (in Parc de Saint-Cloud). It was a full month before I found another five working some thistle on Ile de Seguin. They became more common, and formed larger flocks, in early November, when I found them at several different locations.

European Serin (PiSG–IdS) — In summer, Ile de Seguin was the most reliable spot for this species, where they were the most boisterous songster. A small flock joined the finch fest that had formed in early November in Parc de l’Ile Saint Germain.

Hawfinch (BdB) — Early November brought a pair of Hawfinches to the parcours sportif, a fitness trail that is my favorite place to bird in Bois de Boulogne.

House Sparrow (PiSG–IdS–JdP–BdV) — As one might expect, this species is fairly widespread but not as common as it is back in North America.

January 24, 2013May 13, 2023

Crapping on Napoleon’s Head

Carved in stone or forged in metal, statues are designed to make generation of people stop, gaze upward in awe, and reflect on someone who liberated/reigned/invented/ruled/fought/decreed/conquered themselves in to a pivotal moment in the evolution of a country or culture.

A statue is an eternal reminder that all who pass underneath should be forever indebted to the greatness this person bestowed on history.

Or maybe it’s just an easy place for a bird to take a crap.

I’ve recently noted the subtle humor in how many of the world’s statues, which depict the powerful men and women in chiseled greatness, are now little more than a perch on which a bird can take a momentary break from the shackles of gravity and relieve itself of the weight of its breakfast.

Imagine a self-aggrandizing ruler – a dictator perhaps – commissioning an imposing representation of himself, forged in metal, to loom over his fearful subjects as a constant reminder of his Draconian rule. Well, place a pigeon directly on top of his head and that foreboding presence dissipates as quickly as the whitewash running down his iron cheek.

I have had several opportunities to photograph birds on statues in Europe. Maybe it’s because Europe has a long, eventful history formed by powerful people. Maybe Europe has especially productive ironworkers and stone masons. Or maybe it’s because Europe is home to some particularly irreverent birds.

Zurich, Switzerland

On top a large, muscular stallion with a well-worn battle axe at his side, Hans Waldmann—15th century mayor of Zurich—could do little to dissuade this insolent Black-headed Gull. The bird was fortunate that this depiction of the Swiss military leader had a head on which to perch; Waldmann was relieved of his in 1489, due to accusations of financial corruption and sodomy.

Prague, Czech Republic

The neck of St. Ludmilla buckles under the weight of two complacent Eurasian Jackdaws. This statue is one of thirty lining Charles Bridge, a top tourist destination in Prague. While patron saint of many things—including converts, duchesses, Czech Republic, problems with in-laws—corvids and avian excrement are not listed among them.

Prague, Czech Republic

A Rock Pigeon cranes its neck pensively a top a statue of Joseh Jungmann, widely regarded as the creator of the Czech language and phrases like Slez z mé zasrané hlavy! (“Get off my bleeping head!”)

Prague, Czech Republic

The perfectly coiffed coils of Jan Hus are too irresistible to the dirty feet of this Rock Pigeon, who returns the favor by looking unabashedly in an opposing direction. Huss’ resisted the Catholic Church by insisting to preach in the native vernacular instead of mandated latin, a heresy that had him burned at the stake and the catalyst for the Hussite Wars between Catholics and Protestants. Hus became a symbol of strength for the Czech people as they suffered under oppressive regimes throughout history, including Habsburgs, Russians, Communists, and now, Guano.

Prague, Czech Republic

Neither his proximity to cultural icon Jan Hus, nor the fact that he was exiled during the Thirty Years War in the 17th century, nor his smooth, bulbous dome spared this gentleman from the ignominious talons of a pair of Rock Pigeons.

Versailles, France

A Black-headed Gull oblivious to the angel directly beneath it—unperturbed by her much larger wings. Perhaps the gull feels vindicated by dominating a statue at the entrance of one of the most opulently-decorated castles in the world. Gulls hate extravagant excess. Unless it involves french fries.

Vienna, Austria

Neither the armor depicted in this statue, nor the plumes that could have come from a distant cousin, could scare away this Hooded Crow. Instead this disinterested corvid casts an aloof gaze from this 18th century perch down on to the 1,441 room Schönbrunn Palace beneath it. Maybe the crows are the ones who literally defaced this statue and replaced it with a log. Crafty birds.

Marseille, France

A Yellow-legged Gull barely musters a yawn as Jesus Christ – the inspiration for one of the world’s most prolific religions – coils in pain directly underneath him. The bird doesn’t much care for the expansive view of France’s second largest city directly behind it, nor the fact that Jesus’ consoler is buckling under its weight, pushing her face directly on to his crown of thorns.

Pisa, Italy

A male pigeon struts amorously towards a female on the back of the Capitoline Wolf, a statue that depicts the founding of Rome. Most wouldn’t consider a metallic depiction of twin babies suckling from the plump teet of a she-wolf to be a powerful aphrodisiac, but pigeons are perhaps the most sexually-depraved of any bird.

Seville, Spain

The powerful pipes of Antonio Mairena, a famous flamenco singer from southern Spain, couldn’t scare off this domestic pigeon, nor could his smooth, bald head prevent the pigeons feet from grabbing hold. Somewhere deep inside the psyche of pigeon must lay at least some appreciation for this art form native to Seville: of all the white wash streaming down the side of Antonio’s head, almost none made it inside his capacious mouth. Classy.

Rome, Italy

Recent studies suggest that pigeons don’t believe in the afterlife, which probably explains this birds lackadaisical gaze towards an angel on the Sant’Angelo Bridge in the heart of Rome. Neither the freakishly large wings of this angel nor the fact that it was armed with a lance dissuaded this bird – nor the House Sparrow on the top her head – from roosting.

Venice, Italy

Pigeons are notorious for having exceptionally low literacy rates amongst birds. Certainly this individual didn’t even know it’d taken residence on the head of Niccolo Tommaseo, a “Dalmatian linguist” and writer from Italy. I believe this means he wrote about the tongues of spotted dogs, which seems like an awfully esoteric topic. That didn’t matter to this pigeon; it was just thankful that Niccolo wrote about enough canine tongues to warrant a tall and intricately carved perch.

Resources

January 9, 2013May 13, 2023

Paris by Night: Cathedrale Notre Dame

What do you think of when I say “Notre Dame.”

OK, now stop chanting “Rudy” and imagine that I said it in a more dignified air: “NOOOH-truh DAAAAAAHM.”

Yup, that one.

After several months in PEH-reee, Kristi and I had walked past this stone postcard model numerous times, pausing briefly to take snapshots. This church—arguably the most iconic in Europe—was worth more. One October afternoon, I dusted off my tripod and descended into the tourist hive to take some shots at sunset.

As one might expect, this building is really, really old. The first stone was laid in 1146 under the direction of Maurice de Sully, Bishop of Paris, on a site that had hosted various religious buildings for a millennia. Amazingly, many of those who built the church did so without payment (and probably working more than 35 hours a week) nor the hope they’d ever live to see it completed. Or that their children would; or their children’s children. Notre Dame was completed eight generations later in the 13th century.

It is widely considered to be one of the best examples of the French Gothic style of architecture. The flying buttresses—arches that follow the roofline out to large external pillars—distributed the weight of the roof out away from the building. This architectural innovation allowed for taller, thinner walls and deflected the overwhelming pressure away from the stained glass windows (thereby sparing churchgoers from the resulting technicolor shrapnel).

By the mid-19th century, it had fallen victim to centuries of neglect and was slated for demolition. It was ultimately saved by a spinally-impaired occupant penned by Victor Hugo who reinvigorated interest in both the church and medieval architecture.

Homes and other urban clutter in front of the church were cleared in the late 19th century to create Place du Parvis Notre Dame. Aside from improved sight lines to the church facade, this square affords visitors an opportunity to stand at Kilometre Zero, the point from which all distances to Paris are measured throughout the country.

The first two photographs are from Pont de l’Archevêché to the east, showing what a 90° turn of a polarized filter can do for the clouds in the sky. The sunset shots are from across the river, further east over Pont Saint-Louis. The night shots are from Place du Parvis Notre Dame on the west side of the church.

Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 / 0.5 sec / ISO 100 / no polarized filter) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 – 0.5 sec – ISO 100 – no polarized filter) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 / 1.0 sec / ISO 100 / polarized filter) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 – 1.0 sec – ISO 100 – polarized filter) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f11 - 1/6 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f11 – 1/6 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 - 1/3 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f25 – 1/3 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f16 - 15 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f16 – 15 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f16 - 10 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Pont de la Tournelle (f16 – 10 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f16 - 30 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f16 – 30 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f20 - 20 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f20 – 20 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f18 - 30 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f18 – 30 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

Cathedral Notre Dame (f18 - 15 sec - ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley — Cathedral Notre Dame (f18 – 15 sec – ISO 100) — © Adam Sedgley

December 28, 2012May 13, 2023

Paris by Night: Place de la Concorde

Located in the 8th arrondissement to the north of the Seine, Place de la Concorde is one of the most famous public squares in Paris. Built in 1755 as Place de Louis XV, it was later incorporated by Georges-Eugene Haussmann in the late 19th century as a pivot in a grand avenue that connects Arc d’Triomphe and Champs d’Élysées to the west and Tuileries Garden and The Louvre to the east.

After the French Revolution in 1789, the statue of Louis XV (where the obelisk currently stands) was replaced with a guillotine and many notable members in French history—including Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette—were relieved of their heads. The execution device was finally removed in 1795, perhaps driven by the unbearable stench and an overly dull blade—over 1,300 people were beheaded in a single month during the peak of activity the prior year.

The 3,300-year-old Egyptian obelisk standing in the center once graced the entrance to the Luxor temple. It was one of two gifted to France by Egypt in the mid 19th century; the other proved too difficult to move and remained in Egypt.

After photographing the Eiffel Tower from the nearby banks of the Seine, I set up my tripod to capture this ancient obelisk with the temporary ferris wheel as a backdrop. The moon was a nice, gleaming white cherry on top.

Place de la Concorde (f25 / 6 sec / ISO 160) -- © Adam Sedgley — Place de la Concorde (f25 / 6 sec / ISO 160) — © Adam Sedgley

Place de la Concorde (f25 / 10 sec / ISO 160) -- © Adam Sedgley — Place de la Concorde (f25 / 10 sec / ISO 160) — © Adam Sedgley

Resources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Place_de_la_Concorde