Shambling Chase

I’m afraid I’ve been rather bothering the birdlife, lately: yesterday, I hissed at a hungry sparrow; today, I chased a hummingbird from tree to tree — though, chased, in this case, might be too generous a term. Chasing implies some degree of speed, while this pursuit took place in gastropodean fashion.

I first spotted the wee git where Bucketwheel gives way to Leg In Boot Square. It was high in a tree, mostly obscured by branches, preening itself. Taking its photo proved impossible, from my angle, so I decided to get under the tree. I didn’t want to frighten the bird, so I crept up like molasses, inch by inch, till I was almost (but not quite, for obvious reasons) directly beneath it. I found a gap in the branches, poked my lens through, focused, and —

— whirr.

Of course. Off like a shot, to the next tree. But that was fine. I was going that way, anyway. I shuffled along gamely in its wake, peering at it through my lens all the while. Again, I snuck up; again, I found my vantage point: ready! Aim!

— whirr.

Bloody hell. This time, it fluttered a bit farther, all the way to Moberly Road, where it hid in some bushy coniferous thing, like a Christmas tree, only giant. I could just see its shiny crown, hoving in and out of view as its branch rose and fell with the wind. Still, I’d come this far: I had to at least try for a shot. In I slunk, closer and closer, circling, peeking through my lens, hoping for a gap in the needles. I’d just found a patch where I had half the bird in the picture, when —

–whirr.

Augh!

It rocketed into the sky, then, far out of reach of my lens, into one of the largest trees on the street. Well-played, hummingbird; well-played — but I wasn’t defeated, quite yet. The tree it had chosen was across the street from my building. My fifth-floor breezeway was at a level with the bird, though too far away for a clear shot. Here’s what I got:

Come out, hummingbird!

Get out from behind those branches!

Flap harder!

Flap harder…ya nasty wee featherbag!

Look over here!

Sorry I called you a nasty wee featherbag. Nice bird. Good bird. C’mon…look over here!

I think that’s an Anna’s hummingbird, but at such a distance, it’s hard to be sure. It’s got an awfully short tail. Maybe a calliope hummingbird? But I think those are striped, at the throat. And Anna’s hummingbirds are much more common, here. But I can’t check it off my list, on such a shaky determination. (If anyone can say for sure, based on these third-rate shots, please speak up!)

Silly thing couldn’t have held still when I was right under its tree! I swear, birds have some sort of…malevolent photo-prescience: they know exactly when you’re going to snap the shutter on them, and that’s when they fly off, or scratch their nethers with their beaks, or do a stupid bird dance. It’s like a game, with them.

I did pick up one interesting tidbit: my neighbour across the road has a hummingbird feeder, cleverly concealed amongst his plants. He’s totally bogarting the hummers! I’ve only ever had one visit me, and I had plenty of flowers, till the gulls squashed them down. Maybe I’ll get a sugar feeder, too. My current feeder is attracting entirely the wrong sort of bird.

Pssh-pssh-pssh-EEEAAAAAGGGHHHH!

Two things that happened to me before breakfast, today:

1) I put on my coat, and a spider fell out of the sleeve;
2) I got attacked by a renegade song sparrow.

Thing the first: well, there’s not much more to that. Coat; spider; thirty-second chase — aw, rats; spider’s attained the brown living-room carpet, and is now invisible — no, wait; there it is — squash; no more spider. It’s funny, though. Just a day or two ago, I was thinking it’d been a while since a spider had come in, and poof…spider. Hmm. It’s been a while since anybody’s given me a really expensive present, like a 500mm Nikon-compatible lens, or a piece of real estate. Eh? No? Ah, well.

Thing the second: I feel a bit silly, here — try not to laugh too hard — but I read on the Internet that a sneaky hissing noise, like pssh-pssh-pssh-pssh-pssh-pssh, is catnip to birds, and will draw them in from far and wide, to investigate. This noise is supposed to be especially attractive to small passerines. I like small passerines. I hear small passerines. I know they’re out there, hiding in the bushes. Why not give it a go?

About ten minutes into my balcony hiss-a-thon, this showed up —

Seriously?  Are you kidding me?

Seriously? Are you kidding me?

Really? That’s what I get? I can’t even credit my hissing: that sparrow’s a daily visitor. I know it’s the same one by its feet (note the odd-coloured claws). Also, when it looked up from its feed and noticed me hissing at it, it seemed more annoyed than intrigued. It did a wee spring forward, and issued a warning squeak. Quite aggressive, for such a small bird. I tried again, in case, y’know, it hadn’t heard me right, and the wee bugger CHARGED me! I swear, if I hadn’t shut the door, it might’ve entered my living room. (The horror!) It stood on the railing and stared, for a while, before returning to its meal.

So. I’ve been chastised by a sparrow, and my neighbours probably think I’m some sort of…hissing maniac. Nice morning’s birding, what?

(Anyone else tried this hissing technique? Could it be that I’m doing it wrong? Do my teeth whistle too much? Am I supposed to wet my lips first? Do I hiss fast, like pshpshpshpshpshpshpsh, or at a more relaxed rate, like pssssssssh … pssssssssssssssssh … pssssssssssssssssssssssh? Aw, soddit; damn birds — too clever by half!)