nature

An ode to the Fire salamander /  by Arne Bischoff

Fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra).

I stumbled over one of the little Fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra) fellows this very morning when I was doing my woodpecker monitoring round. And boy, do I love them! It’s a sad kind of love though. When I moved into the area, nearly 20 years ago, they were ubiquitous in the local Harz mountains. Climate change with less precipitation and more heat and especially the Batrachochytrium salamandrivorans (Salamanderpest) fungus decimated the beautiful salamander heavily. The chytrid fungus has only been described scientifically in 2013. In the past ten years, the fungus has killed 98 percent of the population in the federal state of Niedersachsen (Lower Saxony), This brings the little guy to the brik of extinction within only ten years.

It’s our shoes and our dogs who trasmit the disease. So please desinfect your shoes regularly and keep your dogs leashed when in Salamander area.

Pheasant tales: Beautiful bird, sad bird /  by Arne Bischoff

When it comes to splendour and grand air, not a lot of European birds rival the Common Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus). But this is where the sad part starts. Because it is actually not even European.

Jagdfasan. The pheasant which lives to be hunted.

The Common Pheasant is native to East Asia. During the medieval period it has been introduced to European courts and royalty. With the beginning of the 19th Century humans began to breed and raise Pheasants to be released into the wild only for hunting purposes. This sad practice continues to this day and is reflected in the Common Pheasants German name “Jagdfasan”, which literally translates to “The pheasant for hunt”. The population is not self-sufficient, so every year a new breed of the colorful Gallinaceous birds is released to “freedom” to be shot. The birds that escape the shooting will sooner or later die of cold or predation.

Colourful beauty

Whenever I see a Pheasant, I feel both: Joy and sadness. Joy, because it’s such a gloriously beautiful creature. And sadness, because it only lives to be shot.

Lovely local Tawny Owls /  by Arne Bischoff

So much fluff!

After a one year break, my well known urban Tawny owls came back to the local park nearby to bread. You recognise the female owl by its distinct reddish hue. In 2021 it bred downtown, 2022 it evaded an Eagle owl, and 2023 it came back.

The early owl

I was more than a little surprised when I heard the little owlets begging as early as the first week of April. The next few days revealed three branchlings - one distinctly smaller - who all seem to have made it through the dangerous first days and weeks before they finally learned to fly and I lost track of it.

Spring love

I visited the owls nearly every day for a period of nearly two weeks. By day, they and their watchful parents preferred to hide within the dense branches of a Thuja. After dusk they roamed a considerably larger area, sitting every night in different branches of the surrounding trees, begging. With the owls, the park vegetation grew and grew, too. A lovely spring!

Seems sleepy, but always keeps an eye open. A parent owl.

Early blossomers: Liverleaf, wood anemone and snowdrop /  by Arne Bischoff

Right now, while I am writing these lines, the first liverleafs stretch their heads through the ground. Time for me to revisit two wonderful days in spring 2022 with lots of liverleaf (Anemone hepatica), wood anemone (Anemonoides nemorosa and Anemonoides ranunculoides) and snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis).

I am not a botanist, unfortunately. I had a flower lover with me, and without her, I would not have taken these images. This makes me very thankful. I myself overlook the wonder and beauty of plants way too easily, as I have very little knowledge about those beauties.

That’s why there is not much of a story that I can tell here. I leave it to you to behold and wonder and make your own story of it.

PS Oh and of course, I met some animals, too.

The real meaning of 1st. /  by Arne Bischoff

A Bohemian waxwing taking off with its favorite food.

Seeing a bird for the first time is a special and thrilling feat for most birdwatchers and -enthusiasts. Back in January I had this very pleasure. Bohemian waxwings came in quite some numbers to Northern Germany. This isn’t too unusual and happens every few years. But since I am still a newbie in terms of birdwatching, I did not yet experience this occasion.

From the very beginning of my birding-thing, I was fascinated with some species in particular. First of all, there is my much beloved Raven - all kinds of Corvidae in fact. And I really have a fancy for the wonderful Spotted nutcrackers, Sanderlings and Common Ringed Plovers. Less originally though, I have always been fond of some of the the more colorful species since I acquired the great “Kosmos Vogelführer” - such as the Atlantic puffin, the Great kingfisher, the Bluethroat and of course the Bohemian Waxwing. Scandinavia-lover who I am, those Waxwings had a head start into my heart and the fact that one of my most appreciated wildlife photographers, Markus Varesvuo from Finland, often shared waxwing images helped with my fascination.

“When word spread that Waxwings were here, I became a little thrilled.”

I had to wait until this year to see it. When word spread with the local ornithologists that Waxwings were here, I became a little thrilled. I went out with my trusted binoculars, but without success on the first outing. Since they usually feast on Mistletoes, Rowan-berries and Common snowball I kept my good mood and was sincere to find it. One day later a large flock has been reported at a local camping site - easily accessible via car. What happened next was an unpleasant surprise. Loads of birdlovers and -photographers swarmed the place. All well equipped with hiking boots and trousers and heavy packs and what not - right within the city. More annoyingly they behaved as if this was there place, coursing the campers for scaring off the birds, getting in the way of everyone, noising and being way too full of themselves.

What was missing was the waxwings - smart little birds they are. I decided that this was not my place and went for a long stroll around a nearby lake, breathed deeply and forgot all the annoyance, came back - all those Waxwing-hunters had been gone, sat down and waited for ten minutes or so and was rewarded with a flock of 37 birds: noising and brawling and enjoying the Snowball berries. The light was wonderfully subdued. Short: I couldn’t have been more lucky.

“It’s not about ticking some species off of a list.”

The rest is history they say. One happy photographer with a shitload of images to process. Forgotten my irritation about those noisy birdloving photographers I met before. The magic of the moment took over. So I put aside the camera, grabbed my binoculars and watched and listened. Isn’t this what it’s all about? It’s not about ticking some species off of a list. It’s not about hunting for an image as inquisitive passerby oft ask. It’s about experiencing the moment, learning about the ways and behaviour of wild animals that are not subject to man. This is the real meaning of a first. The moment that you will only experience once. This excitement, this joy.