Birds of Beidaihe
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY IN BEIDAIHE:
JUANLI DOING IT FOR ART
As documented in other articles, Juanli and I bought an apartment in Beidaihe in November 2004, and after the winter in Canada and the USA, moved back in March 2005 and spent until late October doing nothing but photographing the birds there.
Beidaihe is a small coastal town on the Gulf of Bohai, part of the Yellow Sea and has for decades been known for its spectacular bird migration. Despite extensive development, it still has the ability to pull in some fantastic birds.
Below, I have reproduced three articles I wrote while we were living there, as they more accurately reflect my state of mind at the time, rather than trying to recapture that now, some 4 years later. We will be returning to our apartment in late April, and no doubt, some new stories will be written, but for now, this is it…..
Dreams of Brie and Sancerre : 20th May 2005
I am walking to somewhere I have never been, but it all seems so familiar; a rural two-lane road retreats behind me, the parallel lines of Willow trees, with their bottom third painted white, converging on the horizon. From a nearby plantation, the fluting call of an Oriole drags me twenty years and seven thousand miles across the World to dusty summer evenings in southern Europe, listening to the song of its European cousins. A dog barks in the distance, greeting the dawn, as the sun flows over the flat farmland with exuberant anticipation of another fine day.
As I walk along the furrows of a freshly seeded crop field, I take in my surroundings as the strengthening rays reveal them. On the road I left a few minutes ago, a few bicycles, pedaled by poorly dressed farmers, make slow progress through the thick air. I am the only soul on this path, making my way towards a small wood in the distance. The copse is an oasis in the arable land, there are others, some near, some further off, but they have the hand of man on them, fine straight rows of Poplars, or some other vertically true species. My target wood is natural, irregular, chaotic, haphazard even, silhouetted against the lightening sky.
Instinctively, rather than diving into the nearest trees, from where the sibilant songs of Dusky Warblers drift towards me, I make my way East, to get into the wood with the sun at my back. Too many times in the past I’ve seen a good opportunity turn to frustration because of bad light. Two Pallas’s Grasshopper Warblers flush from the wet grass at my feet, followed by a Lanceolated Warbler. No point in getting the camera out yet, these birds skulk in the weeds and rarely show themselves. The alarm calls of a Redshank alert me to my first photograph of the day. Three summer plumage birds are feeding furtively in a flooded field. I crouch low behind a dusty mound and go through the mechanical routine of assembling my gear, and within a few minutes I’m creeping closer and capturing some nice portraits of these attractive shorebirds.
COMMON REDSHANK IN GOLDEN LIGHT
The golden light of dawn is a magical time for taking photographs, there is a tenderness about the tones that makes almost any subject look its best. The water is undisturbed by the calm air, the birds dancing with their mirror images on the still surface, which is also looking its best, colored by the backdrop of trees and reeds. I leave the openness of the pools for the claustrophobia of the wood, the trees thicker than they had appeared, and as I struggle to manhandle my tripod and heavy gear through snags and overhanging boughs, I begin to sweat. Birds flit before me as I make slow and clumsy progress, the tight surroundings making shooting impossible. There is a tension in the air and I get quite frustrated. Suddenly I come into a more open area, and find myself amongst burial mounds, nothing more than dry piles of dirt, unadorned by gravestone or other recognition of the soul passed. There are young trees sprouting from some though.
I wander around the strange graveyard for perhaps an hour, time slipping away, birdsong coming at me from every direction. As the sun rises higher, the dappled light scatters amongst the trees like Dragonflies dancing over leaf-litter, I slip into a dream again, where I am in the South of France; warm compost amongst my toes, a warm baguette filled with ripe, soft cheese, a glass of chilled Sancerre in my hand, soaking up the last rays of a Mediterranean sunset. The Oriole sings again from a tall tree, re-enhancing the imagery, and then I stumble into a tomb again and crushingly return to North East China.
ASIATIC DOWITCHER – A VERY RARE SHOREBIRD INDEED
I can’t wait to get out of there, and I head for the light. I come out beside another pool, with a dilapidated shack without a roof beside it. Surprisingly it¡¯s deserted. A multitude of frogs call from the reeds and ditches, unseen, yet ubiquitous. The half-mile between the road and me is a labyrinth of ditches and dikes, raised earth banks above the dark irrigation water. I head along one for a couple of hundred yards and find a 6-foot gap in the path, I consider jumping, but am fearful of dropping my gear, so I backtrack and take a parallel alternative. Black-browed Reed Warblers flush before me, again, avoiding my lens with short, provoking flights.
I spend another hour wandering through the paddy fields and fishponds, a Common Kingfisher zips past and lands on a reed stem, it’s azure back and orange tummy pumped in the over-saturated air. A European Cuckoo calls, cu-ckoo, cu-ckoo and bang, I’m back in the West, a young boy again, the smell of summer dust and cut grass making me reel. This time I’m dragged back by my mobile vibrating in my pocket, a text message from my wife who is lying beside a muddy estuary 4 Kms away photographing Plovers. The morning taxi having flushed her birds again!
EURASIAN CUCKOO IN DISPLAY FLIGHT
I decide to walk and pack my gear.
There is a dusty two-lane rural road retreating behind me, but also before me. The converging Willows sigh as the morning convection wind builds, sweat gathers in my bandana and in the small of my back. I plod the concrete in my wet boots, trousers rolled up to my knees, eating track a yard at a time. Cars, trucks, buses, motorbikes all blow their horns as they pass, just in case I decide to jump in front of one. Unintelligible shouts come from some, a foreigner carrying a huge pack in a red bandana and rolled up combat pants is worth a shout!!
Men sit beside the fishponds smoking, one drinking a bottle of beer, prompting me to look at my watch; 8:15am, I’ve been out here 4 hours. A women works the fields, dragging a plough by hand through the parched earth, it looks seriously hard work. I put my head down and eat some more miles.
RED-RUMPED SWALLOW
I pass the point where I left the road earlier, casting a look across the flat fields, no longer glowing with golden light, just dusty and dry. The tombs can be glimpsed like specters amongst the trees. I walk past somewhere I have already been, but it is less familiar, the morning having been spent in a dream of Brie and Sancerre.
Another Day In Beidaihe: 18th September 2005
There is a certain rhythm to our lives; Juanli and I get up before dawn, check to hear for birds migrating over the house, then at the cloud situation to assess the shooting conditions. A quick coffee and onto the mountain bikes for the 4km cycle to the sand flats, our favorite location.
The morning of September the 18th was unremarkable, a few Hoopoe coming in off the sea, harassed by migrating Hobbies. Plenty of Barn and Red-rumped Swallows hawking over the reed beds, but generally quiet, so we packed up as the heat began to build and cycled back to the house.
About 2:30pm we set off again for the sand flats, as growing cloud threatened to abort our late afternoon visit, we wanted to grab an hour while we could. A quiet start again and the boredom factor began to kick in, then 5 Relict Gulls came in from the North. I dropped my Gitzo and Wimberley to the ground and crawled through the surf and managed to get within 8m of the birds as they roosted unperturbed by my presence.
I was thrilled, lying in the surf, so close to 5 Relict Gulls, a very rare bird indeed and still very poorly known.
RELICT GULL
A feeding frenzy kicked in just offshore, as 1st Winter Black-tailed Gulls joined the ubiquitous Black-headed Gulls.
A group of Black-bellied Plovers, Bar-tailed Godwits and Great Knot flew in and I was ideally positioned to grab some portraits of them, before passing fisherman flushed the whole lot.
The light deteriorated and we began the uphill cycle home, chatting brightly as we rode side-by-side. My mobile beeped and a one-word text sent me flying back to the sand flats: FRANKLIN’S
A friend of mine is leading a bird tour and they had found this adult Franklin’s Gull shortly after we had left. This is only the second record for China, the first being seen only last year just down the coast, almost certainly the same bird.
FRANKLIN’S GULL – THE 2ND FOR CHINA
After a quick look through a scope, I managed to get in close enough for some record shots with a 500/4 +2x on Juanli’s 1D2, as my 1Ds would never have coped with the low light.
A day to remember for sure, but for us, not really any better than every day we live here; out in the fresh air, photographing China’s birds.
Racing the Sun: 22nd September 2005
Every bump on the rough road jars my back as the heavy bag rearranges itself between my shoulders. Speed is the key, keep the legs pumping, breathe in through my nose and out though my mouth. I overtake fellow cyclists; old men with ubiquitous cigarettes, burdened by agricultural implements, children, three abreast, taking up most of the road and woman pushing carts full of cut wood. Four tractors cough past, emitting black smoke and diesel engine roars with equal quantity and enthusiasm, forcing me to hold my breath for 20 seconds until the air clears. The fields are shrouded in mist, testimony to another cold night, the fires of the local duck farmers and onset of autumn.
The sun hangs on the horizon, rising with unrelenting determination into the milky sky, my legs responding to match its effort, only another two kilometers to the river, where the breathless air will press the water surface down as smooth as silk.
I drift into therapeutic pre-emptive thoughts; finding the ideal spot to sit to maximize the golden glow of dawn on the water, do without the 1.4x to maximize sharpness in the pale light, predict the dive, think like an Egret, when is it going to strike?
LITTLE EGRET
I negotiate the one junction with typical paranoid caution, since the accident I am concerned about getting hit by reckless Chinese drivers, insane in their disregard for rules, sides of the road, speed and basic rights. (see note below)
And then I’m there, unpacking my gear; un-strapping the Gitzo and Wimberley head from the cross-bar of my mountain bike, and splash my way through the noisome mud to a dry spot at the mouth of the Heng Ho River.
A Great Egret dances through the shallow mercury, sending up a myriad of little steel ball bearings. Periodically and subconsciously my fingers flick the dials of my camera, stopping down here, dialing in a little more exposure compensation there. A harsh call drags me away from the leggy fun to a Black-headed Gull plunging into the water, almost disappearing under the weight of its own enthusiasm for breakfast.
LITTLE EGRET
Two hours pass in dreamy isolation, oblivious to fisherman digging for shellfish close-bye, until hunger at last knots my stomach and I too set off back in search of breakfast.
The sun has risen; warmth floods the fields of Eastern China, the layers that earlier were added to combat the cold, are shed to alleviate the heat. On the way back I speed through rice paddies, eager to get back and have a cold drink, on the way out this morning I sped along a different road to catch the golden light of another dawn. A day of racing the sun.
NOTE:
At the end of June I was out for a cycle on my road-bike and as I headed down a hill doing around 50km/h a mototcycle pulled out in front of me without looking. I had nowhere to go and hit him hard. Luckily Juanli was a few minutes behind and called an ambulance. I now wear a helmet!!!
