Archive for December, 2010
The Whistling Rats of Rooiputs
December 29th, 2010 | 
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Posted in In 1284, so the story goes, the town of Hamelin in Germany suffered a plague of rats. A little man dressed in a motley pied costume arrived in town and offered to rid Hamelin of its problem, for a fee, to which the townsfolk agreed. The Pied Piper (as he has become known during the intervening centuries) whipped out his pipe and began playing a jolly tune as he wandered through the streets of the town. Miraculously, the rats began to follow him, enchanted by the music, but the wicked little man betrayed their murine trust and led them into the waters of the Weser River, where they all drowned. So sad.
But, the story doesn’t end there, because the townsfolk then reneged on their promise and refused to pay the Piper. Not happy with this change to the agreed script, the Pied Piper waited until all the adults of the town were in church (apparently children didn’t go to church in Hamelin!) and then he began to play his pipe again as he walked through the streets. This time it was the children who followed him, and they were led into a cave outside the town, never to be seen again. Well, according to some accounts three of the children survived; one was lame and couldn’t keep up, one was blind and couldn’t follow the group and one was deaf and thus singularly unimpressed by the music. Thus we have witnesses to this account.
But that isn’t the end of the story either, although that is probably the part that you are familiar with. After all, that explains what happened to the rats and the children, but what became of the Pied Piper? Well, one theory (published here for the very first time!) is that he was exceedingly disenchanted with the people of Hamelin, and in fact with humanity in general, and so he immigrated to the isolation of southern Africa. To Rooiputs in the Kgalagadi, actually, although it probably wasn’t called Rooiputs in 1284. Probably called Little Hamelin or New Hamelin or Piedpiperville.
No sooner had he settled down in this isolated part of the world, than the Pied Piper noticed that he was not alone! Several little grey heads appeared from well concealed burrows and several pairs of beady eyes watched his every move. Rats! He smiled. Rats he was familiar with. He whipped out his pipe and began to play. History doesn’t record the name of the tune that he played, but we like to think that it was the “Colonel Bogey March”, later (much later) to be used as the theme tune in the movie “Bridge on the River Kwai”. A jovial, catchy tune that soon had the rats out of their burrows and dancing along beside the Piper.
“Wait a minute!” thought the Piper, “the German rats marched behind me in orderly fashion. Left, right; left, right. Proper goose-step. Left, right; left, right. These miserable rats are dancing! Don’t they understand discipline here in Africa?” He stopped playing for a moment, indignant at their behaviour and intending to reprimand them in no uncertain manner, but the rats would have none of that and insisted that he play on. This was the most fun they’d had since Bushy passed by with his one string guitar in the winter of 1167. Short on repertoire, the Piper played the “Colonel Bogey March” again, but the rats had his measure now and began whistling along as he played. (Whistling? Could this have been the inspiration for the whistling soldiers that were featured in “Bridge on the River Kwai”?)
Now please take note – this was a momentous occasion. This marked one of the great, unsung evolutionary leaps that has gone unrecorded in most textbooks. The rats had never whistled before! They didn’t know that they had it in them, but “Colonel Bogey” they could not resist. They stared at each other in delighted amazement at this unexpected development, and enthusiastically increased the volume of their whistling, almost drowning out the piping of the man in the pied outfit.
The Pied Piper marched through the Kgalagadi, surrounded by his growing troupe of dancing rats, all whistling in tune as he played. He was intent on getting rid of the rodents as he had in Hamelin, in spite of their undoubted musical talent, but, alas, this was not Europe. The rivers of the Kgalagadi are dry for much of the year and the Pied Piper was unable to find any water to drown them. Instead it was he who eventually succumbed to exhaustion, slumped to the ground and melted in the heat. All to the refrain of the whistled version of “Colonel Bogey”.
The rats, on the other hand, flourished.
If you visit the semi desert of the Kalahari and sit quietly in the low scrub at sunset you will hear the wonderful whistling of the descendants of these Pied Piper-inspired Whistling Rats. You may not hear the “Colonel Bogey March”, but, then again, you might. Who knows? A close friend swears he heard them whistle “Nine Million Bicycles in Beijing”.
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Bird of the week – Week 51: Yellow-billed kite
During July and early August a large brown bird appears in the skies over southern Africa, preferring the wetter parts of the region and avoiding only the dry Kalahari and Namib Deserts. Visiting southern Africa for the summer breeding season from its winter haunts further north, in equatorial Africa, this is the magnificent Yellow-billed kite.
A fairly large bird, about 55 cm in length and with a wingspan approaching one and a half metres, the Yellow-billed kite is an impressive specimen. Its plumage is brown overall, and, as its name implies, it has a distinctive yellow bill, which, together with its slightly forked tail, is diagnostic. The unfeathered legs and the feet are yellow and the eyes are brown. When in flight the bird is fascinating to watch as it used its tail as a very active rudder to guide its buoyant flight, suspended on long wings that are angled backwards and the yellow bill and legs quite visible. The sexes are alike in plumage, but the females are slightly larger than the males.
The Yellow-billed kite is found singly or in pairs while breeding but is otherwise quite gregarious and we have seen quite large flocks gathering at termite emergences in northern Namibia, most of the birds on the ground and some flying in tight patterns to gather the few termites that managed to take to flight. The kites are also often seen in the quieter roadways, where they feed on the unfortunate animals that fall victim to the occasional passing cars and trucks. More naturally, the kites feed on insects, small mammals and just about any animal material that they can find.
Yellow-billed kites are not noisy birds and are usually silent, uttering a “quill-err” most commonly during the breeding season.
The kites are monogamous and during the breeding season they build a bowl-shaped nest of sticks in the canopy of a suitable tree, lining it with dung, wool and any other bits of soft material that can be found. The nests are usually well concealed in the thick foliage. The female lays a clutch of two or three white eggs that are marked with brown, and that hatch after an incubation period of about 35 days.
The scientific binomial for the Yellow-billed kite is Milvus aegyptius; Milvus from the Latin for a kite and aegyptius from the Latin for “of Egypt”. Thus a kite from Egypt, which is accurate enough, although somewhat limiting for a bird that is found throughout Africa.
Two porcupines and a bottle of red wine
I often wonder if folks who look at photographs of animals and birds have any concept of the patience and endurance required by photographers to get their amazing shots. Until Rob and I started photographing birds and animals we totally under-estimated the difficulties involved in getting most creatures to sit still for a second, never mind a few minutes while we get our cameras poised and in focus. We know that birds have an area around their bodies that is their ‘danger or comfort’ zone and if we enter that zone they are off, but animals also seem to have a sixth sense about us wanting to take their photos in the first place and then they make themselves scarce!
It took three years for Rob to get a decent photo of a Bateleur
One thing is for sure, the animal or bird that you are desperately wanting to photograph, will put in an appearance when you are least expecting it and when you are least prepared for it! The irony is often that people who aren’t keen to see any particular animals or birds, get first class sightings without any effort whatsoever. I heard a classic story related by a tour guide whilst I was queuing up to enter Kruger National Park. He said that he had been a guide for 27 years and had always wanted to see an elusive pangolin, when one unexpectedly put in an appearance one afternoon while he was doing a tour. As these are nocturnal animals and quite rare, he was over the moon – while the tourists wondered what all the fuss was about. We will feel like he did when we eventually (if we ever) get a photo of an aardvark or a pangolin.
A rare animal is very gratifying to photograph
Sometimes the best laid plans for a photo shoot can go horribly awry, although they do have their upside as well. Take for example our recent quest to photograph a pair of porcupines that make nightly forays to the bottom of a friend’s garden for a meal of left-over veges, pumpkin or watermelon. We bought an enormous, thick-skinned blue pumpkin to lure them in for a photo-shoot and Trish, our hostess, went to great pains to peg the pumpkin down so that they didn’t carry it off into the night. She also set up an infra-red and other lights for us and so all we had to do was set up our cameras and wait patiently for the porcupines to put in an appearance.
This fellow was coming in for a meal at Erongo Wilderness Lodge
Fortunately I had the foresight to take along a good bottle of cabinet sauvignon wine to help while away the hours and we settled in for our long wait. Trish is a good conversationalist and we soon learnt of her incredible life in Madagascar and elsewhere in Africa. (That’s one of the amazing things about the people you meet in Namibia – they have mostly lead such interesting lives and are widely traveled).
Needless to say, the wine glasses emptied, we mellowed and the porcupines decided to stay away. At an embarrassingly late hour we took our leave of Trish, went home and settled in to bed, only to receive an sms to say that our guests had finally arrived for their meal. Damn!!!! The next day Trish sent us photos of two enormous porcupines dining happily on their blue pumpkin. (Unfortunately I can’t use these pictures as our policy is only to use our own photographs on this website.) Disappointing though it was, we will be doubly pleased when we do eventually get the photos that we’re after – and who knows, perhaps it will take a few more bottles of that delicious red wine and good company before that happens.
So next time you see a brilliant animal or bird photograph think about that poor photographer’s liver! (Hic!)
Rob and I would like to wish all our readers a very blessed and merry Christmas.
Bird of the week – Week 50: African sacred ibis
One of the important gods in the pantheon of Ancient Egypt was Thoth, often depicted as having the head of a Sacred ibis (he is sometimes depicted as having the head of a baboon, but the connection between the ibis and the baboon escapes me). The Sacred ibis was generally venerated during that period of history in Egypt and was sometimes mummified and entombed as a symbol of the god Thoth. It was also believed that the sacrifice of one of these birds could bring to an end a pestilence of flies.
The African sacred ibis is found throughout Africa south of the Sahara and is a common resident of most parts of southern Africa with the exception of the very dry Kalahari and Namib deserts. It is a large bird, with a length of around 88 cm, and is predominantly white, with a black head and neck and an untidy patch of black feathers on its lower back. Its head and neck are bare of feathers and coloured black. When in flight it shows a black trailing edge to its otherwise white flight feathers and has a line of bare red skin under its wings. The long decurved bill is black as are the legs and feet and the eyes are brown. The sexes are alike in plumage, but the males are slightly larger than the females.
The African sacred ibis has proved to be very adaptable in terms of its habitat and its food, and as a result is very common and widespread. It is found at most inland waters as well as coastal lagoons, and has adapted well to the presence of man, often being found at sewage works and rubbish dumps, cultivated lands and playing fields. It feeds on small mammals, eggs and nestling birds, frogs, fish, offal and scraps of discarded food found amongst human refuse. In its more “natural” habitat on the coastal mudflats it is a delight to watch as it walks forward slowly and deliberately, probing into the mud and taking live prey.
Although very gregarious and often to be found in large flocks, the African sacred ibis is a relatively quiet bird, reserving its croaks and squeals for when it is nesting. Although it is monogamous, it is a colonial nester and large numbers of birds may nest in the same vicinity, building nests of sticks, usually in a tree but sometimes on the ground, and lining them with leaves and grass. It often nests in the same area as other wading birds such as herons. The female lays a clutch of two or three dull white eggs that hatch after an incubation period of approximately 28 days.
The scientific binomial of the African sacred ibis is Threskiornis aethiopicus; Threskiornis from the Greek words for “a religious bird” and aethiopicus from the Latin for “from Ethiopia”. Thus we have a religious (or sacred) bird from Ethiopia, which was probably a pretty accurate description a few thousand years ago.
The Blue Wildebeest (Connochaetes taurinus)
Last week Namibia had a public holiday, so Rob and I decided to visit the Daan Viljoen Resort which is about 30 kms from Windhoek. We were gratified to see how green everything was after the recent rains in the area and the little dam in the nature reserve had enough water to attract a large herd of Eland and a few Blue Wildebeest. One is always assured of seeing Blue Wildebeest at the reserves in Namibia as they favour open bushveld with short grass.
The Blue Wildebeest (also known as a Brindled Gnu) differs from the Black Wildebeest in both distribution and appearance. The Black Wildebeest is only found in a small area in South Africa and is easily distinguishable by its white tail (giving it the alternative name of White-tailed Gnu). The Blues can be blue-grey or grey-brown in colour and they have magnificent manes, throat hairs and beards.
They have vertical bands of dark brown hair on their bodies, which makes them look wrinkled.
We saw a couple of Blue Wildebeest with young ones. Their breeding season is between November and February and they usually only have one calf, born after a gestation period of about eight and a half months.
The babies can stand up within seven minutes of being born and are able to move with the herd within hours. They need to be able to do this to protect themselves from predators. The little ones are much lighter in colour than their parents, turning darker about nine weeks after birth.
The males are quite territorial, marking out their boundaries with heaps of dung, secretions from glands and by pawing the ground. They show their aggression by snorting loudly. Blue Wildebeest have to be on the look out for lions, cheetah, hyenas and wild dogs.
On hot days in game reserves it is typical to see groups of Wildebeest lying lazily under shady trees as they prefer to graze when the temperature drops and who can blame them for that! They tend to move seasonally in search of better grazing, as can be seen with the huge migrational herds of the Serengeti.
