November 22nd Slightly Murmurated

We’ve had the privilege of seeing a few of Nature’s great performances, stage shows that are largely caught by luck with a little intuitive guidance from those in the know. These are David Attenborough moments: sea otters suckling their young, a hump back whale and calf, a leopard loping through an African forest at night, the Northern Lights in the Arctic Circle and some quite competitive sunsets. There are thousands more we haven’t seen and two in particular are on my list: a pod of Orcas and a murmuration of starlings. Walking along the Cromford Canal I keep my eyes open for the former with diminishing expectations. But today we set out for Middleton Moor above Stoney Middleton in the hope of seeing the latter.

Things looked promising when we ran into our first black swirling crowd in Matlock Bath, a murmuration of bikers. They had gathered for feeding and seemed to be roosting around a Harley Davidson, but they were not moving with the fluidity and choreography of the murmurations I had seen on TV. Separated by only a stomach paunch width and looking very leathery they appeared to assume that they were protected from Covid by numbers.

Proceeding along the A6 we were stuck behind a Sunday Afternoon driver. I could imagine him in his cloth cap and thick glasses, barely able to peer over the dash board. Beside him would be his wife, unable to see over the dashboard at all, but that would not be stopping her from murmurating - constantly advising him of oncoming hazards and of his reckless speed. I didn’t actually see them because I was too busy trying to peer over the dashboard in my cloth cap and glasses.

From high on the moor, looking across to Eyam and the Barrel Inn above it, we were treated to a wonderful sunset with skies of latticed pink and purple off-setting a crystal blue in which a half moon was already taking a slice. A small crowd had gathered and we assumed they were all experts. Unfortunately they all assumed that we were experts. It must have been the binoculars and flask of mulled wine. There was palpable excitement as spurts of starlings started converging from all points of the compass. Each group would wheel densely then drop behind the trees some way off. So the crowd started murmurating. As one set off further down the path, so others followed, all assuming everyone else knew

what they were doing. There was no great mass murmuration of starlings this evening, just a few impressive sideshows but when we reached the reeds where they were roosting we were able to watch the flocks come, teasing us with a split second of acrobatics before they whirled down into their cover. Each flock resembled a small tornado spiralling down at phenomenal speed, brushing the surface of the reeds then settling. Then someone from among the spectators admitted to some knowledge and explained that there were about 200,000 birds there, and if they should choose to grace their audience with a murmuration one evening, it would indeed be spectacular. I think he may have exaggerated the number. The picture is from one of the tabloids, so that may not be believable either!

There are of course, as well as some great spectacles of Nature, some amazing sounds and I have been blessed with the sound of Niagara, an avalanche, a corncrake and a loon. But it was wonderful to hear tens of thousands of starlings settling down for the night, comparing notes about their day, griping about their neighbours, speculating about ‘Strictly, the Results’ high up on the moors, way above the traffic, with a sky dimming to furrows of purple. Next time we go, we will be the experts