Quail
Spit-the-bit, spit-the-bit
To start with an admission: I’ve never seen a wild quail. And most other people haven’t either.
Quails are scarce summer visitors to the UK, and much more likely heard than seen.
The repetitive liquid call is traditionally described as ‘wet-my-lips’, but ‘spit-the-bit’ is perhaps closer.
‘Spit-the-bit’ also sends a message to the human listener. The quail is saying: you’re never going to see me; you might as well give up.
Quails are Europe’s only migratory game bird, and also the smallest. A glimpse might easily be mistaken for a pheasant chick. They rarely show in the open, tucking themselves away in fields, typically crops of beans or wheat, or meadows. Chalk downland is favoured in Britain, with Salisbury Plain having the most reliable populations year after year.
Wherever it is you find one, you may well discover you are in the presence of a skilled ventriloquist.
A calling bird might seem close, then as you move towards it the sound gets no closer.
The first few arrive as early as April. While usually numbering in the low hundreds, in some ‘quail years' thousands may turn up - a relative bonanza, though it’s just a fraction of the millions that summer across continental Europe.
So this is a good one to have in your memory bank as you are walking off the beaten track, in open country, in June or July. Who knows whether you’ll be lucky.
Just don’t expect to see it.
It’s time to spit the bit on Shriek of the Week. From now until New Year there will be just one shriek a month. We’ll be back in January with reruns of many of the key dawn chorus species, plus a few surprise new arrivals.
In the meantime, to hear about upcoming courses, walks and workshops from Birdsong Academy, including a new project exploring the rewards of engaging with nature close to home, sign up to the newsletter here.
For many of us, this will not be the summer we might have hoped for. In whatever circumstances you find yourself, I hope you find some solace and inspiration in the sounds of birds.
Finally, a recommendation. I’m drawn to writers who offer compelling accounts of our true relationship with the non-human world, and suggestions of how we might thrive together. Robin Wall Kimmerer offers both in her book Braiding Sweetgrass, which my good friend and colleague Tamsin introduced me to recently. I keep buying copies to give away, and soon I’ll be rereading all those many pages of my copy that have the corners turned down.
I think you might enjoy it too.
Until next time,
~ Charlie
Credits:
Quail image by christoph_moning, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons