wildlife

Croak, croak, Water frog! (Botanical Garden revisited) /  by Arne Bischoff

The common Water frog (Pelophylax kl. esculentus)

In spring I often visited the local “Alter Botanischer Garten” in my hometown of Goettingen to photograph early blossomers. I dedicated an entire blogpost to this topic. Now I revisited the Botancial Gardens with an entirely different purpose: Frogs. More precisely: The common Water frog, also known as Green frog (Pelophylax kl. esculentus).

Water Frog courtship

From May to early June a small pond inside the garden is the stage of a beautiful and rather noisy spectacle. The courtship of the Water frogs. They gather in quite some numbers in the pond and do not care at all about stealth. They sit and swim and mate quite openly, but most of all: They croak. They croak that loudly that you can hear them from the nearby streets when you just walk by. It’s fantastic!

Both of its names, the Water and the Green frog are describing some key characteristics of the frog as it as mostly aquatic and very green. But from here, it gets way more complicated. According to Wikipedia, “Pelophylax kl. esculentus is the fertile hybrid of the pool frog (Pelophylax lessonae) and the marsh frog (Pelophylax ridibundus). It reproduces by hybridogenesis.” Hybridogenesis has only been described with three frog and some fish species. So in the end, this little screamer is quite special in a biological way.

All biological oddities aside, it is quite a beautiful sight to behold (if you are into frogs). The frogs allow you very close, they are active, but not hectic. This makes it quite easy to observe and photograph. Usually people in urban environments tend to overlook wildlife, but not here. The courting and croaking frogs attract a huge audience to the beautiful Old Botanical Garden of Goettingen University.

At the fox den again /  by Arne Bischoff

Mr inquisitive!

I know quite a lot of fox and badger dens in my local area. But this one came as a complete surprise. Last year, my friend Luka (make sure to check his work!) called me. His dog, Boris the pointer, had been a good boy and sniffed out a fox den in the most unlikely of places: inside a huge stack of wood right beside a forest track only a kilometre from the next village. Fear not: Boris only pointed to the young foxes, but did them no harm.

It turned out the little fox cubs had come out every evening to play and explore the huge world outside their stack. And this is right when I went there.

The curious little guys where punctual like a clock. About an hour before sunset they came out. I usually heard them sniffing and playing before I saw them. They never strayed far from the safety of the stack though and if, then in the opposite direction of me into thick thorns and bushes. One pup was particulary inquistive and hit the forest road more than once. Exploring and sniffing. But even he kept quite close to the stack which provided him for safety and me with a quite ugly backdrop.

The experience was still beautiful though: Seeing the young cubs play and explore. I even saw mother bring food once and call them out. It was only then when I saw all four pups together.

I hope all five of them made it and they are happily roaming the area. Looking forward to seeing next generation of young foxes in a few weeks time. At another place. Special thanks to Paul for your company!

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.

The Muskoxen disappointment /  by Arne Bischoff

Snøhetta (2.286 m ASL) in all its snow-covered glory. The commanding summit of the area and one of the most beautiful.

It’s now one year ago that I fulfilled myself a dream I harbored for some years. I went to Dovrefjell to hike and photograph the only muskoxen (Ovibos moschatus) this side of the Atlantic or Arctic Ocean - in beautiful autumnal colours. Or so I thpught. Other than the year before, Covid did not interfere (read the 2020 story “No Muskoxen in Gränslandet” here) and off I went north.

You may have read here before that I am into trekking and long-distance hiking. This time I wanted to check the area close to the E6, the primary street between Oslo and Trondheim, first with only small gear, find or not find the muskoxen and then decide whether to stay in one place or make a hike through the area. My basecamp for the first few days that I planned to roam both sides of the street would be my car until I knew where to stay longer.

From utter joy to frustration and rage in just some hours time

A part of “my herd” resting.

All went to plan - or nothing. I found a herd with eleven animals after only six hours of hiking. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, pure happiness. I cried. I called my love at home to share my joy. It has been a rough year, but now I felt so fortunate. I was so fortunate. Me in my happy place.

The herd was about a kilometre away. I decided not to go much closer than 600 metres. Then I watched those stunning animals. I just sat and watched and waited for them to come closer. I did not want to disturb them. Only watch the herd and its behaviour in its natural environment. I did get a few half decent pictures. The autumnal colours were nothing short of phenomenal. But photography was not my focus. Watching, observing, absorbing the moment. I had plenty of time. I would come back tomorrow and stay longer. But first, I had to go back to the car. I did not dear to dream to find the herd so soon, so I had no sleeping gear with me.

Back I went. Only a few hours later, I stumbled into another herd. Well, not really. I saw it from a vantage point around 60 vertical metres above and around a kilometre away. It was still a little light. Plenty light for the binoculars. I could resume my path in the dark. I just wanted to watch the herd eat and then go to sleep. And then, I saw them. Two photographers quickly approaching the herd. Carrying their big white lenses like guns pointing straight at the poor animals.

One of the largest animals in the herd. My favourite image of the trip.

How on earth can you be so ignorant?!

The two photographers went closer and closer. 200 metres, 100, 50, 30, maybe even closer. Then, standing upright, pointing their tools down, they started photographing. Moving into the herd. I was concerned for their safety, but I felt so sorry for the animals, too. The herds behaviour clearly changed in the process. First, it stopped feeding. Then, it withdrew a bit. The animals moved closer together. Then, they formed its defensive formation. Nothing stopped the photographers.

When you enter the region, every few hundred metres you stumble over a signpost. Musk oxen. Be aware. Don’t get too close. Leave them space. Don’t get closer than 200 or 300 metres. Let the animals come to you. Common sense, you should guess. Not for those two. I was wondering if they were plain ignorant or compelled to the prospect of five minutes glory - back on Instagram. Everyone wants to show off stunning muskoxen imagery on Instagram. Me, too. I could not dismiss this thought.

Would I really want to be part of this?

A rest day, a thought day

I had no clue that muskoxen where such skilled climbers. But they are goats, aren’t they!

Next day, a storm rolled in. It was already freezing when I came, now it was raining cats and dogs, lightning and thunder. I decided to wait this storm out. It should only be a day and I found a nice campsite (Magalupe camping. Highly recommended!). I called my love again and we shared our thoughts. I really did not want to be part of this. But the very moment I would post my images, I would be. We settled on a reassuring wait and see. At least I wanted to visit “my herd” again. It was much more remote and far down into the area. Maybe this was a singular experience.

The weather forecast was fine. So I visited “my herd” again. I took the same approach. I positioned myself so that when the herd would come down the valley, it would have the chance to approach me or avoid me at own will. It did not approach me. I took some environmental shots, made lunch and waited.

Two hours later, a guide lead a group of four to the spot. They did alright, left the muskoxen be, pitched there tents, talking audibly, buzzing for excitement. A Friday. Weekend with the finest of fall weather to come. I decided to leave. I did not want to stay here with ten or 20 other photographers like in a zoo. A friend of mine has a mountain hut some hours drive away. Her and her family were there for the weekend. We wanted to do a hike together anyways. We could as well do it over there.

Like life in a zoo

On my way back to the car, I saw seven tents already pitched. Maybe they weren’t photographers at all, just regular locals or tourists like myself looking after some friluftsliv. Perfectly fine, but not for me. Not this time. I had all this preconceptions. Out alone in the wild. Like it has been so often in Norway or Sweden. But the muskoxen are superstars. They attract visitors from near and far. This part of the Dovrefjell national park is definitely not your typical bit of Scandinavian escapism.

I met the guide I had seen earlier. A very friendly, heart-warming, responsible guy. We had a good chat over a cup of coffee from our thermos. He would bring another group in later this evening, he said, and another three groups tomorrow. The autumnal season peak. Everyone wanted to see or photograph the stunning animals from primeval times now. I do not begrudge him his job. He has to make a living there. In another place and another time, I might have even dreamed of this job myself. At least he would instruct all other visitors to be responsible. All good. But I could not help, but feel like I was in a zoo.

A symphony in blue, red and cream. Bog blueberries (Vaccinium uliginosum) and lichen. Fall - the raddest of all!

Epilogue

I did not share the story of this trip or its images publicly prior to today. It did not feel right. It did not feel in line with my nature photography ethos. Maybe I am self-righteous. I am part of the problem, too. Travelling thousands of kilometres for my dream images. Sharing it all over the world. Encouraging others to do the same. Well, I am not a world famous photographer. The number of people, who read my blog or follow me on social media is small. But still. On the other hand, I did well. I did not approach or disturb the animals. No image is worth that. I let the animals decide whether to accept me or not. They did not. I took some images I hold dear. Today I share it. But I learned a lesson, too. To value each image more. And not to visit hotspots at rush hour. Be content with the roe deer in my backyard rather than chasing a dream that thousands of others chase, too. And maybe come back in winter. With a pulk. When it’s cold and harsh. When you have to earn your images.

All turned out well. I got to know a part of this beautiful land that I did not know before. But this is another story.

Thankyou N for all your support not only during this trip and being with me.

°

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.