| PEOPLE’S hobbies turn them
into obsessives sometimes.
I won’t say birdwatchers are
the worst, but they can be
pretty bad.
And you might think one of Dorset’s
top businessmen, a man whose
company has stores all over the world,
wouldn’t have time for a hobby.
You would be so wrong.
Mark Constantine was one of the
founders of Lush, and he’s still the
boss today, although I wonder how he
finds the time to fit in work. You know
Lush, the beautifully smelling
cosmetics company, with a worldwide
reputation. They’ve now got shops all
over the world – Canada, Croatia,
Sweden, Australia, Holland, New
Zealand, Taiwan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia
and Malta.
Soap, shampoo, bath bombs – you
might think Mark spends his time
wandering the Dorset lanes sniffing
the hedgerows for honeysuckle or dog
roses.
No, when I met him in
late May he was trying
to attract swifts to come
and nest in the roof of
his house near Studland.
He tells me how he
spent the evening.
“I was busy broadcasting
swift sounds from my
upstairs window in the
hope of attracting them
into the nest boxes. So
I’ve been broadcasting for an hour
every morning and an hour every
night trying to attract them in.”
“Is it working?” I ask
“I haven’t got any yet,” he says. “But
I’m driving my daughter round the
bend with the noise. I’ve got five nest
boxes. I want to see one being taken
up by a swift this year.”
Mark is the driving force behind one
of the most exciting bird books to be
published for, well, ages.
The Sound Approach to Birding – A
Guide to Understanding Bird Sound is
like nothing I’ve ever read before.
It’s like the Open University trying to
explain why birds sing and how, only
that makes it sound stuffy.
And the Sound Approach isn’t just a
one book wonder. It will, I’m certain,
change the way birdwatchers think
about bird call and songs.
I’m as guilty as the next birder. In a
wood full of birds singing their hearts
out, I’m ignoring the noise and raising
my binoculars to look for a bird. Often
as not I don’t see a thing.
Well that was then. Now I’ve read the
Sound Approach, and my attitude is
changing. Maybe not my ability to
identify birds by call, but give it time.
I ask if trying to teach people what a
bird sounds like is like trying to
describe a pebble on a beach. It’s
impossible isn’t it? He nods, out of
politeness.
But he doesn’t really agree with me,
and deep down I reckon he’s got an
outside chance of teaching
birdwatchers how to tell what sort of
bird it is they are listening to.
“Everyone knows that a great tit has
got 102 different sounds, or whatever
it is.
“We’ve got this huge database (more
than 36,000 recorded sounds) with all
these sounds on, and we can’t explain
them to a birdwatcher, because they
don’t understand the basic rules,
because nobody’s ever said ‘look, this
is what science knows’. |
This is what
birdwatchers haven’t been told.
“In every other aspect of birdwatching
you might be able to read something
about it, but in bird sounds you can’t
because there is nothing.
“The trouble is, when you’re
experiencing nature, nature doesn’t
dumb it down for you. If you actually
want to know, you’ve got to know. Do
you see what I mean?”
I nod, and I actually do understand. I
understand his passion, at least. I’ve
spent hours listening to the two CDs
full of sounds that come with the
book, and hours reading the words,
and hours studying the sonograms
that explain what I’m hearing. I should
be bored out of my mind, because it
sounds like A level homework. But I’m
actually buzzing with enthusiasm.
I want to be out in the field listening
for yellowhammers and chiffchaffs. I
want to listen for the robin in the
undergrowth. But that doesn’t stop
bird calls being hellishly frustrating
Mark agrees. “I was on holiday in
Lesbos (a Greek island well-known for
its great birdwatching) recording bird
sounds just recently. And for me, and
for most people, robin songs are very
common, aren’t they?” he says.
“It’s a very common sound all through
the winter. I don’t like them. Drives
me round the bend. The bloody thing
is everlastingly singing and it sounds
like something squeaking up and
down a window. So it’s not my
favourite song. Anyway, I’m busy
recording and I want to record the
rufous bush robin, which is really
exciting, and I’ve only ever seen a
couple. They’ve got these great cocked
tails. Fabulous birds.
“So I’m listening to this bird, and I’m
with Anthony Macgeehan (one of the
UK’s top birders). I’m saying now is
that a woodchat singing? What’s
singing there then? Must be the
woodchat. We’re both listening in
earphones. And then I start to realise
it’s the rufous bush robin. It sings just
like a robin. Its song is almost identical
to a robin, but you’re so used to a
robin screaming it out.”
And I can see that Mark’s obsession
for recording bird sounds has shaped
his attitude to life.
“The interesting thing about being into
bird sounds is that by nature you have
to be a little slower, then you tend to
experience more, which is nice. If you
take quail, I’ve spent a lot of time
sitting around with my stuff; that’s
when you tend to see the things.
You’re more engaged with the
environment than when you’re just
spotting stuff.” |
I suspect he’s been a twitcher in his
time – one of those people who leap in
a car and drive hundreds of miles to
see a rare bird. But a new interest has
taken over.
“I’m interested in rare birds,” he says.
“And I’m interested in finding rare
birds, but I’m also interested in getting
good views or good experiences of
common birds.”
And did being the boss of Lush help
to get The Sound Approach off the
ground? I ask. “Yes,” he says. “I
funded the Sound Approach to be able
to get out there and do the recording.
Wasn’t hugely expensive, but I acted
as the sponsor.
“If I didn’t do my job and didn’t have
the money I couldn’t have acted as the
sponsor. For me, it’s a privilege. I can’t
believe I’m actually getting to write
this. It’s like ‘shouldn’t somebody else
be doing this?’ The next one will have
a lot of original photos. I am very
proud of it.”
And the next one – petrels and
shearwaters – is certainly one to look
forward to for all those poor
birdwatchers huddled on clifftops
along the Dorset coast hoping for a
glimpse of a seabird.
Mark describes what it will be about:
“All the shearwaters of the Western
Palearctic (that’s the area covering
Europe, North Africa and parts of the
near Middle East), real adventures like
being shipwrecked, climbing craggy
rocks where no one has been for
centuries. That should be out this
summer. It’s a little more esoteric and
a lot more specialist,” Mark says.
And he thinks owls might follow, or
something even closer to home.
“I’ve got “Birds of Poole Harbour”
hidden in the background which I’d
quite like to do. I might do that.
There’s plenty of scope.”
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