The Ptarmigan

By Norbie

Sat, 27 Apr 2024
  • 56 reads
2 comments
 
The Ptarmigan
 

A true story by Robert Haslam

 
I walked into the RSPB office in Inverness and asked if it would be possible to talk to an expert on feathery birds. The woman smiled and said: ‘We all are.’
‘I think I have discovered a new species.’
‘Are you an English tourist twitching in Scotland for the first time?’
‘I spasmodically convulse everywhere I go. It’s a nervous condition.’
‘Several species of birds common to Scotland aren’t found south of the border.’
I remove a photograph from the envelope in my hand. ‘That’s it.’
           She looks at it from all angles, even upside down, and picks up the phone. ‘Robin, I think you should see this.’
I am shown into his office and invited to sit.
           ‘Are you a world expert on feathery birds?’ I enquire.
          ‘I am indeed. I have more letters after my name than anyone else in the organisation. There is no feathery bird on this planet that I cannot identify from a photograph. Where did you see it?
‘On the Scottish Moors.’
‘May I see it?’
I pass it over.
           He examines it with his eyes and again through a magnifying glass. ‘Oh, my ornithological word, you are right! This is indeed a new species that has never been reported before. I expected to see a Capercaillie, a Black Grouse, or a stray blown off course from Europe, which happens often, especially when it’s windy, but this is none of those.’
‘So it is a new species?’
‘I will need to keep this photograph to prove its existence. Is that alright?’ 
‘I have it saved on my computer.’
‘This is so exciting. I will be world-famous.’
‘I thought you already were?’
‘I mean outside of the world of birding. I will be world-famous and rich, ornithologically speaking.’
           ‘That is why I am here. I have no objection to you becoming ornithologically rich, so long as I get to name the bird.’
           ‘I hate to say it, but that is your ornithological right, a tradition that goes back to when birds were first invented.’
           ‘Who invent ornithology?’
           ‘It’s mentioned in The Bible.’
‘I didn’t realise it had a birdwatching section.’
‘I’m unsure if God named any of the birds he invented. We’d have to check.’
‘I seem to remember something about doves.’
            ‘Pests, the lot of them. He shouldn’t have bothered. The ornithological world could survive perfectly well without doves.’
‘Magicians couldn’t.
           He frowns and nods. ‘I never considered it that way. He created doves first, discovered their pests, and invented magic to make them disappear humanely.' He nods at the divine logic. ‘Anyway, back to the photo. Have you decided on a name?’
‘Yes. Ptarmigan.’
He spells it out to me as he writes it down. ‘T.A.R.M.I.G.A.N?’
‘Yes, but it begins with a P.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want it to.’
           ‘That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard. Imagine the confusion it will cause, especially in dictionaries. Once people start talking about them, they will automatically look under P and not find anything.’
‘Not my problem.’
‘What about the rest of the world?’
           ‘Everyone who looks it up will start at the beginning of the T section. If every dictionary and encyclopaedia adds a note saying, “If you are looking up the most recently discovered bird in the world, then please go to the P section," the problem will be solved.'
‘It would be a lot easier to omit the P.’
‘I refuse to leave out my P. Pterosaurs flew, and they begin with P.’
‘They’re extinct.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I haven’t got a photograph of one.’
‘But you agree they existed?’
           ‘David Attenborough is the only man old enough to have seen one. All other sightings were fossils.’
‘I’m not removing my P.’
‘Have you no consideration for the bird itself?’
           ‘It will add to its mystique.’ I lean closer. ‘I mean, let’s face it, you ornithologists aren’t exactly noted for your originality and flair, are you? I mean, blackbird. You must have pondered for weeks to come up with that one! And Great Tit. I bet you spend hours giggling over that in your secret hides. And dipper. What’s wrong with Press Up Bird? And your discrimination against enthusiasts with colour blindness and eagles with alopecia is despicable.’ 
           ‘I admit that translation from the Latin doesn’t always do a bird justice. The human disorder of eating non-foodstuffs is Pica in Latin, so magpies were named Pica pica. In contrast, Erithicus rubecula translates as “Stop that thief,” but robins are the most honest birds I know. Plus, we make an absolute fortune by sticking them on our Christmas cards.’
           ‘Stop trying to distract me with how you discuss birds in Latvia. As it’s so rare, the fewer people who know of its existence, the better its chances of survival. You wouldn’t like it if hundreds of people in green wellies peered through your front window with binoculars whilst you pecked at your food, would you?’
‘Did you see it eating?’
‘I was too excited to notice. It was just standing there looking around like it was lost.’
‘That’s what I was saying. It may be a migrant blown off course.’
           ‘Now you are just covering your tracks. An undiscovered species living on your doorstep, right under your nose, and “world expert” Robin is completely oblivious to its existence. You’ll be the laughingstock of the bird world.’
          ‘I will say I was protecting it, as in RSPB, rather than RSB. Plus, our membership is cheaper than theirs, and you don’t get Chris Packham’s autograph.’
‘How do you intend to classify it?’
‘Probably as a member of the partridge family that eats shoots and leaves.’
‘It wasn’t singing their songs, wasn’t armed, and didn’t fly away.’
‘Did it make any sound?’
‘It was whistling Dixie.’
‘Did you only see this one?’
‘Yes.’
‘From its uniform mottled brown and yellow plumage, I’m guessing this is a female.’
‘How can you tell?’
           ‘In many species of this type of bird, the females are rather dull and plain, whilst the males are brightly coloured and showy.’
           ‘The opposite of Newcastle city centre on a Saturday night, then?’
           ‘Never been there.’ Robin slides the print into the envelope. ‘Can you tell me the exact location? Scotland is a big country with large tracts of moorland wilderness.’
‘I know. That’s where I found it.’
           ‘But where exactly? We need to pinpoint the location on the map.’
           ‘You know, for one of the world’s leading feathery bird experts, you are pretty stupid. It had wings. It’s probably flown away by now.’
           ‘Most birds are territorial. They live in places and conditions they have adapted and become conditioned to.’
‘Birds become conditioned to conditions?’
‘Over time, yes. Like we do with the colour of our skin, it’s the same with birds.’
‘Some expert you are! Even I know birds have feathers, not skin.’
‘What do you think is under the feathers?’
‘Bones. Once you’ve eaten your Christmas turkey, all you're left with are the bones.’
‘Have you never seen a plucked chicken?’
‘My mum always buys skinless.’
           ‘There you go! Just because you’ve never seen the skin of a plucked bird doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any. Every living creature on this planet has skin. Otherwise, everything would fall out. Think about it. Real handy stuff is skin.’
‘You learn something new every day.’
‘You appear to have been truant for most of your life.
‘So, in your expert opinion, my ptarmigan with a P may still live where I photographed it?
‘I would bet my well-thumbed and beloved RSPB Handbook of British Birds on it.’
‘But what if it was on holiday?’
‘We call it migration.’
‘The government calls it Asylum Seeking.’
           ‘It doesn’t matter. As long as we check during roughly the same season and in the same habitat, it shouldn’t be too hard to find.’
‘So how come no one else has ever reported seeing one?’
‘Thousands of people will have seen them, just no curious ornithologists. We are a rare breed.’
‘Like my ptarmigan.’
‘Do you think you could pinpoint the exact area of the sighting?’
‘I was laid in the grass for quite a long time. It may still be flattened.’
‘You were laid on grass? That narrows the search considerably.’
‘There were clouds in the sky as well. I captured them in the photograph, as you can see.’
           ‘It’s almost a slam dunk. All we need to do is look up grass, cloud, bird on the what3words app, and we will be home and dry.’
‘Except they might be in a different order,’ I point out cautiously.
‘True, but I’m betting only one combination will be in Scotland.’
‘Good thinking. We’ve almost got this cracked.’
 
It took slightly longer than anticipated, but we eventually located the location. My expert friend spent a month roaming the moors without a sighting. However, the photograph was indisputable evidence that the creature existed, and the ptarmigan is now recognised as a genuine species of British upland bird. 
Amazingly enough, I was in Scotland again last winter. Though it was freezing cold and snow covered the moors, I made a pilgrimage to the same place, and you’ll never guess what happened. Yes, I discovered another entirely new species of British upland bird. It looked very similar to my ptarmigan but was entirely white.
           I am hoping the RSPB will now make me an honorary life member.
 
 
Certificate 12
Story
Humour

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

You surely deserve some sort of honour for discovering new species of bird.

Fascinating read.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Norbie on