LEWIS RICHARD LUCHS

CARUSO, THE SINGING BLACKBIRD

          One of my favorite birds in Australia was not an indigenous Australian bird at all.  Lying in the sun on our second-floor deck after a long bike ride, I heard beautiful birdsong. The bird trilled, warbled, and did acrobatics with his voice.  He had one standard call and then began a series of imitations.  I tried to observe the bird with binoculars, but it managed to stay out of view. The song seemed to be coming from a eucalyptus tree partially hidden behind a neighbor's high fence.  

          Then one weekend evening, the bird changed his perch to mount a corner post of the neighbor's fence, and I got a good glimpse of his profile.  I wanted to know more about this marvelous songster.   I went searching through The Field Guide to the Birds of Australia, by Gordon Pizzey and Frank Knight, the bible for birders in Australia.

          I observed that my bird—I already thought of him as my bird—began to appear regularly on the post as if it were a small stage.  I occasionally heard him in the morning as I left for work, and I often heard him during the early evening when I returned to my residence. On weekends, I could hear him singing throughout the day.  I observed that he would sing for 15 minutes and then leave the stage as though for an intermission.  After a brief rest, he was back, singing his heart out.  I decided to call him Caruso, as I was sure he was a male.  Was he trying to attract a mate?  There were many mating rituals going on among the birds during that season in Australia, with chases in flight and chases on the ground.  I thought that if I were a female of that species, I would be easily won because Caruso's singing touched me deeply.  Only two or three times before in my life had I been so moved by birdsong. 

          Then one afternoon the light was just right as he flew up to his perch on the post and began to sing.  Through my binoculars, I could see that the bird was black, solid black.  The late afternoon light caught his beak.  Was I seeing orange?  Yes, I decided my bird had an orange beak.  Were those yellow circles around the bird's eyes?  The only bird in the guidebook that had a similar profile, was black, had an orange beak and yellow circles around its eyes, was the common English blackbird!  Since when does a common English blackbird sing like an angel?  According to Pizzey and Wright, the English blackbird was introduced into Melbourne. Australia by a visiting bird dealer in 1857, and then into Sydney and Adelaide in 1863.  I have no idea how Pizzey and Wright determined the exact years.  The English blackbird, they wrote, is a thrush like the robin, and like robins, it hops across the ground, cocks its head to listen, and then jabs its bill into the ground for worms.  I read the following description in the Pizzey's and Wright guide:

“Voice, serene, mellow, often loud in measured phrases; lacks repetition of the song thrush. Whisper song in autumn includes imitations of native birds.”

          This is not autumn.  It is spring Down Under, but I am hearing imitations of native birds every day from this blackbird.  Today, while planting my tomatoes, I got a clear view of him through my binoculars again.  Yep.  Black, orange beak.  Yellow eye rings. That settled it.  Caruso was indeed a common English blackbird—how unglamorous in Australia where so many birds come decked out in bright colors!   How can such a plain bird sing so spectacularly?

          Over the months, I learned a few things about Caruso that are not in the "official" bird book.  First, the imitations by male blackbirds occur in spring as well as in autumn.  Second, blackbirds are great mimics, the rivals of American mockingbirds.  Third, when this bird is trying to attract a mate its song is loud, but it is also varied in volume and is musically poetic.  Last is something no expert has written, but I am persuaded is true.    The blackbird in my garden is special within his species.  He is, if you like, an individual bird with an unusual musical talent.  He is indeed a Caruso of blackbirds.  His range, his timbre, his creativity, his desire simply to sing, must be at the higher range of his species.  Birds, like humans, surely have individual qualities of their own. 

          Then Caruso disappeared.  I no longer heard his singing.  Had he given up on finding a mate​?   Was he the victim of a predator?  I missed him.  Six months later, in the southern spring, during the first week of September, I heard the call of a blackbird as I walked away from the embassy late one afternoon.  I had not realized that blackbirds were migratory and thought Caruso was gone forever.   I wondered if he would return to the same tree or even the same neighborhood as before.  The very thought he might filled me with joy. 

          I could not believe it!  Less than an hour after I heard the blackbird near the embassy, I saw a blackbird in the pear tree in the middle of my back lawn.  Is it possible? Is he Caruso?  I have not yet heard him sing.  I watched as he sharpened his beak on the branch of the tree and looked around as if to reacquaint himself with his territory.  He seemed to approve what he saw and seemed glad to be home.  Then he began to sing.  Yes, it's Caruso! He has returned!  It seems that blackbirds migrate in  a single flock and Caruso’s flock arrived in Canberra that day.  

          During November, I wrote that my blackbird sang faithfully each day, when I left in the morning and when I returned in the evening.  One day I heard another blackbird responding to his song.  It was thus that I learned there were blackbirds everywhere in   Canberra.  Now that I was aware of them, I heard them all over the city.  My theory, based on observation only, is that English blackbirds form a singing network based on territory, and they sing to and respond to each other throughout the day—a telephone system for blackbirds.  Caruso disappeared each March and reappeared each September during the next three years of my tour in Australia.  He sang every day, all through the day.  Blackbirds are monogamous for life.  Perhaps there was a shortage of female birds so that he was unable to attract a mate while I lived in Australia.  I liked thinking he found a mate eventually because Blackbirds can live to be 20 years old.