Surround Sound III: What Time Do You Call?
It’s 4 a.m. Standing high on Wooston hillfort in the still night air. The full face of the moon picks out the trees on the crest of the Fingle gorge. It’s magical. Not a breeze or a rustle disturbs the meditative silence until a tawny owl reminds me of where I am. Stirring myself, I notice the horizon over my shoulder is beginning to brighten. A pale green-blue, highlighted with a tinge of amber reveals wisps of mist clinging to the hills and valleys in the distance. It’s cold and most of the world is asleep. I put an extra coat on and wander off to meet Tom. As I walk, the moon casts my shadow and flecks of light reflect from the waxy ivy leaves wrapped around ancient oak trees.
Talking in a pre-dawn whisper we decide on a good spot to set up Tom’s microphone. Our favoured patch of damp woodland provides a mix of wild habitats where a few tall conifers stand beside some patchy shrubs and twisted broadleaves. A diverse blend. Within minutes, right on cue, the calling and singing begins. Softly at first, the owls hand over from their night shift then song birds build up their repertoire … and the volume. It’s 4.45 a.m and the sky is getting lighter, silhouetting the spring-time leaves emerging on the trees. New birds join in the chorus, deepening the orchestral quality, and the last owl calls quietly in the distance.

