You may not believe what I am about to write. I may not have believed it myself if I had not just witnessed it. But it is absolutely true.
I live by the Eel River in Indiana. The Eel is bordered by more farmland than houses–there are a lot of trees, and quiet. This is my refuge. My land is on three levels: the top, where our house is, a middle level, mowed and park-like with several large trees, and a bottom level, wooded and only partially mowed, along the river.
It is a cloudy, cool afternoon, and I was sitting in a lawn chair playing my Clarke original in D, all kinds of jigs and some slow tunes.
As I was playing a slow tune, (the Hobbit’s theme–really!) I saw movement down the slope on the bottom level. Moving silently out of the trees came three deer, a doe and two spotted fawns. They saw me, but didn’t run. I kept on playing, just enjoying their beauty. I expected them to run any second.
Then, to my amazement, they walked up the slope, closer to me!
In all my life I have never seen a deer move closer; they either stood their ground or ran. They moved up the slope onto the middle level, in the open, obviously listening to this strange creature making bird sounds.
I said, “Hi! You are welcome here.” But I didn’t dare quit playing long.
I kept up with slow tunes, some improvisation, playing quietly, no high range. The fawns ambled around their mother’s feet. They moved under a broad spreading maple, facing the slope up to the road. I thought, “That’s where they’re going, across the road.”
Then, to my utter amazement, they turned from the slope and moved even CLOSER! Both the mother and her fawns were now only 12 paces away. I played and played, very softly, as they listened, their heads swaying curiously, their ears turned to the music. Finally, after a long pause, the mother turned and moved back down the slope, her fawns following.
I kept playing until they disappeared, then stopped, still astonished by what I had just been a part of.
Who says whistles aren’t magic?
Yep, great story! Sounds like a once in a lifetime experience, but maybe if you return the same spot on a regular basis, you just might have a following of appreciative listeners waiting for another concert! Worth a try, if you can manage it! Either way, it’s still a wonderful experience, and a positive reinforcement on your playing skills-who says it’s only for people the likes of us?!!
Now if it were me…all of the deer probably would have imploded due to the noise I make with my whistle. OK I guess I should not be so hard on myself.
Anyhow, would you happen to have the ABC code for the hobbit song. I take it is the song “Concerning Hobbits”. I have been looking for this for a while but can’t seem to find it.
My experience over many years of playing in rustic settings is that all grazing and browsing animals, wild or domesticated, are responsive to flute and whistle song. The further away they are from noisy traffic the more responsive.
Whistles and flutes figure strongly in all olden shepherding and cattle herding cultures.
Many years ago I had a similar experience with a herd of deer while playing the Highland pipes in a park. I was amazed at how the deer kept getting closer. I later told my neighbor about it. That was the only time he ever invited me to his hunting camp.
Rob, you’re funny!
Actually, I learned the “Concerning Hobbits” tunes just by “fingering it out” on the whistle, starting on the D note (D whistle). It was one of the first tunes I learned. I’m sure people here have the ABC code (which I STILL don’t understand). I think I’ve seen it here before.
I was walking through a woodland next to a festival having been to visit a sweat lodge and I sat down on a stump to play. There were some people around and about and they were astonished to see two little imps come fluttering out of the shubbery to my side. They didnt’ know that they were two of my kids aged 6 and 9 who I hadn’t seen for two hours playing in a silvan fantasy world of their own.
No better topic for giving up my own “lurker” status!
I’ve had the same happen while playing mandolin on my “sitting rock” overlooking a meadow and some adjoining woods. Deer are very curious, and if you’re sitting relatively still, doing something unusual, and you don’t look like an upright biped carnivore – I can fake it – it can be surprising how close they will approach. Even when I’m on the riding mower they are relatively unconcerned.
My only relevant experience in a whistle context was a couple weeks ago, a woodchuck came almost to my foot and stood up to listen.
Beautiful moments when nature gives you a nudge. – Paul
I had a similar experience with a woodchuck a couple of years ago. I was out in the farthest reaches of a local nature preserve and stopped to enjoy the surroundings. I had a Healy Bb fife with me and thought I would have a few tunes before moving on. Whenever I played up close to the third octave a woodchuck would come running out of a thicket, right up to my feet, look me in the eye and chatter as if to tell me off. When I stopped playing it would return to the thicket. I’d play again and if I stayed away from the top of the second octave the woodchuck would remain concealed. I fooled with this for a few minutes and narrowed it down to one or two notes that seemed to set the woodchuck off. If I hit those notes the chuck would come out and give me what for all over again. It occurred to me later that day that another name for the woodchuck is “whistle pig”. How appropriate!
ok! Here’s another example of what may be an entire genre of whistle interactions with nature. I have spent a lot of time riding bike on the canal towpaths alongside the Delaware and Lehigh rivers. I usually have a whistle in my kit. I prefer to ride in the early morning. During the spring migration there are a lot of interesting birds to be seen and heard. When you play the whistle you are speaking the language of the birds. It can be quite fun to try to emulate their vocal patterns. If you get close enough, you can have a nice call and response dialogue. I had a memorable “conversation” a few years back with a baltimore oriole which lasted nearly a half an hour. And I don’t mean Cal Ripkin. Pretty neat.
