April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks GO*

We welcomed St. George’s Day, the patron saint of England, and the birth of Prince Louis with a trip to our favourite playground. There was a pause from the torrential misery-inducing rains which continued to drench the country as heavy downpours showed no sign of abating. In between sunny spells and scattered showers, we made our way through the very lush reserve. Everything had gone ‘whooosh’.  Primroses were still flowering profusely on the shady hedge banks and now joined by the fragrant blue-violet sweet viola.

I saw a Robin with moss in its beak. There must be a nest nearby and it was waiting patiently for us to move away. In mild winter, the courtship had started in January but the breeding season began in March. They paired only for the duration of the breeding season.The care of the fledged young was left to the male, while the female prepared herself for the next nesting efforts. Robins had 2 broods a year. Three successful broods a year was not uncommon, and in a good year even four were known.

At Baldwin Hide, we were pleased to see an Oystercatcher sitting on nest, which was usually a depression in the ground. She was being kept company by another nesting Coot which I found endearing as both were well-known for their aggressiveness and for being very territorial. From time-to-time, the Oystercatcher’s partner flew in with its distinctive and shrill, piping call ’kleep, kleep’ calls trailing behind it. It was lovely watching the pair with their bright, orange bill, pink coloured legs, and black and white plumage bonding. The sexes were similar in appearance, although males had shorter, thicker bills.

Oystercatchers were historically known as the ‘sea pie’. The name was superseded during the late 18th and early 19th century, after Mark Catesby in his Natural History of Carolina (1731) coined this name for the American species Haematopus palliatus. While the American Oystercatcher fed upon ‘clams and coon-oysters’, oysters weren’t featured in the diet of the European species. Mussel picker and Mussel cracker were more accurate names. The fierce orange bills worked as a pair of pincers, prising mussels and limpets off rocks and removing the food.

We continued on to the very busy East Marsh Hide and managed to find a seat. There was so much going on that we don’t know where to point the camera. A Garganey had brought everyone into the hide. This male easily recognised with a broad white stripe over the eye was feeding by ‘dabbling’ for plant materials and insects. Garganeys were scarce and a very secretive breeding duck in the UK and listed as a Schedule 1 species.

A pair of Redshank flew in alerting us with their loud piping calls ‘teu-hu-hu’ with longer and more accented first syllable. These adults were in breeding plumage with grey-brown upperparts, spotted darker brown and black. On the upper-wing, the secondary flight feathers were white and visible in flight. At first, they walked along the shores, pecking regularly, occasionally probing, jabbing and sweeping through the water with their bills. Then the male performed a courtship display by rising and falling with vibrating wings. The female was very impressed with the display and let him have his wicked ways

Then a family of Mallard with 8 adorable ducklings appeared and swam close to the hide. They were cute little balls of down  with clove-brown backs, relieved by 4 yellow patches. They were only a few days old but the sooner they got to the water to feed, the better were their chances of survival. They can’t survive without their mother, and took 50-60 days before they fledged and became independent. The ducklings fed themselves as soon as they reached the water, but needed to learn what was edible, such as water fleas, insects and duckweed. They depended on their mother for warmth. She brood them regularly, particularly at night, as they were easily chilled in the cold weather.

A Blackcap from the right side of the hide popped up to see what was going on. Adult males displayed the black cap that gave the species their common name, while females had a chestnut-brown cap. According to Babe, it had a nest nearby because he’d seen it flying in and out from the shrubby undergrowth. A summer visitor from Germany and north-east Europe, it had a delightful fluting song, earning the name ‘northern nightingale’.

After a couple of hours, we made our way to Ted Jury Hide. Near the now-abandoned badger set, we were entertained by this Whitethroat singing its heart out. He fluffed out his white throat feathers to produce the distinctive ‘jowled’ effect. A summer visitor and passage migrant, he stopped singing when he saw us and darted rapidly in and out of the bushes, while flicking and cocking its long tail. It popped up with a tiny fluff on its beak and flew off to the nearby bramble-covered bushes and flitting into cover. Then he perched at the top of the bush, and glared at us with a rapid churring call. It was a sign for us to leave.

At the end of the month, we made another trip to Brandon Marsh. Before we left, I took a photograph of this Mistle thrush fledgling waiting patiently to be fed. I had seen both parents flying in to feed the downy chick, pale and heavily spotted on the upperparts. It was dependent on the parents for 15-20 days after fledging and were mainly fed on invertebrates, often collected from low foliage or under bushes rather than in the grassland preferred by the adults. The chick would accompany the parents until the onset of winter.

We headed straight to Baldwin Hide when we heard the familiar high pitched ‘tsee, tsee’ calls. We followed the calls and spotted a ‘mouse-like’ bird with a down-curved bill and stiff tail, moving in a spiral around a tree-trunk. Then it flew off to the next tree, repeating the process, starting at the bottom again. The intricately patterned brown plumage of a Treecreeper was an ideal camouflage for a bird working its way up a tree-trunk. It was busy foraging for insects and their larvae by probing the crevices of tree barks with its long thin bills.

We made ourselves at home in the hide. The Oystercatcher and Coot was still sitting on eggs. The air was filled with Sandmartins and Swallows, showing off their aerial displays while catching insects in flight. The Swallows were easily identifiable with their dark, glossy blue-black backs, red throats, pale underparts  and long tail steamers. These summer visitors had just arrived from Africa and they were busy feeding, gathering their strength before getting ready to attract a mate. From time to time, they flew low, skimming the surface of the lake for a drink.

We were also delighted to see the courting behaviour of a pair of Common Terns. The male had already chosen the nesting site and was luring the female with a fish, calling in their high-pitched squeaky calls. This behaviour established a pair-bond, and showed the female that her mate was capable of catching fish on demand. An important skill when there were hungry nestlings to feed.  After a pair bond was formed, the male fed her and then only they began to copulate. Fingers-crossed, we will be seeing plenty of action as there were 3 floating pontoons for the rest of the Common Terns to use.

We were so captivated by the Swallows and Common Terns that we missed seeing a Common Sandpiper flying in to the island with the nesting Oystercatcher and Coot. Something splashing in the water caught our attention and then only realised what it was. After having a wash, it started foraging for insects, worms and molluscs along the banks, frequently bopping up and down, known as ‘teetering’. When it was disturbed by another Coot, it flew off with rapid, shallow wing beats on stiff, bowed wings. In flight, the striking white wing-bar was visible. It was also a sign for us to head home too.

At home, we were greeted by the yummy smells of chicken rendang, a traditional Malaysian dish, warming in the oven. There was an uproar when MasterChef judges complained during the quarter finals of the reality cooking show that the chicken skin in the rendang wasn’t crispy. Stewing over the comments, foodies, prime ministers and everyday Malaysians, vented their fury on social media. Because, “crispy” was never associated with rendang – a rich dry curry that required meat to be slow-cooked in spices and coconut milk. I’d never watched the programme but I was proud of how fellow Malaysians bonded together when their traditional food was insulted.

Chicken rendang

• 1.5kg Chicken cut into 12 pieces
• 500ml Milk from starch of 1½ grated coconut with 500ml (2 cups) water
• 110g Toasted coconut paste (kerisik)
• Salt to taste
• Sugar to taste
• 1 Turmeric leaf, sliced

For Spice Paste

• 8 Shallots, skin peeled
• 3 cloves Garlic, skin peeled
• 8 stalks Lemongrass, sliced
• ¾ inch Ginger, skin peeled
• ¾ inch Fresh turmeric, skin peeled
• 6 Red chillies, deseeded
• 5 Chilli padi, deseeded
• 1½ tbsp Coriander powder
• 1 tbsp Powdered aniseed
• 1 tsp Cumin powder
• 2 tbsp Chilli paste

Combine the spice paste ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth.

Combine chicken, spice paste and coconut milk into the pot and simmer for 30 min until the broth is almost dry.

Lower heat and stir in coconut paste (kerisik). Season with salt and sugar.

Add turmeric and stir well before turning off the fire.

We’d ours with boiled rice and stir-fried broccoli in oyster sauce.

Nom…nom..

During my lunch-break at work, it was heaven to be wandering around the campus grounds with the trees drooping with cherry blossoms. It was a sight to behold with the trees in full riotous blooms. Clouds of these ornamental blossoms were at their absolute peak thanks to the combination of sunny days and cold nights. The white blossoms were out first and it was hard to concentrate when they were blooming outside my window. Eventually these white or pink, lacy blossoms fluttered down and carpeting the ground. Due to their very short flowering time, the blossoms were often seen as a metaphor for life itself, luminous and beautiful, yet fleeting and ephemeral.

The Japanese poet Otomo no Kuronushi wrote in the 9th century,

‘Every-one feels grief when cherry blossoms scatter’.

*quote by Christopher Morley

To the Migrating Sea-Birds at Bempton Cliffs

I took Friday off for a long Spring bank holiday weekend and had our annual trip to Bempton Cliffs. It was 13C on a nice cool morning when we left the casa at 9.45 am. This was also our first pilgrimage to the sea-bird city. It was very hazy on the M69 and quite an uncomfortable trip as we drove through the agricultural fields flanking the motorways. The air was thick with eau de manure as the farmers fertilised their fields. We stopped at Woodhall for a comfort break and after that, the view changed to miles and miles of sunshine-y yellow as the rapeseed fields flanking the M18 were blooming. We were now enveloped in a very sweet, sickly perfume. What a contrast.

We arrived at Bempton Cliff at about 1 pm and was not surprised to see the place heaving, even though it was a working day. From the top of the hill, we could see the overflow car-park full. Ooh…. But then, you don’t have to be a bird-watcher, twitcher or photographer to be impressed by the sight of 250k seabirds gathering to nest and breed here. From April to October, the RSPB hosted this annual spectacle of thousands of noisy Gannets, Razorbills, Guillemots, Kittiwakes, Fulmars and Puffins.There was a warden directing the traffic and we managed to get a spot right by the visitor centre. Thank god!!! After freshening up, we made our way towards the action. 

But first, we checked out the ubiquitous Tree sparrows with their newly fledged youngsters that were chirping happily on the hedges. We stood there listening to them gossiping with their hard and piercing ‘tek’ conversational calls. They were out and about enjoying the sunshine.  We saw one with a feather in its beak, to impress the Mrs perhaps. They  were now thinking of a second brood as they started breeding in early April. Typically, there were around 3 broods and unlike most birds, they paired up in autumn rather in spring. 

I am so glad that they were thriving here because the UK Tree Sparrow population had suffered a severe decline and listed as ‘red status’ in the RSPB’s conservation rating. They were shyer than House sparrows and were rarely associated with people but not these flock. They were so used to the millions of visitors passing through the visitor centre as they nested under the red pantiles on the roof. Smaller than House sparrows, they’d two narrow white bars across their wing feathers and were often described as having a permanently cocked tail.

As soon as we step on the paved path, we were surprised not be assaulted by the very familiar smells, sounds and sight of sea-birds. Seabird colonies during the breeding season were full-blown, multi sensual impression of movement, noise and smell. My eyes took everything at once, and saw that there weren’t that many birds swarming the sky. Bempton Cliff was usually packed to the rafters with tens of thousands of individuals, pairs that worked together to bring up their chicks, shuttling to and fro from foraging grounds, bringing fish and nesting materials, disputing with neighbouring breeding pairs and dealing vicious blows towards intruders into their miniscule breeding territory. Then I realised that we were here very early into the breeding season.

As we walked towards the Grandstand, I was so glad to hear the familiar eerie onomatopoeic serenades ‘kitti-wake’ or ‘kala-week’ from the Kittiwakes, making the colonies very noisy places indeed. They bred in colonies on narrow ledges of the vertiginous cliffs. I was chuffed to see this pair having a discussion, while its neighbour was in a nest made up of seaweed, moss and other plant material and held together with either mud or clay, making it a very sturdy nest. Neat silver-grey and white, a few danced past on buoyant wings towards their nesting site and the cliffs resounded to their name constantly being called, as returning birds greeted their mates

It was only during courtship and nesting time that the birds ‘kittiwake’. For the rest of the year they were mostly silently except for an occasional ‘kit’. True gulls of the open sea, they spent half the year out in the middle of North Sea and North Atlantic, only returning inland to breed. They will leave the summer breeding grounds earlier if they failed to breed and headed 1,800 miles to over-winter in Canada. They were the gentlest in appearance of all gulls, and it may be this, combined with their plaintive calling that lies behind a belief that the souls of dead children go into Kittiwakes. 10% of the UK population lived here on the cliffs at Bempton.

Nearby, a  pair of Razorbills tucked themselves away in crevices and cracks. They had broader, blunter bills, picked out  by a smart coachline along the top and tip. The edges of their hooked upper beaks were very sharp, enabling them to grasp fish and defend themselves against predators. It was thought that they earned their name from their bill which resembled an old fashioned cut throat razor. They ,too, only came to shore to breed and then wintered back in the northern Atlantic. They weren’t particularly vocal but deep creaking ‘urr’ were produced by breeding individuals. They were quite quarrelsome too.

Razorbills were identified by their very dark brown to black upper parts and white breast, blunt-ended bill crossed with a white stripe and a bright yellow gape. In the breeding season, they had a more prominent line extending from the base of the bill to the eye. It was sad to know that the future of this species were linked to the health of the marine environment. Fishing nets, pollution and declining fish stock all threatened these Razorbills. They were among the rarest auks in the world and how lucky that we could still see them here. In combination, 20% of the world population bred around the British and Irish coasts.

It was a shame that most of these birds were being ignored by the visitors. It seemed that all they wanted to see were the Puffins and the reserve cashed on this by giving them a top billing.  Bempton Cliffs don’t have any rabbits so their more usual nest site of unused rabbit burrows weren’t available. Instead they laid a single egg in a crevice in the cliff rock face. The curious appearance of these birds, with their large colourful bills, striking piebald plumage and sad eyes, had given rise to nicknames such as ‘clown of the ocean’ and ‘sea rooster’. With their bright orange splayed feet, colourful bills and comical walk, it was hard not to be cheered by the sights of these birds. They were quite easy to spot as they weren’t overshadowed by the bigger sea-birds that yet had to arrive and populate the cliffs.

These plucky seabirds spent 8 months out at sea before flying in each spring to breed. Their dumpy little bodies and tiny wings weren’t designed for easy flight and it was awful watching them plummeting from the cliff edge before their tiny wings started beating furiously and then whizzing past. And when they touched down, they were in the mood for socialising.They’d been away for so long  that they were keen for a good chinwag to catch up on any gossips. It was a joy to watch them as they busily meet and greet each other.  They have a very endearing courtship display in which the pair rub their beaks together excitedly known as ‘billing’. The couple below seemed to have a hard day

As we were walking towards Jubilee Corner, Babe was delighted to see his favourite bird, the doe-eyed Fulmars, flying about at eye-level. Gull-like but stockier with thicker head and neck, they were gliding on stiffly held wings with occasional wing-beats. The whiteness of their bodies and relative thickness of their head earned them the nickname ‘flying milk bottle. They were also likened to a mini albatross because they seemed to enjoy flying in stronger winds. Their long narrow wings enabled them to fly great distances and were one of the best birds at gliding on air currents, a mighty feat considering they carried 20% of their body weight in food.

Despite their superficial gull-like appearances, they weren’t part of the Gull family. They belonged to the same family as Petrels and Shearwaters and were closely allied to the Albatross, often referred to as ‘tubenoses’. The bill and tubenose were a notable characteristic which helped distinguished from the other birds breeding here. They were the last birds to breed and pairs often cackled to each other like drunken witches.

We also watched the juvenile Gannets in varying states of plumage with their mix of dark and light markings on the wings flying past in groups. It would take 3 or more years to get the adult plumage. They started breeding at an age of about 5 years or older. In the mean time, these young pre-breeding birds spent the summer investigating breeding colonies, the one in which they were born, a behaviour known as prospecting and also meeting potential breeding mates on the way. Bempton Cliffs was home to the only mainland breeding colony of Gannets in England. They arrived here from January and left in August/September.  They were either constantly flying in formation just like the Dawn Patrol or criss-crossing the sky.

From the viewing point, we watched them going about their daily business, sky-pointing, neck twisting, chest-expanding, to having a few disputes with the neighbours. With spear-like bills and spiky tails, they looked ‘pointed at both ends’. Gannets were silent except during breeding, when the head and neck were brushed in a delicate yellow. From time to time, their rough throaty hard cacklings could be heard. They paired for life and occupy the same nest each year. We enjoyed watching their bonding displays like bowing, sky-pointing and mutual ‘fencing’ of the bills. The males built the nests out of seaweed, feathers, grass, earth and sometimes strings and nets, all kept together with their droppings.

Standing upright on the rocky ledges and doing their chalk cliff inspection in action were the dark brown Guillemots. They stood upright and lined every ledge and cranny and crammed together shoulder to shoulder on the narrow rock ledges. They were usually silent but growled a loud whirring sound when on the nests, with their white underparts showing and paddle-like feet sticking out in front. They came to land only to nest, spending the rest of their life at sea, where they were vulnerable to oil spill.

It would be lovely to see their courtship which took place in water where one will be swimming around the other which spins to face it. They also had communal displays where several pairs were circling and bobbing or standing and flapping wings. The animation, the continual whirring flights of parent birds, the yarra-yarra-yarra racket, snaking necks and long bills created a mesmeric atmosphere. They fell out with each other and with neighbours. Guillemots only started to breed at about 7 years old. After the breeding season, they migrated in August with their young chicks to the eastern or southern part of the North sea. Together with the  Razorbills, they were among the first birds to fledge from the cliffs, and were gone before the Puffins left their cliff top burrows.

Then it was time to slowly ambled back along the cliff path. The views were stunning from here as the rugged limestone cliffs rose 400 feet from the North Sea with unrivalled views of the beautiful Yorkshire coastline with Flamborough Head, Filey Brigg and Scarborough all jostling for attention within a breath-taking panorama. We came across a group looking excitedly through their binoculars and scopes. I asked what they were looking at and it was a Ring Ouzel. Unfortunately, it was quite far and we managed only a record shot.

By the time we reached the path, I was exhausted and wanted to get back to the car and rest. But Babe wanted to check the Grandstand viewpoint first and I’m glad we did. We saw our first sighting of a Grey seal fishing. We had seen seals before but this was the first time at Bempton Cliffs. The North Sea was rich in biodversity for sealife and birdlife and attracted a variety of cetacea to feed on. There were reported sightings of Bottlenose dolphins, Harbour porpoises and even a Minkle Whale breaking the surface. I must remember that the show-stopping seabird melodramas on the majestic limestone cliffs were not the only things to look out for.   

We planned to check out the other view-points at the New Roll-up and Staple Newk later but decided not to. It was a very warm, breezy sunny day and I was beginning to overheat. We treated ourselves to a very expensive ice-cream each  to cool down. Then back to the car for a simple picnic of onion and cheese pasties with crisps and washed down with hot coffee from a thermos. Before leaving, I checked out the bird-feeding station and spotted a Brambling. Unfortunately, it was too dark for a photograph. What a lovely end to a lovely day.

Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heedest the surf that sings,

The bar that thunders, the shale that rings,-
Give me to keep thy company.
Little thou has, old friend, that’s new

Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes, too;
Little to care for, little to rue,-

I on the short , and thou on the sea.
All of thy wanderings, far and near,
Bring thee at last to shore and me;

All of my journeyings end them here,
This our tether must be our cheer,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on ocean’s breast,
Something in common, old friend, have we;
Thou on the shingle seek’st thy nest,

I to the waters look for rest,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

~Bred Harte ‘To a sea-bird’~

The Tale of the Badgers and the Osprey

When we were out and about at favourite playground last month, we noticed that the entrance into the old badger sett had been cleared. The sight of bundles of fresh bedding materials outside the entrance was one of the clearest signs of current badger activity. We planned to keep an eye on this. We were on our usual weekly visit when Mr. Greenman mentioned to us that badger cubs were out and about in the open, wandering along the path. Whoop…whoop. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, they’d gone back into their sett.

The next day, Babe went back to check the sett when I was at work. He along with a few photographers were very lucky to have had close encounters with 3 of the most adorable badger cubs. It was amazing to think that the sow, has had cubs since February. They were already several weeks old and safely tucked away in a labyrinth of tunnels, known as a sett or den. The sow had nursed her tiny young cubs through one of the coldest months of the year. To preserve energy she had lowered her own body temperature and been quite lethargic. By late March, the cubs had begun exploring the tunnels and chambers inside the sett and, two months after they were born, begun to venture above ground.

The mother was usually close by, making sure her cubs were safe. A cub's first tentative trips outside usually took place late at night, and they do not go very far from the sett entrances. Gradually though, the cubs got braver. They ventured out earlier, stayed out longer, and wandered further away from the entrances. New born badgers showed hints of two dark eye-stripes in otherwise thin, silky fur, and by the time they left the sett they had developed full adult coloration. Badger cubs were full of energy and were very playful, as seen from the photographs. I was green with envy just looking at them.

 

Badgers and their setts were protected by law under the Protection of Badgers Act 1992. These lucky photographers had to let them wandered close and let them chew on their shoelaces. What!!! They were playing and exploring in the spring afternoon sunshine, leap-frogging and being king-of-the-castle. After being underground and in the dark, they were desperate to play. They were running round each other in circles. They were so overjoyed to be out and about.  It was so heartening to see their boundless energy. It was mid-spring and the cubs were still small, about the size of Babe’s size 9 boots. They looked like a cross between a humbug and an old fashioned loo brush that had been backcombed . Simply adorable.

Unfortunately due to the close proximity to the path, their mother had decided to move her family somewhere else. The cubs had created a sensation and people who were either unaware of the law or just don’t care were getting too close to them. We think we knew where their new home was and we were glad that they were still around. By 12 weeks old, they were being weaned and started learning to forage for themselves alongside their mother. By the time they were 15 weeks old, the cubs were quite happy to go foraging alone. By autumn, they would be nearly as big as the adults. They played much less, and spend more time eating. They needed to build up their body fat so that they would survive their first winter, when there wasn’t much food around. If they lived through the winter, they would have a good chance of growing into fully adult badgers, and having cubs of their own.

Badgers were nocturnal. The white head with black nose and two broad black stripes running from behind the muzzle to behind the ears gave them their distinctive look. They had an overall grey appearance because the long guard hairs on their back and flanks had a white base and tip with a black band in the middle. They were stockily built with short, powerful legs, strong claws for digging and a small bushy tail. They were omnivorous and opportunistic feeders, taking a variety of whatever foods available. Earthworms formed the largest part of their diet but they also ate beetles, slugs, frogs and small mammals such as rats, mice and hedgehogs as well as nuts and berries.

When Carl Linnaeus wrote the first description of a Swedish badger specimen in 1758, he thought it was a species of small bear. Its scientific name used the Latin for badger, meles, for both parts. There were a few explanations for the origin of the badger's English name, one of which was derived from the 16th century word bageard, a reference to the striped face or ‘badge' of the animal. Another suggested that badger was derived from the French word for digger ‘becheur'. An old name for badger was ‘grey’, alluding to a rather odd attribute. Its body and leg fur was mostly pale grey: only part of the longest, wiry ‘guard’ hairs is black, producing the overall grizzled appearance.

Pushing the wedge of his body
Between cromlech and stone circle,
He excavates down mine shafts
And back into the depths of the hill.

His path straight and narrow
And not like the fox's zig-zags,
The arc of the hare who leaves
A silhouette on the sky line.

Night's silence around his shoulders,
His face lit by the moon, he
Manages the earth with his paws,
Returns underground to die.

An intestine taking in
patches of dog's-mercury,
brambles, the bluebell wood;
a heel revolving acorns;
a head with a price on it
brushing cuckoo-spit, goose-grass;
a name that parishes borrow.

For the digger, the earth-dog
It is a difficult delivery
Once the tongs take hold,
Vulnerable his pig's snout
That lifted cow-pats for beetles,

Hedgehogs for the soft meat,
His limbs dragging after them
So many stones turned over,
The trees they tilted.

~Michael Longley (For Raymond Piper)~

I was working hard when I got a phone call from an excited Babe who was at our favourite playground with the badger cubs. There was a new arrival and it was bringing all the birders, photographers and twitchers to the nature reserve, except moi . The piece de resistance was an osprey, seen fishing on the River pool which was adjacent to the River Avon and from where it gets its water. According to Babe, it was standing room only at River Pool and Teal Pool hide, which also overlooked River pool. After catching its lunch, the spectacular fish-eating bird of prey flew to a nearby tree to have its meal.

Then it flew back again to the pool showing off its dramatic fishing technique by soaring or hovering above the water’s surface before plunging at 30 mph with wings swept back, talons thrust forwards at the last minute to snatch a fish below the surface. Its dense plumage, dislocatable shoulder joints, underwater vision and fleshy nostrils that closed enabled it to plunge unaffected and then immediately flew with its catch. The success was nearly certain, due to the spiky scales on its talons and an opposable toe it rotated to allow a two-toed grip on either side of a fish. It carried fishes weighing half its weight, rotating the fish so its head faced forward for a streamlined flight. It was a successful angler as the pool was teeming with fish. Ospreys eat fish and nothing else; they were piscivores.

Seen in flight from below the Osprey had white or slightly mottled underparts. The long wings were angled, bending at the 'wrist' which had a black patch contrasting with the white wing linings. Ospreys could reach a length of 26 inches and a wingspan of 71 inches. It must be en-route from its wintering quarters in West Africa, hunkering down here to fatten up, before flying to its breeding grounds in England (Rutland, Cumbria, Northumberland) and Wales. It was fantastic to see the bird stopping here on its journey. It would be lovely if the reserve could be more than a bird service station but unfortunately the artificial nest platform that was erected near Ted Jury Hide had bit the dust.

The Osprey was an Amber List species because of its historical decline (due to illegal killing) and low breeding numbers. They were listed as a Schedule 1 species on The Wildlife and Countryside Act. The old English name was 'Mullet Hawk' which was a pretty good idea what their main fish prey species in the UK (and actually, where they nested) was before they were persecuted to extinction by 1916. For centuries, they had also been praised in literature. Written 2,500 years ago, China’s oldest, most celebrated poem, “Guan ju,” began “Guan guan trill the ospreys on the islet in the river.” The Corps of Discovery expedition team recorded them in 1803, Lewis noting a “white-headed fishing hawk,” and Clark describing “the Crown of the head white, and back of a milkey white.”

I was gutted not been able to see this amazing bird on my own local patch. But I’d already seen them at Rutland Waters and at the Dyfi Osprey Project. Unfortunately, they were miles away. Fingers-crossed, when it migrated back to West Africa in early autumn, it would made another pit stop.

This morning
an osprey
with its narrow
black-and-white face

and its cupidinous eyes
leaned down
from a leafy tree
to look into the lake – it looked

a long time, then its powerful
shoulders punched out a little
and it fell,
it rippled down

into the water –
then it rose, carrying,
in the clips of its feet,
a slim and limber

silver fish, a scrim
of red rubies
on its flashing sides.
All of this

was wonderful
to look at,
so I simply stood there,
in the blue morning,

looking.

Then I walked away.
Beauty is my work,
but not my only work –

later,
when the fish was gone forever
and the bird was miles away,
I came back
and stood on the shore, thinking –
and if you think
thinking is a mild exercise,
beware!

I mean, I was swimming for my life –
and I was thundering this way and that way
in my shirt of feathers –
and I could not resolve anything long enough

to become one thing
except this: the imaginer.
It was inescapable
as over and over it flung me,

without pause or mercy it flung me
to both sides of the beautiful water –
to both sides
of the knife.

~ Mary Oliver~