Bird on a stick

I always find that photos taken under artificial domestic lighting are a nightmare to get right, and having sent myself cross-eyed for most of the morning, processing images from B's birthday party, by lunch time I was in desperate need of a break. The afternoon was forecast to be sunny, so I grabbed the camera and took myself off to Croome for some fresh air and exercise.

I'd hoped for a winter bird-fest, but in the event there was very little around, partly no doubt because the surface of the river and lake were almost totally frozen over. Nonetheless, twenty species across more than two hours doesn't seem like much of a tally, and some of these I didn't actually see, but identified by call alone using the excellent Merlin app from Cornell Labs. Although it was one of my happy places for a number of years, I've had quite a fraught relationship with Croome since the Powers That Be decided it had to be returned to Capability Brown neatness and sterility, and after seeing dragonfly numbers plummet last summer following extensive clearance of the reed beds along the watercourse, I find myself wondering if the tidying mania has now affected bird numbers as well. Only time will tell, I suppose.

I walked from the church to the Rotunda, down to the Chinese Bridge, along the east side of the river to the Carriage Splash, and then back along the west side to the lake, and I'd almost completed a full circuit there and was contemplating a quick yomp up through the shrubbery to the café, when this heron flew in (against the light, of course, because life's like that) and landed in a tree on the island. Once it was down I lost sight of it, and I had to do a second partial circuit to bring it back into view, but there's something so odd about a heron sitting in a tree that I was determined to capture the scene. When I spotted it, I liked the lovely warm sunset light that was bathing it, and the cluster of dried leaves behind its head that look like a cunning little hat, but I wasn't so keen on all the twigginess surrounding it. I spent so long walking up and down the lake shore, trying to find an angle that gave me a decent sight line, that by the time I reached the café they were technically closed, and it was only thanks to the kindness of the staff that I was able to buy a coffee.

Apart from the heron, my other notable encounter this afternoon was with Mr Richard Clifford, looking very chipper after his fungal triumph on Thursday's BBC Winterwatch. I'm happy to report that even though he's now famous he's still prepared to consort with the little people, and we had enjoyable chats at either end of my visit.