Stately Stance

Today we revisit The Spinnies - or at least I do. G attempts to follow part of the new routing of the Wales Coastal Path, though he is thwarted by the need to cross a field that has been transformed into a quagmire by the recent rains. In fact, the whole area seems to be close to disappearing under water, the sluice having been blocked by beach gravel thrown up by high tides and storms. 

Of course, the scene from the hide is just idyllic, glassy waters reflecting the autumn colours of the trees and reeds, still but for the occasional lone paddling of mallards. There’s no flash of blue today - and in a way I’m glad. Seeing kingfishers should be a rare occurrence, something special to be treasured. 

The silence of the scene is suddenly disturbed by a strange bird cry - loud, continuous and unworldly. From the distant edges of the water rises a large heron, flying over the water in my direction.  I don’t think I’ve ever noticed heron calls before, and this is certainly the strangest sound. He disappears up a side channel, but minutes later I find him fishing from the shelter of the undergrowth - alert and quite magnificent. 

From the stately stance of herons, my attention’s drawn to ripples in the water; a little grebe pops up close to the hide, water beading on his so-neat feathers, posing momentarily before submerging once again. 

And so it’s yet another bird-blip - my main the largest of The Spinnies water birds, the smallest in extras.