Love in the afternoon

I'd been pootling around the reed beds at Lucy's Mill in Stratford, seeking out dragonflies, while R was off doing actually useful things, and we'd just met up at the foot of the bridge on the south side of the river, to walk into town together and have a late lunch. "Give me one more minute," I said, "just to check the reeds over there. There was a male Migrant showing well earlier, but he took off when a huge lorry went over the road bridge, and I'd like to see if he's back." 

He was back, it turned out, but now zooming around bickering with a second male, which made neither of them easy to photograph. I was about to give up trying and leave, when one of the two suddenly swooped on an incoming female and carried her off - first into a tall elder by the road bridge (bad), but then, presumably not liking all the vibration and air movement from the traffic, back down into the reeds on the north side of the river (potentially, though not necessarily, good). Without taking my eyes off them in case they moved again, I phoned R, apologetically explained that I was going to be a few more minutes yet, and suggested he set off for town. "If you walk reasonably slowly, I'll be able to catch you up." I think he may have sighed at this point, but it's just as likely to have been a figment of my guilty imagination.

Back down off the bridge I went, and into the bed of nettles and other weeds on the north bank that's as close as you can get to this reed bed. Struggling to get to a place where I could get a clear sight line through the leaves, I wound up standing on an uneven stone at the very edge of bank, and leaning out over the water - which is very shallow there, but still not particularly enticing. And then my pair were buzzed - repeatedly - by a large green damselfly, which seemed to be determined to see them off. Migrant Hawkers don't tend to confront more aggressive odonates, so they swung agitatedly back and forth, and so did I, and for a few seconds there seemed to be a good chance that one or more of us would become airborne, but then the interloper gave up, and we all settled down again. 

Just then a little gust of wind blew aside all the intervening foliage, allowing me a couple of seconds of clear view, which was all I needed to get a burst of decent shots, then I scooted back over the bridge, and took off after R at an extended trot. By the time I was opposite the theatre I still hadn't spotted him, and the Where the Hell's He Got To Now? app on my phone had inexplicably gone on strike, so I phoned to check where he was and discovered that I'd passed him several minutes earlier without either of us noticing. Not the finest moment for either one of us, but luckily the mutual irritation and embarrassment dissipated in time for us to enjoy our lunch. 

There's only one more bit of this story to tell, you'll be relieved to hear, and that's the identity of the antsy damsel who tried to disrupt the Migrant Hawkers' lovemaking. Unsurprisingly really, given that it's having a pretty stupendous year in the West Midlands and seems to be turning up almost everywhere I go, it was (drum roll) a male Willow Emerald - the first I've ever seen at Stratford, or indeed, anywhere along the Avon. I doubt the Hawkers would agree, but when I look back on the 2025 Odonata season, I'm pretty sure the Willow Emerald is going to be my Damselfly of the Year.