Catkins of goat willow Marsh harrier were in display-flight, high amongst the blue, amongst dark flecks of sand martins, then diving down into the reeds. A slick in the water, beyond the great crested grebe, beyond the golden eye. The otter raised its head clear, and the size of the creature took me by surprise. The warden relayed our sighting back to headquarters, telling the riches of Leighton Moss. Otter, and marsh harrier sky-diving. Cetti's warbler singing over the reed beds. He did not mention the willows glorious with catkins, a motif of the day.
The morning is better than the weather forecast but the light is fitful and the camera dislikes it, misses the magic. Things are elusive. We watch sand martins feeding low over the water but by the time we've moved closer they're up high with the marsh harrier.
My friend Jill and I swop stories of otter we've seen. My best was in Ireland. After breakfast, we strolled the shore. Come here, he beckoned, quietly. The otter was eating scraps of fish in the bottom of a rowing boat.
It's about shared experience, that's the best gift anyone can give.
My friend Jill and I swop stories of otter we've seen. My best was in Ireland. After breakfast, we strolled the shore. Come here, he beckoned, quietly. The otter was eating scraps of fish in the bottom of a rowing boat.
It's about shared experience, that's the best gift anyone can give.
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