Female flowers of hazel There's a golden glow over the reedbeds and blue sky is mirrored in the water. Alder are sunlit, with cones of last summer and catkins for the coming spring. An egret gleams in flight, widgeon call and there are shoveler, gadwall and coot. All this is worth coming for but snipe is called and that’s irresistible. Seeing them is a challenge for those who do not have fighter-pilot vision. There is a competitive element to birding and finding snipe exemplifies that. I bet few folk search for the female flowers of hazel that show beside the golden male catkins and they are stunning, like sea-anemones.
Snipe camouflage is superlative. Not only in cryptic colouring but in pattern. There are snipe where the reed bed meets open water, on the fringe. The reeds have been cut close to the earth and rumour has it that there are some five snipe hunkered down in a clump of taller waterlogged reeds glinting with blue where the strong sun gleams on water. I know snipe, I know what to look for but even so they are so hard to see. A brisk wind blows through the open windows of the bird hide and we warm our chilly fingers on flasks of hot coffee. Out there amongst the reeds and on the open water, birds are more resilient.
Look on-line for snipe and there are splendid photographs of a single bird perched on rock or post, out in the open. Our Leighton Moss snipe lurk motionless in stubble, hidden by taller reeds if you get the wrong angle. I offer you a huddle of snipe- so how many can you count? Look for that long, straight bill and an open eye glinting with a mote of sunlight. The birds shuffle close to each other and I’m not sure myself how many I’m seeing. Their heads have bold golden stripes on a dark-earth background. The pattern of gold on their flanks is a masterpiece of camouflage, making them indistinguishable from the winter reeds of their habitat. The reeds are weathered and broken, shafts shredded, and the snipe’s gold bars look like fronds of reed. The closer I zoom-in, the more the delicacy of the pattern is revealed. Plumage and reed become indistinguishable.
Look on-line for snipe and there are splendid photographs of a single bird perched on rock or post, out in the open. Our Leighton Moss snipe lurk motionless in stubble, hidden by taller reeds if you get the wrong angle. I offer you a huddle of snipe- so how many can you count? Look for that long, straight bill and an open eye glinting with a mote of sunlight. The birds shuffle close to each other and I’m not sure myself how many I’m seeing. Their heads have bold golden stripes on a dark-earth background. The pattern of gold on their flanks is a masterpiece of camouflage, making them indistinguishable from the winter reeds of their habitat. The reeds are weathered and broken, shafts shredded, and the snipe’s gold bars look like fronds of reed. The closer I zoom-in, the more the delicacy of the pattern is revealed. Plumage and reed become indistinguishable.
Widgeon are whistling out on the open water, there are egret brilliant white in the sun, gadwall, teal, mute swans and coot. But it’s the secret snipe that are the magnet, for the two of us and for the other birders who delight in them. It’s like a secret shared.
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