The lake and sky both lie grey and still, sound melting into the mist to leave the day near-silent along the shore. Even the troop of Black-headed Gulls at the river mouth are subdued, preening and chuckling to one another quietly.
A collection of larger than usual stones on the islet resolves into a loafing flock of Goosander, the males' salmon-white bodies blending with the stones just as well as the females' grey. They slide seamlessly into the water as we approach, gliding nonchalantly around the islet, keeping a safe stretch of water between us. The heron standing head sunk into its shoulders on the end of the islet turns a pale yellow eye in our direction, then returns to its study of the water, almost with a contemptuous sniff.
Here and there on the lake, Great Crested Grebes float sleepily, white topped with a swirl of black, curled up like some sugared pastry. Amongst them some Black-necked Grebes dive for fish, spreading circlets of ripples to lap gently on the stones.
A willow has been toppled into the river, it and a pile of fresh orange-tinted chippings on the shoreline beneath are testament to the presence of beavers. Fresh tracks of paws and tail in the mud suggest the tree was felled last night.
No comments:
Post a Comment