All dressed up in its feathered finest, alone amongst a crowd of waterfowl, the grebe on the lake has absolutely nothing to do however dive. It would appear the bird that fished through winter season in black and white has actually coloured up for the spring to no obtain. An appealing chestnut ruff, a jaunty little black crest; all accessory is redundant for this excellent crested grebe without the existence of a mate. And if breeding is the factor for being, then its summer season is already over. The grebe overthrows and sinks out of sight. This is, after all, a fishing lake.
Standing at the water’s edge on an islet simply a couple of metres away is another only person, and the very first of its kind I have actually seen in this county. I need to be whooping with pleasure, and I do, however quietly, for I understand its relations well, and they are usually a shy lot. Sure enough, a squabble of greylag geese triggers this bird to raise its head, and extend its neck in alarm to complete heron height.
No concern this bird fits every word of its name. Great. White. Egret. Whiter than a snow-white swan, it’s a real egret in look, though its length makes it difficult to puzzle with its small cousins, the livestock and little egrets. A lifting breeze snaps up a small information on the back of its neck, the tip of an aigrette, the so-called tuft of breeding plumes. A function without a function for this bird, for in all possibility this egret remains in the lead of the celibate leaders, overshooting the Channel by mishap or style. Numbers of excellent whites in the UK are increasing and more are discovering business to mate, however this arrival looks set to spend the season alone.
After a couple of minutes of direct on guard, the egret unwinds a little by withdrawing into the normal no-neck heron inkling. Something captures its eye, for it shoots out its beak, then draws it right back as if it were an arrow kept in a bowstring. An area of fishing for Billy no-mates?
