As the saying goes, if at first you don't succeed... so this was our second trip to find the Bittern at
Potteric Carr NR, near Doncaster, and this time we weren't to be disappointed.
Perhaps it was the birds becoming more comfortable at their wintering site, the calmer brighter weather, or maybe we were just luckier this time, whatever the reason they showed well yesterday, with two different individuals from one very popular hide. A new lifer for me.
Their famed talent for transformation is well founded, and we watched these birds seamlessly move from streaky egg-shape to towering serpent. It's quite remarkable, and quite typical of this highly charismatic species.
That other elusive bird of the reedbed Water Rail was similarly accommodating, indeed more so. I'd never previously heard of them coming to feeders, never mind seen it, but now I'm a believer. As the tits and finches scattered seed down onto the grass below, the Water Rail skulked and crept from the reeds, out into plain view to peck up the remnants, no more than ten yards from the hide.
On the far side of the reserve beneath the main road into Doncaster, 2,000-3,000 Golden Plover roosted in the afternoon with smaller numbers of Lapwing.
All in all, a grand day out, and just reward for all that Christmas shopping I've had to do with my girlfriend.
Bittern in Winter, Black-necked Grebe breeding in the Spring/Summer, Potteric Carr is quickly becoming a must-do for the northern birder.
Redshank will forever be on my list of probable favourite birds. I could never choose just one species, but the unassuming grace of these waders makes them a certain contender.
There are few more common garden birds in Britain than the Starling, so what's to get excited about? Try a flock somewhere in the 100,000 range, twisting and contorting in unimaginable formations as they gather to their roost. They begin in the hundreds, a few different flocks scurrying from different directions, and this continues for fifteen minutes until you suddenly begin to realise they've become not flocks but waves, not of hundreds or thousands, but tens of thousands of individuals all following the same enormous plan - to stay in amidst the writhing torrent of birds until at some predestined or perhaps telepathic point they decide to land en masse, thus evading any dazzled predators patrolling the vicinity.
Of course with these numbers of birds flying overhead, there's always likely to be one drawback.
