Lagoon Lookout

I was a woman with a plan. I was going to treat myself to a couple of hours in a bird hide on the estuary and write a sparkling piece about it for my long-neglected blog. I have always loved estuaries. I am never happier than when I am gazing out at an expanse of rippling water and mud, listening to the otherworldly calls of curlews and oystercatchers. In such a constantly changing environment, there is always something interesting going on. And, apart from that, I have heard that otters are regularly seen from this particular hide.

So, I was not best pleased, when having driven for an hour, I discovered that my hide was under repair and out of use. Grumbling to myself, I stomped across the marsh to the next hide, overlooking a lagoon. At first glance, writing material seemed thin on the ground. I texted my husband to tell him that my plans had changed and I was now sitting in a hide with no birds in sight. He texted back, “Isn’t a hide without birds just a shed?” He had a point.

I picked up my binoculars and scanned the water. The scene was not, as I had first imagined, devoid of bird life. There was an elegant little egret stalking the shallows, a couple of mute swan, half a dozen moorhen and a little grebe, which swam straight towards me. A group of black-headed gulls, with charcoal-smudged winter faces, huddled together by the far bank. I settled down to watch, hoping that something exciting would happen. I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t really mind, as long as it gave me a story.

Time passed. The wind howled around the hide and ruffled the surface of the water. I wondered whether I should move on; try pastures new for my story. Then, I started to notice things that I had not taken the time to notice before – the bright orange of the autumn oak trees, the steely-blue of the water and the crows, hanging in the air like puppets cut loose from their strings. I turned at the sound of a kingfisher and watched it land on a post. A group of teal appeared out of nowhere and quietly dabbled. A pied wagtail hunkered down on an island and the egret stood on the shore to preen, exposing its shocking yellow feet. Suddenly, I realised that my attitude had been all wrong. The natural world does not have to be exciting. It does not have to ‘perform’ for my benefit. Nature documentaries have got a lot to answer for in this respect, raising the bar and our expectations, by showing us only the most interesting behaviour and the best quality close-up portraits. Wildlife watching in the real world is often nothing like that. It is a glimpse of a roe deer, before it melts into the woodland, the scrunch of leaves underfoot and the smell of damp earth. It is about delighting in the first primrose of the year, or discovering that blue tits are nesting in your garden. It is about all those little everyday things that connect you to the natural world and which you see as soon as you take the time to really look.

Happening Upon A Hare

This brown hare had clearly never read a ‘How to watch wildlife’ guide. It was midday and in my fluorescent yellow vest, laden down with equipment and standing in the middle of an otherwise featureless field, I couldn't have been any more conspicuous. Yet, the hare was apparently oblivious to my presence and lolloped calmly and directly towards me through the furrows of the pasture. I turned the dial of my digital camera to 'video' and pressed record.

As the hare drew closer, I tried to keep the lens focused on it, but, I was too interested in watching it in the flesh to spend much time checking the LED screen. It had grizzled, tatty fur like that of a much loved teddy and black-tipped ears that swivelled at the slightest sound. I was down-wind of it, but even if it was unable to smell me, I couldn't understand why it hadn't seen or heard me. Apparently, hares aren't able to see well directly to the front, a fact that photographers sometimes take advantage of by lying in wait on a tramline within a crop. So, maybe that could explain its apparent disregard of me.

When it was almost at my feet, it sat up on its haunches and fixed me with a stare. I held my breath, expecting it to spin and speed away, but, it didn’t. Instead, it took a few more hops towards me, before turning back the way it had come and ambling off again in an unhurried way. Only when it was nearly out of sight did it pick up the pace and sprint, leaping effortlessly over the tussocky grass and away.

Now You Do It
Although brown hares are still relatively widespread and common, they are easier to find in some parts of the UK than others and are absent from the northwest and western highlands in Scotland. According to the guidebooks, brown hares are nocturnal, so you are most likely to see them at dawn and dusk. The National Trust and Countryfile websites list a few places that they occur and the Slimbridge WWT reserve is also a good place to see them.

Conservation Status
It is thought that brown hares were introduced to Britain by the Romans. In recent years, they have shown one of the most dramatic declines of any British mammal (second only to the water vole), probably as a result of changes in agricultural practice. In comparison to the water vole, they receive relatively little legal protection, but they are a UK BAP Priority Species.