Magical photo op is a real hoot
A late winter’s afternoon and the dipping sun cast an eerie light for ghostly owls to come out and play. Not so much the witching hour as the twitching hour, you could say.
Birdwatchers with massive cameras and huge expectations lined a grassy bank bathed in dusk, excited voices muted by the distant barking of cranes and wild swans.
There can be few grandstands set so perfectly as the embankment overlooking the RSPB’s reserve on the River Nene floodwash.
Here, a few miles east of Peterborough, the landscape harks back to times when impenetrable fens protected Anglo-Saxons from Norman invaders.
Today, the Nene Washes prevent flood waters damaging agricultural land and, in doing so, give sanctuary to some of our rarest and most photogenic birds. Little wonder so many line the Eldernell watchpoint to enjoy the sight of waders, wildfowl and raptors at dusk.
I recently set up my telescope and tripod to savour the birds filling the skies with flashing wings, and predators using stealth and cunning to hunt down their prey.
The game of life and death was played out by countless marsh harriers, flying slowly over reedbeds with wings held in a V-shape, eyes and ears on full alert. A peregrine falcon caused pandemonium by whizzing through flocks of lapwing, golden plover and ducks.
As the sun slipped towards the horizon, the anticipation grew before the stars of the early evening spectacular took centre stage – short-eared owls.
Whatever their collective noun, nothing can adequately celebrate the beauty and grace of these cat-like creatures with wings so lithe and agile they seem to be under the control of a celestial puppeteer.
Camera motor-drives clicked and whirred at every balletic move over their marshy domain – floating, gliding, soaring and then diving on some hapless vole.
Occasionally, an owl would alight on a post, allowing the assembled ranks to admire the beauty of its camouflaged plumage and gaze into eyes as fiery as the setting sun.