All dressed up in its feathered best, alone among a crowd of waterfowl, the grebe on the lake has nothing to do but dive. It would seem the bird that fished through winter in monochrome has coloured up for the spring to no avail. An alluring chestnut ruff, a jaunty little black crest; all adornment is redundant for this great crested grebe without the presence of a mate. And if breeding is the reason for being, then its summer is already over. The grebe upends and sinks out of sight. This is, after all, a fishing lake.
Standing at the water’s edge on an islet just a few metres away is another lone individual, and the first of its kind I have seen in this county. I should be whooping with delight, and I do, but silently, for I know its relations well, and they are generally a timid lot. Sure enough, a squabble of greylag geese causes this bird to raise its head, and extend its neck in alarm to full heron height.
