A grand day out

I went to Mai Po Nature Reserve this morning. It rained. I was trapped in Hide number 1. There are worse places to be trapped. It was dry, comfortable, warm and I had drinking water with me. In extremis I could have drunk the rain. After an hour or so I realised that the birds were behaving differently, depending on the species. The Little egrets were hunkering down. Their Daz white plumage (would you swap missus?) quite, well, dazzling. Some showed the feathery plumes of breeding plumage, others were simply sleek and elegant. But when you are wet and miserable there is an inevitable air of resignation about you. The egrets looked resigned to their drenching.

The avocets however did not miss a beat. Their long, upswept bills swished from side to side. They swish and squabble all the time. They are, I'm told, called "kluuts" by some, after their noise. I learned this from Simon Barnes' evocative book, "Flying in the face of Nature", possibly my favourite book bar none. I'm not convinced by the transliteration but that does not stop me marvelling at them each time I see them. A flock of Avocets in flight is something to make the heart race, to lift the spirits and feed the soul. Rain? They did not seem to notice it at all.

A bigger swish was made by the large spatulate bill of the appropriately named spoonbill. At Mai Po the star attraction is the Black-faced spoonbill. A tall, always stately bird, given to standing on one leg with the other crossed across it. If rarity were their only attraction it would be a shame because these are fine birds and they also seemed unflustered by the rain. Indeed the solitary bird in front of Hide 1 paraded, for that is what it did, up and down the water channels without a break. A worthy talisman for the reserve.

A Chinese pond heron in breeding plumage is a rather nifty bird, a dandy, clad in long red socks, a claret shirt, black and white shorts, sporting a multi-coloured hooter and a sort of mullet haircut. Shades of West Ham United in the 70s perhaps? Today "my" bird was on edge. Skulking around, in and out of the reeds, dashing for cover at the drop of a hat. Although I don't recall dropping a hat. Did he know it was raining? Possibly. More important it seemed to keep busy and feed on. Occasional forays into the bushes were brief. A short game of a peek-a-boo followed as the neck stretched up and then recoiled. Then splosh, it dropped back into the water and padded on.



The "West Ham" pond heron

A moorhen swam out, diamonds covering its back, sliding into the water only to be replaced by more as the rain pitter-pattered on. This bejewelled bird kept to a tightly drawn area and never ventured far afield. Similarly the snipe. I saw it drop in. Then nothing. Sheltering perhaps? Maybe because when the rain eased it crept silently along the fringe of the grassy area, low and half hidden, noticeable at times for its splendid cream bracers, yet totally focused on feeding. Bob and probe, bob and probe.

Away to my right I suddenly spotted a Great egret in apparent discomfort. My binoculars showed me a large problematic lump in its throat. This egret had bitten off more than it could chew. Never mind the rain, it was desperately throwing back its head, trying to shift the trapped fish or mudskipper. I had this momentary vision of another egret coming over, giving it a hefty slap on the back to help the process. Silly me. Eventually the bulge disappeared down the snake-like neck and into the stomach. And the egret moved on to the next dish.

All around the ponds were distant dots, crowds of huddled waders. I had no telescope with me but some I could recognize. The big, lumpy curlews, the stilts, hundreds of Red-necked stints, sand plovers, godwits, greenshank (surely a Nordmann's in there somewhere?), Spotted redshanks and my favourites, the Curlew sandpipers.

After 2 hours the rain eases and instantly the prinias are active again. Rattling their call out. A White-breasted waterhen shuffles quickly across the grass, and then another. The light lifts and in the distance I can hear a pole being driven into the ground. The workers are out again from their shelter. A passage of Barn swallows shoots past the hide and the Indian cuckoo picks up its calling once more. 4 notes, over and over again. Scarce a break (except when rain stops play). A Long-tailed shrike sits up on its perch again, surveying the ground for a meal. Smart birds the shrikes. But I have to go. I can escape my trap and wander on, looking for the next magic moment.



Little egret