Kingfisher Arrives After Patient Wait

I went to bed a full hour earlier with the firm intention of waking before dawn to see whether I could tempt a kingfisher to enter my field of view, but as I feared it was too early and I awoke after a mere three hours and then tried in vain to go back to sleep before the five-fifteen alarm went off, all I could do was doze.

As a safety net I had set my phone to back up the clock and I did not take advantage of the two minute snooze time, but got straight out, abluted and went downstairs to grab some cereal and a bite of toast and Marmite followed by marmalade and a sip from my pint of tea, leaving the majority for my later return.

I found that the cold wind and lack of sleep made carrying the tripod over my shoulder, the camera and lens round my neck together with the camera bag was hard going to walk along the canal to the reed beds and my chosen rendezvous.

It took fully five minutes to get set up, but even though I kept an eye out for my feathered friend, he was not to be seen – in the end not for another hour at least, though to be fair that was till he alighted on a branch; he did make a few fast runs past me training to match the flight of an Exocet missile! But I have never harboured the dream that I would catch a kingfisher in one of those flights – my eyes barely keep track, and to expect my hand and eye co-ordination to match that of a bullet in flight is beyond wishful thinking!

At last he landed on a branch all-puffed up as if he was just as cold as me, and I did react fast enough to just catch his departure, and note where he went. He was out of sight, but hearing a loud plop from the direction he had taken was a welcome sound, and I was rewarded by him alighting on the same branch with his meal and I succeeded in capturing the fish’s last few moments.

It was at least another hour before he returned, and by that time I was extremely stiff and cold, but he stayed around for longer this time, and sadly his successful fishing this time was behind numerous branches, as well as being beyond the traverse of my tripod head, because the only stable location was hard up against other branches.

I stayed for several more hours till my fingers were sore, my legs almost immoveable and the cold had reached my marrow! Whereas with my arrival I made it down in a single trip, I could not trust myself to do the scramble back up in less than three trips, and I felt very stiff as I took the long walk back to my car; The camera with its card of exposures seemed twice the weight! But mentally I was warmed by having got some shots that pleased me.

Great Amwell

Choosing a meeting venue with an English couple and Golden Retriever who have spent the last several years in Provence was a challenge I faced on Wednesday. The idea was to meet somewhere halfway between where I am located near Luton, and London where Peter and Diana have their English base.

A motorway service station was not going to fit the bill, and the direct link was the M1, so I chose a spot I had first been to some three years back when working for a whole day covering the photographing of a series of Hertfordshire projects for Tom Williams of Maydencroft Rurals – Amwell Nature Reserve, close by Ware.

The spot I chose was in the heart of the village; the George IV public house, and despite setting out from our respective bases in London and Luton at differing times, I arrived within a minute of Peter. The purpose behind our meeting was he was shedding his London home of several Bowens electronic flash heads, and they would add to my own kit handily.

The handover would take place later, for the moment we would take a wander through the nearby graveyard which was awash with a profusion of snowdrops, and as graveyards go, this one was charming as it was hilly with pathways winding through trees, and so quiet and peaceful. All three of us chatted as we walked around and finally made our way towards the New River, with its ducks, geese and coots, and the tranquil island with its massive Weeping Willow and beyond a redwood tree rising ramrod straight into the grey sky, with both providing serene reflections in the glassy surface of water. That was one side of the bridge, and on the other an old rustic cottage currently up for sale.

We crossed across a quiet road, and eventually came to a gated railway crossing whose sign implied we were required to phone to check it was safe to cross if we had a dog, however, when I did phone I was told patiently the warning was really meant to cover the moving of animals in groups across the tracks, such as sheep and cattle!

We walked alongside the canal, sometimes with Daisy unleashed, sometimes under more strict control, taking in views across the wetlands to the hides and the golden reedbeds. we looped around and finally back up to the pub, where we had a light snack lunch with wide ranging conversation covering Peter and Diana’s joint careers as photographer and stylist and life around the world, but they have a lot of decorating to complete before returning to France, so it was time to transfer the flash gear to my car and let them go back to painting ceilings.

For all of us it was great break, and we were soon back on the road.

Hot September Day – Oxfordshire

The intention was to visit a part of the nearby country where Red Kite were supposed be prevalent, and in terms of seeing them I was lucky, but in each occasion, that moment was gone in a flash, despite my waiting around having stopped the car. I spotted a hovering kestrel, but even though the right camera and lens were to hand, and parking up close by was not a problem, it was gone, never to appear again. I had seen a pair of kites in the distance by a bridge, but they never returned, but from that bridge I was surprised to see very rusty, and twisted rails disappearing into the haze yet a red signal was alight, and in the opposite direction just buffers (Health and Safety gone mad?) I stopped at two bridges on the same line and I would surmise that no train has ventured on these lines since Dr Beeching took the axe to Britain’s rural lines in the Sixties. The twists I saw at the second bridge were certainly not the trick of a heat haze!

I took a walk along the canal near Thrupp, and the pubs along the way, must have been very welcoming of the unexpected trade due to the unseasonable warmth for the end of September. The stretch was full of narrowboats, and canoes, and the towpath offered the opportunity for fathers to repair their son’s cycle punctures, parents and grandparents to read their books and magazines, and several to take the opportunity to repair and paint their boats in preparation for the autumn and winter ahead.

I developed a raging toothache, and was very grateful that a village shop had some ibuprofen, and in this same village on my return passage I spotted a wonderful view accentuated by the lowering sun of a cottage just beyond a small pond and reed beds, with a few late flowering lilies; there had been a pair of mallard ducks, but my arrival sent them into the secrecy of the reeds. A little later in the return trip I came across some fields awash with pheasants, close by a drive beyond security gates, where a lone cyclist was leaving the grounds.

Marsworth Early Birds

My biological clock is used to my working in the early hours of the morning, so waking early is tough! But I managed to be abed by one o’clock, so setting the alarm for five-thirty and setting off forty-five minutes later after a swift shower and brief breakfast was quite a personal success, but poor by wildlifers’ standards. I then setup the 7D and 300mm lens on the gimbal head with levelling cup and attached a bar and pistol grip to the tripod and set off. I then walked between Marsworth and Startops End reservoirs and along the canal towards Bulbourne.

I am a just in case sort of person, so could not do without two other bodies with lenses attached, and trudged to my designated spot by the red beds at the far end of Marsworth reservoir, and despite the cold was by now steaming and had to shed some outer clothing and my woolly hat to avoid steaming up my glasses!

I then got steadily colder and colder as waited patiently to capture the smaller reed birds as they would fly up above the reeds then swoop down once again out of sight. Every so often they would either climb up a reed, or land  at the top and sway about for a while. Focussing was often a struggle as they were a good distance away and it was difficult sometimes to get an uninterrupted view through the nearmost reeds.

The forecasters had suggested a clear start becoming cloudier, the opposite was true, and eventually with a stiff neck and considerably colder I then made my way back to the Tringford reservoir, I had managed some images, but ironically as I walked back I got a few more with the difficulty of holding the tripod up when possible images came my way!

When I got to see Bob Menzies I then met Dave Wilkinson the boss of Tringford Anglers, and we chatted before I left to return to work on my images.

Buckland Puddle and the Grand Union Canal

Monday morning and promise of clear skies and sunshine. I set off for Buckland and the Grand Union Canal after checking all my emails and diverting calls to my mobile. The destination was a small pond just off the canal that I gather is known as Buckland Puddle. It is a fair trek alongside the canal, from the nearest I can park the car, when carrying a tripod, small seat and a full camera bag, but I need the exercise.

I hoped that I would stand a chance to capture some of the birdlife, but considering how remote the spot, I was amazed at just how silent it was; nary a whisper of birdsong, and I stayed quite a while with only one brief visit from a couple checking out the pond. Birds overflew but only very occasionally. I took a series of shots to show the scene, a few reference shots of the camera and gimbal head, and little else. I did notice that several fishermen had lost their floats, high in hawthorn branches. After several fruitless hours of waiting, I resigned myself to the failure and waste of time, and just took a few shots of the bridge over the canal and the locks beyond. Just over the bridge is evidence of an old water meadow.

I packed my gear and took myself off to Wilstone Reservoir, hoping for something better over there. The clear skies remained, which was at least some consolation.

Northchurch Woods, and a walk along the canal

Sunday saw a day of milky sunshine and some warmth, so a drive into the country beckoned. I parked the car close by some woods that took my fancy because they lined a deep valley, and I soon discovered that at some time in the past, the owners had arranged low jumps for horseriders which made some interesting photos.

Later I continued and parked near the allotments to take a walk along the canal towpath. Clottishly, after changing to my wide angle lens I put its lenshood in my pocket, so that when I bent down for a low-angle shot, it was squeezed out, bounced twice on the edge before plunging into the fast-running water from the lock! I cursed my carelessness, and hopefully will learn in the future, not to repeat the mistake!

Walking along I mentioned my stupidity to a fisherman, who offered me the use of his net, and though I spent five minutes dredging the side downstream of where it went in, it was fruitless.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking gently and occasionally chatting to some of the numerous others taking the opportunity to cycle, walk, run or boat along this stretch, there was a photographer using a Nikon who was in Fine Art Marketing, a few fishermen, and a family group who were interested in what I was shooting, and except for the mishap with the lenshood, it was a very pleasant time.