When I read Duncs stream of euphoric conciousness I got the urge to go and see fro myself the bird that had got him in such a state of bliss that not even the midland biders curse could bring him too far down from his high.
Well, I saw a buzzard- but not The buzzard. It was a wonderfully pale thing that seemed to be aping a Gyr Falcon when perched, and worryingly looked like a Rough-leg when in flight. Now, I'm not saying Dunc has contracted a dose of "Holkham fever", but.....
While the Rough-leg failed to show up on Sunday, my reward for venturing out to enjoy the still afternoon was a lovely fly past Hen harrier, and a male Stonechat, all the while having the sound of wild swans drifting across the wheatfields. As the light faded I stood on the bank to look over the wash as the water turned peachy in the sunset. Three adult Bewick's swans swam passed a family of preening Whooper's, and hundreds of lapwings and Golden Plover were strewn out around the water's edge.
Further down the bank, just south of the Pymoor railway bridge, a Little Owl and a Barn Owl provided a fitting end to my evening.
I tried again this morning, with the same rough-luck, but I soon found myself under the flight-path of the swans as they made their way out onto the farmland for their lunchtime loaf.
