MONDAY 25th FEBRUARY 2013

Dunstall Park

Dull, very cold, north east wind, 10.45 to 12.30am.

A stately return for the lake's white lady

Who needs this?  We've had days of it, overcast, cold, grey, miserable.  Today, another four-layer job, always worse out in the middle than on the car park, so lock up, head down and briskly out on to a desiccated landscape, freeze-dried by days of winter weather.  The birds aren't keen either, eight foraging Rook on the central grass area, a scattering of Woodpigeon, at least 200 Black-headed Gull, plus a few Lesser Black-backed Gull near the lake fence and c.100 Canada Geese grazing inside the perimeter.  Surprisingly there's thin ice only round the shoreline, so a mixture of species take advantage of the open water, the pair of long-staying Gadwall joined by a single male, keeping a respectful distance, a male Shoveler feeding half-heartedly, a Mallard pair sheltered and asleep halfway down the sloped bank, and at least 12 Teal tucked in low along the water's edge, out of the bitter wind.  Coot numbers are still around the 14 mark, a group of at least four youngsters grazing together on top of the western bank and adults already on territorial stations, at least three pairs starting to build nest platforms amidst the spike-grass vegetation (what a contrast to rafts of 100-plus wind-buffeted birds seen last week riding out a wave-tossed Rutland Water).  A Snipe count (more accurately three Snipe counts, the numbers increase each time) reveals at least 14 birds motionless on the island, but it's so cold round the fingertips now there won't be a fourth census.  Getting ready to go, then round from behind the island appear shapes missing from the lake for nearly two years, white, graceful, stately, a female Mute Swan and her mate.  They pause, floating close together and bowing slightly, bending their necks in unison before pushing their way across to the northern shoreline and climbing the low bank in somewhat ungainly fashion, both turning to pull up dried grass and lay it ceremoniously and gently one after the other on a flattened area a metre or so above the water.   At least one pair of swans bred successfully at the lake from 2001 until 2005, but nests and cygnets were abandoned over the next five summers, and after the final sighting of a bird in April 2011, the lake had virtually dried out.  By the spring of 2012 all water-based species, with the exception of a pair of Coot, had left the site.  Then came last summer's rains, and back came the birds.  These swans are new to the lake, the male without rings, the female with an orange plastic band on her left leg, black letters 88A.  After a few minutes they leave the shore and move out across the water to the edge of the ice along the southern edge, pushing their necks downwards to feed from the lake bed.  They seem at home here, and with any luck they'll stay.  A movement from the grass bank and a hint of white feather as a small brown bird flies low into a waterside willow, a female Reed Bunting now half-hidden among the branches.  Along the western edge of the racecourse, a black-bibbed male bunting, perhaps the lake bird's mate, tail-flicks on top of a hedge, then goes into cover.  A band of  Jackdaw around 50-strong spill from the tops of beech trees and chatter their way towards the Water Bridge, the wind has died a little, and on the edge of a hawthorn thicket in the north western corner of the site at least four Goldfinch are singing, their tinkling notes thin in the cold air.  Nearby a male Bullfinch is calling softly, and a Greenfinch weezes into song (three days ago a lone Brambling played hide and seek in the thicket, the first one seen here for some years).  A Great Spotted Woodpecker undulates its way towards the railway carriageworks as I walk back, looking past the grandstand over the cold expanse of  grass that used to be a home for larks.  Just think.  In four weeks there'll be Wheatear out there . . .                               


(NB  Dunstall Park is a closed commercial site  Access is strictly limited).