11.Brief encounters

Kneeling in the sand dunes behind the old RAF base at North Cotes, I was scanning the tidal lagoon for unusual winter visitors. There were dunlin, redshank and numerous lapwings – nothing ‘special’. As I gave my eyes a brief rest from my binoculars I spotted something flying leisurely along the edge of the dunes towards me. This was very special! I turned with my binoculars to get a clearer view.
It was gliding between sporadic wing beats, following the contours of the dunes as it searched the rough vegetation for its next meal. Its white rump and its metre-long wing span gave away its identity – it was a female hen harrier, and it was getting closer by the second.
I held my breath and remained absolutely motionless as it approached to within what through my binoculars appeared to be a few feet. It was actually only a few metres and I was waiting for it to react to my presence in what was hardly an inconspicuous position. When it did react it was in spectacular fashion and not because it had caught sight of me.
Appearing over my left shoulder and almost flying head-on into the harrier was another large bird of prey, flying in the opposite direction but hunting in the same way, head down in deep concentration. I recognised it immediately as a short eared owl, probably the same one that I had watched hunting over the airfield earlier that morning. Both birds reacted in exactly the same way, like mirror images of each other, appearing to rear up and hang momentarily in mid-air, face to face with their wings outstretched. This stand-off lasted less than a second before they continued nonchalantly on their way, discretion definitely being the better part of valour for both of them.
Chance encounters like this can give wildlife watchers really magical moments. The previous month had been extremely cold and I had spent a frosty couple of hours on Sunday morning on the coastal nature reserve at Rimac. Not unusually for this time of the year I had seen next to nothing. This was particularly galling as I had my Christmas present with me – a brand new Kowa spotting ‘scope and tripod. I drove homewards but, even with feet numb from the cold, I was not going home without one last try.
I turned off the coast road, drove down a track with frozen puddles and parked on Howden’s Pullover, a rough car park on the edge of the salt marsh. I walked south along the sea bank towards an area of scrub, reeds and buckthorn. As I approached I spotted a barn owl hunting, so I ducked down on the landward side of the bank with the intention of getting as close as possible to the owl and trying out my ‘scope. After another 50 metres or so I chanced a peep over the bank. There it was, perched about 2 metres above the reeds on a branch of what appeared to be a small elder. Through my binoculars I could see it was agitated and taking a keen interest in the reeds directly beneath it. There was something there.
I quickly set up the ‘scope, located the owl and turned the focus wheel. What a thrill, one of Britain’s most beautiful birds magnified to appear just a few feet away. But its fidgeting was now more obvious than ever. I adjusted the tripod slightly so that I could see what had the owl’s attention, and there it was. Sitting in the reeds below, looking up at the owl and licking its lips – yes, I actually saw its tongue slide across its upper lip – was a fox.
There was frost on the reeds and the branches, the dark buckthorn in the background was out of focus, and the two subjects were framed perfectly and their colours exquisitely complementary. This would surely have been a winning picture in any wildlife photography competition. The only problem – I didn’t have a camera!