Hey there, to any new readers! If you are new here, here's something you might not know about me - I love to go out walking, rambling, wandering countryside footpaths. If you aren't new here, then you're probably already well aware of this . . .
It is from public footpaths that I have spotted some of the most beautiful nature and wildlife.
Last Wednesday, I took myself off walking, wanting to escape the grey and stained pavements of the town. So I headed towards the river, as I often do when I go out rambling.
In spring and summer, grasses, trees, weeds, and wildflowers awake beside the river, and green leaves burst with life along the riverside path. But, still with weeks left in winter, when I went out walking, it was dormant, quieter.
There's orange plastic barrier fencing down there, placed where swans have nested in the past. Looking past it, I saw the cans and plastic in the grasses that are a heartbreakingly familiar sight. The problem with quiet green spaces is that those seem to be the places where the lazy, the drunk, the uncaring like to go, as well as the walkers and runners. As well as the lives that need those places to survive.
A Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo), a bird that brings to mind things prehistoric, flew overhead. Well, not directly overhead, thankfully, since, as it flew over, it jettisoned a load of feaces, which landed with a series of little slaps on some bramble leaves. The moments we have with nature aren't always beautiful. Still, it made me stop and stare. And smile.
I walked on, Bedford behind me and, walking past Queen's Bridge, beyond Kempston, another town. I didn't have any interest in them, not that day.
A Grey heron (Ardea cinerea) flew by, over the water, on my left, its broad wings out-stretched, and another followed it, the second apparently following the first. The second though was not silent like the first, instead making its harsh call. I shook my head at not being fast thinking enough to have tried for a picture. Not that it mattered - all I had was my phone, and I would have walked away only with a nice blur to show people.
Further on, nearer Great Denham, a village, I spotted some bubbles and ripples on the surface of the water. I stopped, thinking it might be a bird having gone down, expecting another Cormorant perhaps. But, instead, an Otter (Lutra lutra) broke the surface!
It surfaced near the bank, close to where I stood. I looked at it, and it looked back at me, its head above the surface but the rest of its slender body beneath the water. It's moments like this that make me hold my breath. I could see its eyes and the features of its face, the brown fur made darker by the water, its whiskers. I greeted it, breath returned, a quiet "Hello" coming from my lips - it made no sound in reply. But still it didn't dash away.
The Otter only left after the thought came into my head that I might try for a picture. As I made a quiet scramble for the phone in my pocket, the mustelid turned and swam quietly away, and all I got for the effort was a poor video.
It swam towards the opposite bank, towards the mess of brown and dormant plant life there. And then, I realised that there were two!
I saw the second Otter near the opposite bank only as it disappeared into the plants, the first, the one I had been face-to-face with, following after. They disappeared, with crow calls coming from the direction of their disappearance. And there I stood for a moment. A shopping trolley was in the water, near the bank, and close to that a brown glass bottle. A Heron flew by. And the moment was gone. They tend to not last long.
Minutes later, a man came along, dressed in a hoodie and winter hat, bearded and with a backpack, carrying a camera with a very long lens. I commented on his equipment and asked if he was looking for anything in particular.
"Just otters," he replied.
Well, I gushed forth about my experience only moments before, every detail about my moment with the mustelids came flying from me in a mad dash to escape my mouth. I am not usually quite so sociable, so I must have really wanted to share with somebody.
The man asked me to point out in which direction they had gone, and when exactly I had seen them. I don't know how helpful I was in my excitement, but I tried.
From Great Denham, I walked on toward Bromham, and then on into Stevington, two lovely Bedfordshire villages. Stevington being particularly significant to me because it is there where I grew up.
I had visited Great Denham's parade of shops, and bought myself a meal deal from the local Sainsbury's. And, when I stopped later on to eat my sandwich, the cold February air that hadn't bothered me all that much as I walked, bit at my nose and forehead a little. I ate quickly.
As I walked the riverside, the fields, and the villages, I continued to spot some beautiful examples of our wildlife.
Near Bromham, I spotted a Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) in dormant tangled plants beside the river. This is one of Britain's smallest birds and loves the sort of dense and scrubby vegetation in which I spotted this one.
A Red kite (Milvus milvus) flew overhead when I walked through Bromham. For a moment, it circled above me, as though turning, swinging round on some great invisible wire in the sky. These birds of prey were once common, but persecution saw them come close to extinction. Through one-hundred years of careful conservation they are doing better. Not as common as they once were, and only found in spots throughout the country, we are very lucky to have these birds in our skies.
I stopped in Stevington, where I grew up, and where my parents still live, to visit.
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I create content for this blog because I am passionate about nature and wildlife, and I hope that that shines through, and I have resisted allowing ad space here. I want this to be about sharing that passion as much as possible, rather than trying to sell products.
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