Of all the birds I would take to an imaginary desert island, the great crested grebe would be very near the top of my list. One of my earliest birding memories is, aged eight or nine, going on a nature walk to the local gravel pits with the rest of class 3T. I was walking along the path in a daydream, when my very first great crested grebe cruised right past me.
I’ve seen plenty of grebes since that first encounter, more than half a century ago, yet I will never tire of them. Few other British birds are quite so effortlessly elegant; and few have quite such an elaborate courtship ceremony.
Now that spring is here, great crested grebes are pairing up on the Avalon Marshes near my Somerset home. I’ve watched in delicious anticipation as they approach one another, flicking their feathery crests and mirroring each other’s movements, before feigning a loss of interest and turning away.
Just once – last spring – I saw the climax of this ritual. Both grebes dived simultaneously, emerged carrying a strand of dense green water weed, and then rose up in the water in the aptly named “penguin dance”. It lasted just a few seconds, yet will lodge in my memory forever.
