I usually hear these birds before I see them: a series of soft, liquid whistles, floating up from the narrow, steep-sided waterways that crisscross the moor behind my home. The sounds come from a flock of our smallest duck, the teal.
The collective noun for teal is “spring”, and they do always seem to be spring-loaded and ready to fly. No matter how carefully my dog and I sneak past, they usually notice us, taking to the air in a flurry, before dropping down in the distance, well out of sight. To get closer to this delicate little duck, I headed south to the RSPB reserve at Greylake in Somerset.
Once inside the roomy hide, I set up my scope and took a proper look. The drake teal’s plumage is far more subtle and complex than it first appears. Black wiggles across his breast, known as “vermiculations”, from the Latin for worm; a creamy-yellow slash along his flanks; and the bluish-green eyepatch: teal being the only colour believed to be named after a British bird.
He was resting on one leg, opening and shutting pale eyelids, as the rain splashed off his plumage like water off a waxed jacket. The prettiest of all our ducks? Wigeon, pintail and garganey might dispute that, but on a damp, overcast day, this little bird is hard to beat.
