Walking along the eastern shore of Loch Ruthven I was full of anticipation approaching the wildlife hide. The loch, surrounded by snow-capped hills, was flat calm. A few faint croaks broke the silence. I stopped to listen and only then noticed a male toad at the side of the path, shuffling along as only toads do, heading for the loch and the distant call.
Then another male, this one more fortunate as it was hitching a ride on a female, forelegs grasping her tightly; the pair would mate when they reached the water. I walked on into the birch and rowan woodland, soothed by the babbling waters of a burn and the rippling warble of a male dipper’s song. Dippers are very early breeding birds. I guessed that he would already have a female sitting on eggs further up the burn.
At the hide, I eased open the door, hoping I would have it to myself, happy to find it was indeed empty. I was after Slavonian grebes – this loch holds about half of the 30 pairs that breed in the UK, mainly in this part of the Highlands.
However, the signs were not good, as the sedge beds, their favourite nesting sites, were not even showing above the water. The only birds to be seen were a pair of goldeneye ducks, the male in vigorous display with much jerking back of its head. But then I saw a single bird in flight, circling the loch, and I knew from its size and the trailing legs that it was a Slavonian grebe.
There was a splash as the bird, an adult male, landed close to the hide and in front of me. What colours – bright yellow tufts on the top of his head, contrasting black cheek feathers. It was so close I was in awe. Perhaps this was the first one back from the wintering quarters at sea.
It reminded me of Ted Hughes’ poem Swifts: “They’ve made it again, Which means the globe’s still working.”
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