Bursting with excitement, my mission was to get to the hide to see the magical bird that had been reported there minutes before. Wishing I could be teleported so I could get there quicker, I skipped along the gravel path, leaving my mum behind. I peered through the gap in the hide, my eyes lit up at the bird’s shimmering blue and copper plumage. Its stubby, carrot-coloured legs clung to an overhanging branch on the lake’s edge, autumn sunlight illuminating every feather. The bird was a Eurasian kingfisher, Alcedo atthis. From that point on, every weekend I would visit my local nature reserve – Warnham in West Sussex – and observe their behaviour.
Fast-forward 12 years, and university has brought me to Bournemouth, Dorset. I’m here to study ecology and wildlife conservation. Nature has taken over my life. I take a day off from the stress of studying and catch the bus to a reserve just outside town, Stour Valley. The reserve consists of a two-mile path running parallel to the River Stour, with dense meadows and tree plantations following the meandering channel. In midsummer, these meadows are alive with demoiselles and blue damselflies, and the reserve is known for being great for watching otters (although they have avoided me so far). Today the river is crystal clear and reflects the blue skies and overarching willow trees. I look to the bottom and see shoals of freshwater fish – probably minnows.
As I stroll past mute swans, coots and moorhens, I hear a call that fills me with excitement, just as when I was eight. Seep-seep. Two blurs of electric blue whiz by. They land on a thin twig. I pass my binoculars to my housemate Jasmine, as the male passes a stickleback to the female (identifiable by the lower red mandible, or “lipstick”). Likely a pair, this offering will strengthen their bond – and they may still have a brood thanks to the warm autumn. Jasmine and I watch in awe as both birds call abruptly then make a hesitant exit.
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