I seem to have amused this little Coot somehow, maybe it’s because we share the same hairstyle. It might though just be surprise as his/her wife/husband has just that instant dived, causing the ripples in front of him/her.

A common enough species but I’ve always found them hard photographically. They are, after-all black but with that pure white patch. When it come to exposure trying to get that right so as to encompass both is difficult enough but then you need a background that is suitable to show both to good effect. Unless you have a pet one getting a coot to sit in the right place is a hopeless. Here a low winter light, and just enough ripple in the water to create an interesting speckled mix of colour, shade and highlights gives just enough prettiness to provide a reason for inclusion.

I don't, and won't, do this sort of thing very often, ie create composite images. So please forgive me this once. But, there's always a but isn't there, it is the best way I think to show this diving action without posting four separate images.

I have always pondered why there was such a splash when a swimming bird dived, surely all they had to do was sort of stop floating and just sink! Thing is it’s all too quick for the human eye really. So I wanted check the action out for a long-time, but always seemed to forget it when in front of diving birds, cursing when one I was trying to photograph disappeared under water! Anyway, I finally took the chance.

By viewing them together we can see how much actual effort seems to go into it, and colour me surprised really. They, well coots at least, seem to almost jump up and then downwards, pushing for all their worth with their legs. Of, course had I thought about it properly I would have realised something as buoyant as an air-filled down and feather pillow would take some pushing to get under. Oh well, I’ve learned something new. You probably already knew!

Oh, as there is a fair bit of detail in this image, clicking on the full size (eg 2500px) page will open it still further directly in your browser window.

This sweet little coot looks so proud of his efforts, he’s found this lovely stick for his nest, I can see that deep down he thinks his missus is going to be pretty impressed with it too. It is a lovely long one after-all.

Well it all went fairly well in the open water. Sure he looked like a dog who has found a stick that’s too long to really carry and, no matter how often it’s dropped and picked it up again, can’t master the balance cleanly. But with one end or the other dragging in the water he got to the patch of Phragmites and Typha on the bank where his nest must be. And you can see how he was pleased he is with his efforts, and so will his missus be, just as soon as he gets it home. Thing is, his problems were only just beginning, as he soon discovered when he tried to swim amongst the littoral vegetation. I’m sorry, I’ll admit it, I laughed as his progress came to an instant halt. Well surely I just need to push harder, nope, he remained resolutely where he was. There was no anger, no frustration, just a sort of puzzlement. He must then of assessed the situation somewhat, because after a few moments he twists his head sideways to try and lead with one end. I mean it’s a seriously good try, but no cigar. So he twists the other way and tries a different route. Still no cigar, which is fair enough because I’ve no idea how he could light one, rubbing two sticks together perhaps. He swims away a bit, heads back to the first route he’d tried earlier and this time does manage to drag it, with a lot of struggling, past the first shoots, cigarillo at least. But he must have metres to go, and the vegetation only get’s denser. And now he’s really stuck, not really able to go back or forwards. But he is determined, he really is, and he knows his missus is just going to love it. Somehow, with much wrestling, he manages to progress past another stem, not quite in the right direction as it’s toward the open water. But it is progress and, after-all, he’s managed perhaps a whole 18 inches since he reached this vegetation 5 minutes or so ago. I take few and wander off, leaving him to his labours. I do have to go, I can’t stop myself from laughing out loud much longer, and there are people around.

I often think of him. Is he still there perhaps? Did he make it home after a long long struggle to be greeted with a “wow my love, my hero, what a beautiful stick”, or perhaps a welcoming “what are thinking of, that’s way too big you fuckwit, I said get some little ones, and anyway were have you been all fucking afternoon?”. I’d kinda like to know, I thought he was cute, and he had a sexy hairstyle.

A cold November afternoon, and the need for calories to burn for heat through the long winter night, is pressing. To survive, this little Moorhen is diving in the freezing water for enough for supper. The water on his back and tail is freezing in the cold. I shiver.

With a similar overall colour scheme as the Coot – except the red for white on the head thing, but with an added white patch for difficulty - it can be tricky to get the correct exposure for this species too, best just to bracket (taking a sequence with exposure shifts). Here the flattest of flat cold winter light has made it fairly easy though.

I like this image for the way the overall grey pathos provides the setting for that patch of bright red and green at its focus.

One of the attractions of birds partly acclimated to human disturbance is it enables a closeness more wilder cousins shun. I personally draw the line at zoos or bird ‘parks’ where birds are essentially caged. Sure you can get amazingly close images but where’s the skill or satisfaction in that? But I will go explore urban parkland etc. This afternoon I’m exploiting that moral loophole, again, within the University of Stirling campus. Julie has just been ‘doctored’ and we’re walking a path around the wee lochan (big pond), before we go an eatin’ and a drinkin’ to celebrate.

A moorhen ahead of us scuttles through the vegetation bordering the lochan and hence into the water and fringing reeds. I catch up and try to get pretty picture as I walk alongside her. But the plants are dense and all I get to see are transient snippets, little glimpses. She carries on swimming amongst senescent plants, I carry on walking to get ahead of her, looking for a small open area where I might get a picture. She appears, but swims though the gap too fast for me, way too fast actually, I walk ahead again, find another patch, she appears, too fast again, I walk ahead……. rinse repeat, again and again this happens. It become a game, I can see it now, she’s playing hide and seek with me, well why not?

After perhaps 1/4 miles of this game I actually did manage to get one of her. Hah, that’s 10 points to me. We shake hands and go our own ways, a game well played.

I’m travelling south to England, a rare trip, en-route I stop off just east of Edinburgh at the delightfully named Musselburgh Lagoons. Dreaming of coral reefs, long sandy beaches, crystalline azure waters, I step from the car into a dog-shit minefield. A promising start indeed. Treading carefully, I make my way a mile or so to the ponds. Finding a hide, constructed somewhat unusually of thick re-enforced concrete, seat and all, I settle to look at what’s around. I feel a tad like a WW2 lookout here, peering through concrete slits for invading forces, instead a magpie hops cheerfully in front of me. “good morning Mr Magpie” I say as I take his picture. He poses nicely and I ask which is the best bunker for waders. “Oh, you want the one over there, pointing with his bill. Thanking him I move on and settle into the next bunker (I mean did Edinburgh council build these thinking we’d have a lot of time for birdwatching as the ‘bombs’ fell. If so a roof might have helped!). Anyway, soft bum to hard cold concrete I look out at the water. A few Shelduck, too far away the buggers, a lot of Widgeon, few Redshank, nothing yet to warrant the dogshit dodgems. I sit for a while as you have to of course. Nature comes to you if you wait.

As the last shred of warmth leaches from my buttocks I notice a sweet little grebe, diving and popping up amongst fringing dead phragmites and Typha. I follow him for ages but this vegetation prevents a shot. There is a gap of clear water directly in front-of me, and he’s sort of heading toward it. Dive, surface, dive, surface…….. then he’s there directly in front of me. And what a sweet thing he is. That punk hair-do might be considered retro to some but he’s a delight. Snap. Thank you.

Well after spending a futile few hours in the Ruthven hide, Slavs a mile away, I return home. As we approach I see a couple of dabs in the pond opposite my house. They look lovely, and continue to call to each other, a delightful sound. Well the camera is in my hands, the lighting is low and lovely, it is all a beautiful early spring evening. I watch and listen, willing the one nearest me to swim into dark refections cast by some nearby beech trees. He stubbornly refuses to do so, instead he dives and surfaces in the bright reflection of the sky, nice but no cigar. I want him in that shadow. I wait. I realise Julie will be home any minute, expecting her tea. I wait. Tension builds! I wait. Then he does it, diving and swimming underwater towards the dark. He pops up, perfectly placed. A subtle medley of browns and bright rings of light. Well I say so, and yes, it’s my website!

..... then his partner calls and he looks to answer.

I probably only need one of these images, but I cannot decide which I prefer. So right now let's have both.

Down near St Andrews for this one. A lovely bright morning and this juvenile has been busy judging by appearances.

Sure, it's no earth-shattering image but I just like the freshly surfaced, 'covered in drops' look. And it's my website!

I am lucky to live somewhere where this bird breeds, adding an exotic addition to our more common waterbirds. With that yellow tassel and striking red eye, it is a pleasure to watch. To see that detail you need the bird close, some sun, and a darker background as I was lucky to have on that day.

The water here is transparent enough to allow you to follow bird underwater as it dives. I watched this chap dive and followed it as it surfaced with a little snack. From its size it looks to me like a Dytiscus, but hey what do I know. Either way it was gone a moment later.

Sitting in the hide at Ruthven, on my own, nice and quiet. I have been here quite a long while, staring at empty water. Patience, it just needs patience I think, yet I still chide myself for not bringing a flask, and perhaps a bikkie. Suddenly the quiet tranquillity is broken, loud calls as a few birds fly overhead and land out of sight behind some vegetation. That frantic-sounding call is pretty unmistakable. To my surprise another Slav swims rapidly from cover just in front of me where it had sat unseen, well to me anyway. Another swims fast from where it has landed and joins it with great noise and obvious merriment. Then that love dance begins! I had never seen it before and I watch eyes glued to binoculars. Suddenly it dawns on me the bloody camera was laying in front of me. Idiot this is why I carry damn thing, to take photos, doh.

Picking it up I begin taking a few images, the light isn’t really right, and they’re too far out really. I capture what I can. Of course with hindsight I should have used video, but I didn’t, so there.

As I watch a track from Meatloaf inevitably comes screaming into my head (look, I was young once too, right).

Before we go any further!
Do you love me?
Will you love me forever?
Do you need me?
Will you never leave me?
Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?
Will you take me away and will you make me your wife? <sup>*




                        *</sup> with all credit to Jim Steinman

I wonder if young Slavs go to a special dance school, it is exquisitely choreographed

I love Divers, not least for their haunting calls. As with most English birdwatchers I was familiar enough with seeing Red-throated Divers. But only at a thousand miles distant tossing in rough seas, on a stormy winter day, through rain-washed spotting scope. Yup, that dark blurry speck is a red-throated diver! The joys of a sea-watch during winter.

So when I first moved to Shetland the chance to see these big beautiful birds breeding, and on a sunny day too, was high on the wow list for a Norfolk boy.

I hate the idea of disturbing birds to get a picture so, one day when I found one at a little distance, I decide crawling through 2 inch deep cold water and littoral vegetation for 50 metres (they train sniper marines this way no doubt) till I could close with the bird was the only way. But it was worth it. My presence isn’t suspected, and I get to soak and watch the bird at close distance for near half an hour. Although, I got blasé about seeing them, that thrilling first close encounter with an RTD (not STD) is still a clear and fond memory. They do say they you never forget your first time.

we’re both floating in our own ways, but without doubt, he is the most elegant doing it. Watching him swimming around just metres away from me has removed all thoughts of discomfort, or perhaps that’s the onset of hypothermia.

now, to add even more to this close up and personal experience, another cherry on top of an already well-adorned cake, he begins that haunting call, at a distance of only perhaps 10m it is loud.

If you haven't yet heard the RTD call, you could try this link to youtube, I've searched elsewhere on other sites, but this is a nice recording: ⇢ click ⇠   n.b. connects to external site: I can accept no responsibility for the moronic advertising crap Youtube flings at you.

An alternate source for bird (and other animal) sound recordings is www.xeno-canto.org. This is a thoroughly professional site, but might appear a tad overwhelming to a first-time visitor: persist and thou shall be rewarded!

Below is a link to a shortened recording by Stanislas Wroza, full recording at www.xeno-canto.org/487720. It will open a popup that plays the call then closes. The recording lasts approx 14 seconds. Check volume before playing!

🔊 Click to play.

After perhaps 30 minutes and some thought is trying to push itself back into my mind, I can sort of feel it there, nudging, prodding, probing for a way in. Oh, yes, it comes to me, that’s it, I’m fucking freezing, I’m lying in ice-cold Shetland water, am I out of my mind. I slowly crawl backwards. This is made especially fun because it pushes more freezing water under my clothes to replace the stuff my body has sort of warmed. Eventually, I get back to the Discovery, I am shivering almost uncontrollably. I fire up the big V8, in moments warm air is all about me.

As my shivering slowly subsides I wonder if they would ever have found my camouflaged body in there. I have so many images of this encounter but I must limit myself, so this is a few. Not sure I’ve picked the best to represent that wonderful experience, but I think it will do.