R and I went to Charlecote this morning, where the walking and cake were both good, but photography opportunities were thin on the ground.
The Fallow Deer rut looks as though it’s either about to start or about to finish – I suspect the former, but don’t quote me on that, because it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve blinked and missed it – but there was only one big buck stamping around and bellowing, quite a long way out in the Deer Sanctuary. Well – I say bellowing. In reality it sounded more like someone trying to start a petrol-driven chainsaw, and repeatedly failing. Despite the almost comical noise, he wasn’t laughing, and every other buck in the area was keeping a close eye on him and his patently bad temper, and staying well out of his way. If I’ve got nothing more enticing lined up by then, I may go back to Charlecote at the end of the week to see how things are progressing.
Best of the day was this Little Egret, which flew in along the Avon while R and I were standing on the edge of the lawn (which I seem to remember is officially called the Cricket Pitch, for some unfathomable reason), waiting in vain for a sight of either of the two Kingfishers currently rumoured to be active in the area. And not just active, but positively confiding, allegedly – but not towards us, or at least, not today. So I fell on the incoming Egret like a woman who hadn’t seen a bird in months, and tracked it in, past me, and away again till it was reduced to a disappearing set of toes and tail feathers. This burst of activity lifted my mood, but didn’t do much for the Egret’s, judging by its expression. To be fair though, they only have a few of those, and most of them seem to be built around a furious scowl.
