The Zitterbug at Walberswick 4th August 2025

A Zitting Cisticola in typical pose that I saw in Morocco in 2013

On Tuesday the 2nd of July a Zitting Cisticola was found on the coast at Foreness Point which is near Margate in Kent.This was only the ninth record of this species in Britain.

Unable to travel on the day I made plans to go and see it the next day, as early as possible.Sadly although it was reported in the early morning on Wednesday, by the time I got there at 10am it had been seen to fly off strongly to the northeast and my journey, anticipating a new UK tick was to prove fruitless.

I have been on a bad run lately having dipped a Savannah Sparrow in Shetland and a Song Sparrow in Yorkshire as well as only hearing an Eastern Bonelli's Warbler in Dungeness and now missing a Zitting Cisticola in Kent.

Such a rare bird was unlikely to provide another opportunity for quite some time or so I thought. However whilst staying with my twitching pal Mark(R) at his house in Yorkshire over the weekend news came through of another Zitting Cisticola being found at Walberswick in Suffolk on Sunday the 3rd of August. 

Could this possibly be the same bird as the one at Foreness Point? This individual was singing and displaying in similar fashion to that one

Mark who had already seen a Zitting Cisticola said I should go immediately but I was on a deadline to meet Mrs U who was returning from a family visit to Glasgow on this day and I was to meet her off the train at 8.30pm in Oxford. If I went immediately as Mark suggested I would have little time to spend looking for the bird before having to leave Walberswick to rendezvous with Mrs U in Oxford.

I told Mark I would go first thing tomorrow, Monday to try and see it. No matter what.

During Sunday I rang Mark(P) my other birding accomplice who lives but a few miles from me and told him about the cisticola and as further incentive adding the fact a Black Stork was also residing in a ditch just thirty minutes away from the cisticola. Being a novice lister he needed both birds and was naturally keen to go.

Mark(P) has problems sleeping at the moment, don't we all, so we discussed our departure time on Monday.

Five am OK for you? I ventured

Sure. If I  am awake earlier do you fancy leaving then?

No problem. I'll leave my phone on.Just ping me,

My phone pinged with a text at 3.15am on Monday

Be with you in 30mins.

I was ready and waiting when Mark arrived at my house and we set off in the solid re-assurance of his Landrover as the sky began to lighten.

Already even at this early hour there were a surprising number of cars on the rural roads of Oxfordshire and by the time we made the Motorways it was full on traffic, all in a hurry. I shuddered and thanked my lucky stars that such torture was no longer mine to bear

We made a stop for fuel and refreshments in Cambridgeshire and at around 7 am wound our way down a narrow lane through Walberswick to cross the small River Dunwich via a very narrow bridge and came to a halt in Cliff Field Car Park. This was the location on Birdguides map.We paid our parking fee online and headed southwest as instructed by Birdguides, along a path that crossed through a campsite and then snaked through the top of some dunes with the sea on one side and the marshes of the nature reserve on the other and through which ran the narrow river.The weather was benign with occasional sun and a light wind and the location quite beautiful and atmospheric.A loneliness of  sea and sky, to paraphrase John Masefield..

We could see a cluster of birders in the distance and headed for them.On arrival we were informed the cisticola had been seen earlier, both perched and displaying with its zig zagging, undulating flight but  had  now been out of view for some time. Inwardly I groaned as, desperately tired from our early start I was now required to cope with standing for an indeterminate time whilst my anxiety levels grew exponentially

Not for the first time I wondered if I was getting too old for this twitching malarkey

Who was I kidding? I knew full well that as soon as I clapped my tired eyes on this inoffensive little bird, unexceptional in its streaky brown plumage but exceptional in its rarity, all recriminations would be banished.

We stood amongst twenty other birders and waited and waited.

Scanning for the cisticola. Mark (P) in the foreground

Two Spoonbills flew past us towards a small flash of freshwater but no small birds showed themselves in the grass apart from some Reed Buntings, a Sedge Warbler and a Common Whitethroat. I noted that everyone else had a scope.We had been told a scope was unecessary but it became obvious it was if the cisticola was ever to perch on top of the long grass which was now its home..Having walked over a kilometre across the sandy dunes we were reluctant to return to the car for the scopes..Why we did not just put them on our backs when we first walked out I have no idea but that is what tiredness and four tedious hours in a car can do to you. 

We were stood next to a well spoken gent, dressed in a pair of corduroys, brogues that had seen better days and a rumpled tweed jacket that had seen a lot of action judging by the lining that was parting company from the rest of the jacket. A similar well used pair of bins hung around his neck. I could only describe him as being from a previous era and mildly eccentric but he knew his birds and was to prove very helpful.

Various people were constantly looking out across the grass and marshland but no one had seen the bird re-appear. Almost forty five minutes had elapsed when the first sighting came but I had no idea where to look other than across the grass and marshland.Of course I saw nothing.

Frustratingly everyone lapsed into silence  and it was obvious the bird had gone back into the grass.

Mark decided to go back to get his scope from the car, jokingly instructing me to try not to see the bird while he was gone.

Ten minutes after his departure.Well you can guess what happened

A shout came from the well spoken gent to my left

I can hear it! It's flying!

I looked out across the grass, searching for it

You are looking too low he told me

It's in the sky. he added

I raised my bins

No, higher, it's in the grey cloud

I raised my bins even further

Higher, it's now in the blue

Finally there it was, seemingly miles up in the sky. No wonder I had initially failed to locate it. I had never expected it to be so high.  A tiny bird, bouncing as if on elastic up and down in the clear air, calling zit zit zit as it flew. It went left, it went right, then away and then towards us, forever  undulating and zig zagging and a nightmare to follow but I hung on and after about a minute it descended to the ground.

This is what  it would have looked like if we saw it perched.
Image taken by me in Morocco in 2013

What a relief to have at last seen it 

Now I knew where to look for it  I was confident I would be able to find and see it on its next flight

Mark returned

He must have guessed

Don't tell me!

So I did

Don't worry it will be up again I re-assured him

And so it proved and Mark was happy. A lifer for him and another British tick for me

Looking out from where we stood on the shingle ridge and across the grass there was the narrow river and beyond more grassland and then a line of Walberswick's upmarket idiosynchratic houses on the skyline with a Saxon church in their midst.These were to prove the guide points for future flights of the cisticola of which there were half a dozen to come while we were present

Instructions such as:  

It's over the cottage with the pointed thatched roof. 

It's over the church. 

It's over the house with the solar panels. 

All were to prove very useful in locating what was a small,. at times dot like, hyperactive bird, in my bins.

Sadly there are no photos as the bird was too distant and too hard  to follow.Needless to say a  scope was irrelevant as the bird was only seen in its erratic zigzag flight which was impossible to follow with a scope..

We never saw it perched but  saw it well when performing its display flight and calling on at least half a dozen occasions

Both of us decided to settle for these flight views as the wind was increasing and because of this it was extremely unlikely that the cisticola would be seen perching on the tops of the grasses any time soon

Also known as Streaked Fantailed Warbler its distribution covers southern Europe and North Africa where it inhabits grassland and for the most part is resident. Very rare overshoots from its normal range, such as this individual in Suffolk, are a mystery if it is non migratory and its origin can only be guessed at.

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A Black crowned Night Heron in Northumberland 2nd August 2025

With Mrs U heading north to Glasgow for the weekend, I decided to go north too but not quite as far. I called Mark my twitching pal who now lives in Great Ayton in Yorkshire.and arranged to stay for a couple of nights at his house with a view to the two of us going birding.

A Black crowned Night Heron that had taken up residence at Marden Quarry, now long since disused and converted into a small and attractive nature reserve, complete with lake and set alongside a street of houses in Whiteley Bay, was just an hour's drive north from Great Ayton. It was tempting and when news came through that the heron had been seen today we decided to go and try to see it.

Night Herons are only really active at dusk and dawn, I guess the clue is in the name and during the day can be very secretive, perching inside the deep cover of waterside trees and bushes such as willows and often the only view one gets, if at all, is of parts of the bird obscured behind a curtain of leaves, twigs and branches.The bird will often perch motionless for hours on end and waiting for it to do anything, even to make the slightest movement, can often result in immense frustration if not boredom 

We arrived at Marden Quarry mid afternoon and parking the car in a side street adjacent to the quarry we walked down a gently sloping, tree lined path and at the bottom looked out across a lake with two small islands and plentiful tree cover all around including a reed bed at the further end

Two other birders, already present looking for the heron told us that it had recently been seen to fly across to the island in front of us and disappear into the trees but was currently invisible. Local opinion was that the heron would eventually emerge and commence to fish from this, its favourite spot We settled for a long wait on a convenient bench, it being late afternoon and the sun so bright it was almost dazzling.

Coots and Gadwall fed on the weed in the lake and a juvenile Sparrowhawk flew overhead calling and was immediately seen off by a pair of Magpies.

Mark went off to make a circuit of the lake, which being small would not take long and left me in charge of his camera, lens and tripod and the promise I would call him if the heron emerged from the trees.

You can imagine my surprise when not long after, another birder came past and told me the heron was at the other end of the lake and was currently partially visible below some overhanging willows at the water's edge. How it had got there is anyone's guess as from all the information we had been given it was meant to be in the trees opposite us.

Palpably it wasn't and I made haste to walk around the lake to the far end,  burdened down with Mark's huge lens and massive tripod. Fortunately Mark, at that moment came rushing up and relieved me of them having also learnt about the heron's new location.

We circuited the lake and joined a small gathering of birders and interested public, scrutinising a dark shadowy area by the water's edge just left of a reedbed.

The Black crowned Heron's location

Looking in my bins you could just see the heron's legs, head and part of its body tucked well into the bank, standing on a branch in the water but very much obscured by willow leaves.

A classic view of this species but better than nothing and now at least we knew where it was for certain and could wait to see if it would reveal itself better, which according to the local birders present it would occasionally, if our luck was in.

We stood or sat watching the heron for a very long time and  which barely moved, apart from an occasional tilting of its head towards the water but eventually it began to be more active, well when I say more active do not misundertand me, it moved ever so slowly fractionally to its right, giving us a view of more of its body and now its whole head.

Although appearing to be an adult it is in fact a third summer bird (two years old) so not quite fully adult and has yet to acquire the red eye of an adult and more than one long white spikey head plume but to all extents it was in an adult's attractive  plumage. A combo of soft grey, white and black feathers. .

Slowly it gravitated towards the reed bed, frustratingly always partially concealed by the leaves it walked under. On reachng the reed bed it disappeared,.Some gave it up at this point, content with what they had seen of the  heron but we hung on in case there was better to come.

Eventually I saw it standing just insde the reeds, well I saw its head but slowly, ever so slowly it walked just inside the reed's edge further towards us and eventually it came out of the reeds and we could see it fully. It had the patience of a saint and moved with infinitesimal slowness and stealth at the water's edge but I only saw it catch one small fish.

A huge carp, startled us, thrashing its bulk on the water's surface amongst a thick blanket of bright green weed and a Moorhen brooded its newly hatched chicks in a nest in the reeds,The heron stood motionless in a small gap in the reeds and contemplated the still water's and weed before it.

Without warning it took flight and flew past us and down the length of the lake to the trees at the other end and was lost to view against the setting sun.It must have landed in the trees on one of the islands but despite searching we could see no sign of it and accepted it had reverted into typical Night Heron ways.

Local fishermen told us it had been here for at least two months but news of its presence had only been put out recently. Not that I am complaining,

There has been a small influx of Black crowned Night Herons into Britain lately with other individuals being found in both Kent and Hertfordshire.. An average of twelve a year are recorded in Britain and it is predicted to be another coloniser of Britain as our climate warms. One pair has already bred in Somerset in 2012 and others will surely follow.

They are normally found in southern Europe and migrate for the winter to Africa

The Last Orchid of Summer 29th July 2025

 

On the 7th of August last year I went to see a Violet Helleborine, not the usual kind but the much rarer form Epipactus purpurata Var. rosea.see here where the plant lacks chlorophyll causing the leaves to appear pinkish violet and the flowers almost white.It required a journey to the neighbouring county of Buckinghamshire and a longish walk up into The Chilterns. Directions came courtesy of Duncan who has, through our mutual orchid interest become a good friend of mine.

With this in mind it was a pleasant surprise that Duncan kindly alerted me to another Var.rosea but a lot nearer this time, growing in a wood in his native Gloucestershire and we arranged to rendezvous near the wood in which it was growing along with a few normal Violet Helleborines

The day we set to meet was dull and grey with a hint of rain in the air, remember rain? Growing under the trees the helleborines would be difficult to photograph due to the dullness of the day and the partial shade of the mature trees they grew under

We duly met, along with Duncan's brother in law Ian, a 'proper' botanist as Duncan told me by way of introduction. A short uphill walk brought us to the wood where the helleborines and the Var. rosea in particular grew. 

Climbing a bank we walked though the open wood until Duncan pointed out the Var.rosea, which was far from obvious, in fact remarkably inconspicuous, being almost lost amongst all the other plants growing around it.

Violet Helleborine Var. rosea

Smaller in stature than the example I saw last year, nonetheless it was just as desirable and rewarding to see its pale blushed pink flowers, amassed in a cluster at the top of a thin stalk which unfortunately had become bent in the middle but better this than nothing at all..Orchids get nibbled by deer, eaten by slugs you name it, so we considered we were fortunate to see this one no matter if it was not quite perfect and I think you will agree still retaining much of its beauty and allure

We duly paid homage to this even rarer form of a rare orchid, almost overwhelmed by the ground vegetation it grew amongst.Take your eyes off it and you had to be careful, one false step might cause you to unwittingly tread on it which would be unthinkable

Once we felt we had spent time enough in admiring, photographng  and discussing it we moved along further in the wood to view a couple of 'normal' Violet Helleborines.Again they were less than obvious in the surrounding leaves and clutter of plant growth even though they were in full flower. Standing slightly taller than the Var.rosea we had just viewed, twenty or so tiny flowers grew in a loose spike on one side of a slender stalk.

Violet Helleborine

The delicate, pale  flowers were surrounded by long, spreading green sepals, almost like miniature wings and imparting a leafy appearance, whilst the rest of the flower showed a reddish brown centre surrounded by a lip tinged with the subtlest shade of pink. A true delight.

Once the photos have been taken, in situations such as this I like to stand for a while, quiet and pensive, something I am wont to do with many of the orchid species I travel to see. I try to sense the atmosphere or in more prosaic terms enter the orchid's world, the environment that surrounds in this case an unassuming delicate plant growing in a bed of leaf litter and ivy leaves in a quiet wood. Untouched and unregarded except by us.

It was all over in an hour, apart from making a note of these orchid's precise location for any future visit by using What3Words and we retired for coffee and cake and to do battle with the wasps at a nearby outdoor cafe.

So that is it for this year with regard to orchids although there are still Autumn Ladies Tresses to come. I might go to see them where they grow in profusion on Greenham Common in Berkshire but maybe I will wait until next year and try to see some more of our much rarer native orchids.There are still plenty left to add to my list as my burgeoning interest in orchids continues.

A Saturday at Farmoor Reservoir 27th July 2025

It's that quiet time of the year again, when birds have stopped singing and skulk in hedgerows and leafy cover while they undergo their annual moult prior to winter or feed a hidden brood of recently fledged young. High summer has commenced its annual, slow and inexorable decline into autumn. 

Mind you there are birds to be found or more often heard around the reservoir, young birds such as Reed Warblers just out of the nest, voicing their hidden presence, calling to their parents with  peremptory squawks  and chirps from within the depths of hedges, reed beds and bramble ensnared hawthorns.

With little of birding note nationally I took myself as I am prone to do in such situations to Farmoor Reservoir, continuing my ongoing fractious relationship with its familiar prosaic surrounds. There is always a vague optimism that precedes each visit, the forever hope that this will be the day something out of the ordinary may turn up and occasionally it does though usually not.

Now is when returning wader migrants begin to arrive at the water's edge on each side of the central causeway and tarry for a while to refuel, breaking a long flight as they journey south from the Arctic. Dunlin usually are the first to show up and some have already passed through in the last two weeks, these being adults, told by their worn and faded plumage. The first juvenile arrived today, quite early and in contrast to the adults appearing immaculate, dapper even in a first plumage of ginger toned pristine feathers  which it will moult over the next couple of months into a less attractive, subdued winter grey.

This morning whilst walking along the causeway it became all too apparent that the number of Common Terns had increased from the regular half a dozen that have taken up temporary residence on the reservoir before migrating to their winter home. I counted nineteen today, seven of these being juvenile birds.The terns have not bred here but probably on nearby gravel pits and the parents have brought them to the wider expanses of Farmoor's waters where there are plenty of small fish available.

Even before walking up the path to the reservoir's perimeter track from the car park I could hear the terns. The raucous cries of the adults and beseeching calls of the juveniles distinct from those of the Black headed Gulls. They are hyper active birds - incapable of remaining still for long, nervy and constantly restless, adults and young swooping over the water, their harsh calls seemingly a prerequsite to any flight they undertake. The adult terns fly with a buoyant motion, elegance personified and justifying their vernacular name of 'sea swallow' and are pursued by juveniles that are well able to fend for themselves but continue to chance their luck by pestering the parent birds to bring them just one more fishy offering.Another month and they will be gone south to Africa.

Juvenile Common Tern

Adult Common Tern with its full grown offspring

Other juveniles perch on the concrete walls by the water or form a line on the railing to the valve tower on the smaller basin, safe from disturbance and a favoured go to location when the reservoir becomes busy with yachting and windsurfing folk.

A Greater Black backed Gull eyeballed me from the retaining wall of the causeway, reluctant to move away from one of the large dead fish that are regularly washed up at this time of year onto the concrete shelving at the water's edge.They are brutish birds, imposing and merciless killers that are always on the lookout for a victim or signs of weakness in the other waterbirds around them and are rightly given a wide berth by the smaller gulls and terns.

Greater Black backed Gull

Further along an adult Yellow legged Gull also stood on the wall, prospecting yet another expired fish.The Greater Black back is unusually early on the reservoir but the handful of Yellow legged Gulls which cease breeding well before our native Herring Gulls, have been here for over a month now and are always the first large, grey backed gulls to arrive on the reservoir, coming from their southern European breeding areas.to while away the lazy days of late summer and early autumn on the reservoir. 

Yellow legged Gull

Tufted Ducks often produce a brood in late July and today was typical as there was a family of four newly hatched young accompanied rather weirdly by not one but two females. The dusky young are precocious and are accomplished divers from the day they take to the water.They stick close to the adults and are wise to do so as predatory pike that inhabit the reservoir, crows and gulls will all kill and eat them given the chance

I walked from the end of the causeway down a sloping path to the hide at Pinkhill, one of the small reserves created by Thames Water at the western end of the reservoir and adjacent to the river. I opened the door and a couple sat on a bench by an open viewing slat motioned to me frantically to not make any noise.

Kingfisher!!  they whispered urgently and excitedly pointed to an upright  stick in the water, a few metres out from the hide  

Sure enough a Kingfisher was perched there, low to the water and intent on fishing and for once was not spooked by the occupants of the hide, which on previous occasions has frustratingly often proved to be the case.

It was a juvenile so probably less wary than an adult, its dull brown legs and feet, spotted breast and pale tip to its all black bill confirming its age beyond any doubt.

Down the years I have seen countless Kingfishers from here and the other hide at Shrike Meadow Reserve, a quarter of a mile upriver but every time the thrill of encounter never palls, engendered by a combination of the bird's unadulterated radiance and the elusiveness of the bird itself which only on rare situations such as this offers the opportunity to view it at rest, so its beauty and persona can be truly appreciated.

The Kingfisher remained perched for a spell, about facing on its branch every so often or cocking its head to catch any movement  in the water below, then eventually dived into the water to bring back a tiny fish, hardly enough to satisfy its appetite although still un necessarily beaten against the branch to subdue it. An action more due to instinct than necessity. 

Two thirds of all young Kingfshers die within two weeks of leaving the nest either from starvation due to their lack of experience in catching fish or they drown. Hopefully this individual will be one of the lucky remaining third but it will need to do much better than the tiny morsel it captured. Still it's a start I guess and practice makes perfect especially when your life depends on it.

It tried its luck again but with the same result, another tiny fish.Better than nothing I suppose  For some minutes it sat and regarded the shallow water below as Black tailed Skimmer dragonflies cruised and fussed across the water, the males powder blue bodies very obvious as they settled on the dried mud to sun themselves.

With a shrill whistle the Kingfisher departed, a streak of disembodied electric blue as it sped up and over the surrounding willow carr towards the river.

Parental Duties of the Grebe Kind 20th July 2025

As is my usual custom I made my way to Farmoor Reservoir early this morning.A night of rain had precipitated my early arrival in anticipation that the adverse weather may have persuaded a wader or two to drop in, perhaps even a tern species other than the regular complement of Common Terns that have arrived on the reservoir over the last two weeks, two of them accompanied by a fully grown juvenile which even now they occasionally feed despite it being fully grown and well able to fend for itself.

Adult and juvenile Common Tern

The tern family have taken up residence at the very end of the landing stage in the yacht marina although sometimes retreating to perch on the various buoys scattered across the reservoir or the railings by the valve tower on the smaller basin.

Juvenile Common Tern

Of course any optimism was soon dispelled with a walk along the reservoir causeway revealing very little apart from a few Sand Martins and Swallows brought down by the lowering rain clouds to hunt insects almost at ground level. The juvenile Red crested Pochard  that has lingered here for a few days now was feeding in the choppy waters and as usual associating with the similar dowdy looking, moulting Mallards. 

Juvenile Red crested Pochard

On gaining the far end of the causeway I joined Dave who had seen pretty much the same as me.We stood and chatted whilst scanning the two reservoir basins..A few more hirundines scudded across the grey waters, rising and falling as they mastered the contrary currents of the strengthening wind and we were joined by Ben. It was Dave who saved the day when, on turning to scan the smaller basin he discovered a Black Tern arriving from the north and which proceeded to steadily beat into a strong southeast headwind, frustratingly always remaining far out in the middle of the basin. It intermittently revealed itself but always at a distance and eventually transferred to the larger basin and with the onset of a mizzle of rain proved an ongoing trial to follow as its grey plumage faithfully matched the similar coloured waters that it flew over. 

Dave departed, then so did Ben. I hung on for a while in case anything else might arrive but it looked unlikely and the reservoir, as it always does these days started to become ever more busy with joggers,walkers yachts and windsurfers.

There was little point in remaining, so in a mood for somewhere quieter and less populated I took myself to Rushy Common, a few miles distant, operating on the maxim that 'a change is as good as a rest'. Also Rushy has a nice hide to sit in which would make a pleasant alternative to the  exposed concrete causeway I currently stood upon and that has become so familiar over the years.

It was proving to be a morning of intermittent light rain, enough to be tiresome and again it would be an unfamiliar pleasure to not be exposed to the capricious elements on the reservoir's causeway but safe in a capacious hide which I would probably, on a day such as this, have entirely to myself.

Rushy Common  is situated in open countryside, distant enough from the nearby town of Witney to require access by car and is a nature reserve created from a former gravel pit with working pits just the other side of the rural single carriageway road that leads to it. Access to the hide is along a tree bowered track to a  gate secured by a formidable padlock which can be opened by a key. Another short walk then brings you to the hide which overlooks a large lake and can be opened by the same key required for the gate.

Due to its secure and concealed location the hide can safely keep reference books, noticeboards and other birding paraphernalia within its interior which is rare these days due to the ever present threat of vandalism and it is so far so good with regard to the hide which remains sacrosanct, comfortable and clean.

I opened the hide door, stepped inside and a familiar odour of ageing, damp wood enveloped me. I opened the viewing slats and drawing up a bench looked out across the lake.

Nothing much was apparent at first but a large white bird with a smaller one nearby, stalking along the far bank proved to be a Great White Egret and a Little Egret.The former, once a national rarity but now very much a breeding bird based on the Somerset Levels is regular in Oxfordshire, present virtually year round although as yet there have been no known breeding records but I doubt it will be long before there are.

Great White Egret

After this minor triumph nothing more came to interrupt what became a gentle freewheeling of spirit and body as I contemplated the lake and its rural surrounds, my mind sorting through the ephemera gathered within and that gently comes and goes in quiet moments such as this. It is not unpleasant this rinsing of emotions and experiences, a cleansing if you wish, to prepare for the further stuff of life to come. Mindfulness seems to be the word for it these days although I have practiced it for years.

My reverie was interrupted as another of the lake's residents came into view, a Great crested Grebe, floating in indolent circles on the water, a little way out from me. Idling and quite at ease.

There was however something not quite right about the humped shape of its back and checking through my scope I saw to my surprise and I confess delight, the sight of a young grebe sat snugly amongst the brown feathers on the top of the grebe's back. Its head, akin  in appearance to those delicious humbugs that I used to suck on the way to school, poked out enquiringly, a greyish white head that was decorated by black stripes and a curious inverted triangle of pink skin on its forehead. 

I always hoped to be in a position to photograph this well known aspect of grebe behaviour, swans do it too, and here, by sheer chance that opportunity had presented itself.

I set about taking some images and on reviewing them on the back of my camera found there were actually two young birds on the grebe's back! 

The parent bird continued to cruise about without much purpose and remaining roughly where it had first appeared on the lake and for fifteen minutes parent and offspring idled time away on the water. Their apparent contentment infectious and drawing me, in mind if not in body into their watery world.

Then a harsh, sharp call, almost a dog like bark came from further out on the lake and another Great crested Grebe was swimming purposefully towards the trio. In its bill it carried a fairly large fish, possibly a roach which was held securely by the head, dangling helplessly between pincer like black mandibles. Slowly it approached the other grebe and proffered the fish to one of the young but it proved too big to swallow and was abandoned. Later the same young bird was offered a much smaller and manageable fish.

I assumed the parent transporting the young on its back was the female of the pair but it was impossible to tell for sure. 

The young eventually left the grebe's back and with each juvenile remaining very close to a parent followed in their wake 

Judging by the size of the juveniles it will not be long before they are too big to hitch a lift but for now the parents  seemed content enough to indulge their progeny.

After  half an hour they swam back into the reeds further along the shore and I saw them no more.