To see a peregrine is a wonderful thing. To see a peregrine in a stoop dropping down at speed on to its prey – even better. To see a peregrine ‘contour flying’, trying for a kill at a wetland, putting up hundreds of waterfowl in its wake – better still.
And this is just what happened – repeatedly – at North Cave Wetlands this morning. A few of the Birds and the Belles were chatting at the picnic tables, when Andrew (thank you, Andrew!) who was scanning over Village Lake, drew our attention to an approaching peregrine.
It was wonderful to get a closer look at her beautiful markings (Andrew thought female) through my bins but as the lapwings, gulls and a variety of other birds took to the air, and the peregrine came at them from another direction, I decided the action was a big enough picture – and close enough – to watch with the naked eye.
Over and over again the peregrine made unsuccessful forays, from different approaches, over the lake, putting up the resident ducks, lapwings, gulls and even the cormorants. Over and over again the peregrine disappeared briefly into the trees and bushes surrounding the lake and the water birds returned to their feeding and grooming. But the peregrine sustained her repeated attacks. Once, so low over the water even the dabbling ducks became divers, and disappeared underwater rather than attempting to rise from it.
It was one of those moments – a long-lasting moment – I love so much when out and about in nature: an event giving me that absolute sense of what I call the ‘otherness of nature’. The sense that nothing else was happening in my life – or indeed the world at large – apart from this hungry peregrine trying get food, and its prey trying to avoid becoming food. The primal struggle of eat or be eaten playing out right in front of my eyes. We are being reminded repeatedly these days (and rightly so) that we homo sapiens are nature too, but this small vignette of that ‘otherness’ of the natural world made me reflect on how much we have removed ourselves from it. Then, suddenly, my reverie was interrupted.
“She’s got something!” Andrew shouted. This I thought I wouldn’t see properly without my binoculars, but then realised the ‘something’ must be big, as even without bins I could see it hanging from the peregrine’s talons. The ‘something’ was soon identified as a lapwing: quite a good sized lunch for the peregrine. I grieved momentarily for the lapwing, but was pleased the peregrine’s persistence had paid off.
