ECHO 1/5/06 – Keswick
Watching Ospreys again at Bassenthwaite Lake – this time there is huge excitement. Not only does the nesting male leave his nest to set off across the lake, but he is apparently joined by another ‘rogue’ male. Potentially this means a second breeding pair could join the first and nest elsewhwere on the lake. Bearing in mind that ospreys have been extinct in the lakes for over 150 years, this would mark a serious achievement for the Lakes Osprey Project team who encouraged the initial pair to nest only a couple of years ago.
The two male birds sound each other out in flight over the lake; circling, then parting, coming together again. It is an awesome sight. These wondrous, elegant birds of prey engaged in mild aerial combat. Turning and turning; a flash of their white wing-bars and under parts. A lone buzzard then decides to mob the two smaller birds and the three switch back over each other, dropping rapidly, feinting left, right then parting dramatically in separate directions. All the time the nesting female remains across the lake with her 2-3 eggs.
Confirmation that there definitely is a second male on the lake sends ripples of activity and excitement through the birders watching and the project volunteers who call up the observation site at Whinlater and relay the information.
The moment is a shared one – 15-20 birders all watching through their binoculars and telescopes and rattling off a running commentary of what is occurring to those who cannot yet track the birds against the mottled landscape beyond; or even just for the simple fact that we want to communicate the beauty and excitement of this moment to each other; seeking out the flashes of white when the birds turn, the hovering, the dips, the path south towards the usual hunting ground.
I am overcome by the majesty of the moment and my view is obscured by joyful tears.
Later, early evening, on the western side of the lake, beneath the nesting place, we spot one of the pair again. This time we suspect it is the female given a break from her vigil on the nest. She sets to roost on a solitary wooden pole breaking the waters’ surface at the south end of the lake, where she waits before taking a loose flight to the shallows nearby. Here she bathes for about ten minutes, dipping her head into the water, splashing about with her wings then remaining motionless for a minute or two before repeating it all again. It is a most delicate, playful activity and surprises me in a bird of prey – but then why not? She returns to her roost and preens; she shakes and flourishes her wings, pulls at her feathers, cleaning and drying in the fading sun. After about twenty minutes and done, she flies out across the lake, heading slowly north in a low trajectory, wheels briefly with a mobbing crow, circles higher, hovers, descends about six feet above the surface, hover once more, then suddenly crashes the surface in a spray of whitewater and is away with a fish back to the post where, with a great display of wings and an arching of her neck, she begins to eat, pulling quickly at the warm, wet flesh.
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