
Image by Flickr user Karen Roe
There aren’t many things that lure you willingly out of bed at 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning. The smell of a cooked breakfast, coffee perhaps. What about the prospect of 50 minutes negotiating the M25 in a car on its last legs? No? What, even if there’s a guaranteed kingfisher spot waiting at the other end? Ah, now you’re changing your tune. And so it was that sleepy-eyed and in no position to navigate, I headed off towards Rye Meads, an RSPB reserve in Hoddesdon with the prospect of losing my kingfisher virginity.
There’s a strange phenomenon in bird watching. Even pre-Internet, pre-Twitter where Chris Packham and the like can alert us all to rare winter visitors or never-seen-before breeds hitting UK shores, ornithologists always know. Aged six or seven, I remember my parents dashing off down Cot Valley, Cornwall to see a visiting Siberian chiffchaff, which indeed they saw, except it was through the heads of the bird mafia a.k.a the entire population of UK ornithologists. Or so it seemed.
Kingfishers have RSPB Amber status, which means whilst once threatened, their population is on the increase. Not a complete rarity, but somewhat elusive. And what’s more, in a land where most of the birds are, though captivating, known as ‘little brown jobs’ they are characterised by a flash of royal blue and burning orange, catching your eye amongst the mossy greens of the river bank. In short, they are the A-List celebrity of the winged world.
Arriving at Rye Meads, the lovely lady on reception must have seen the shadows of blue and orange in my eyes, smiling ‘are you here to see our kingfishers?’. Apparently I am that transparent. Enhanced by the power of the Internet, the ornithologist grapevine was at full throttle, indeed by the look of the hide, the Rye Meads paparazzi were out in force.

The Rye Meads paparazzi
Feeling utterly inadequate with my measly zoom lens, and usurped by a Japanese fellow with what can only be described as the monster of all telescopic lenses, we jostled amongst the crowd awaiting the tiny bird that had managed to amass such a spate of onlookers. Some suspiciously professional looking photographers took pride of place, along with happy snappers like myself, wide-eyed children and then the multitude of visitors with binoculars.

My 'almost' shot of the monarch of Rye Meads
And then, the blur of blue and orange. Children and adults gasp. Shutters explode into choruses of clicks. The kingfisher moves at light speed, keen to feed its young, and disappears into its nest hole in mere moments. Being a girl, there may have been a swift drying of the eyes (is the pollen getting to anyone else?), but before the ‘manning-up’ had ceased the kingfisher is back. Taking pride of place on a post before it begins to fish; unaware of the awe-struck audience it is performing for.
The RSPB reserve predicts that the kingfisher will be feeding its young up until the end of May, meaning an almost guaranteed chance of seeing the brilliant bird this month. Only 50 minutes outside of London by car, and also accessible by train, Rye Meads isn’t just kingfisher-centric. We also spotted a sedge warbler singing in some reeds, a hobby catching and then losing its insect dinner and pond creatures in all manner of iridescent shades. But enough boasting from us, wherever you are there’s bound to be an RSPB reserve nearby where you can catch sight of all manner of avian wonders, and if you’re abroad then you’ve probably got hummingbirds and birds of paradise bombing you from every angle… so it’s your turn to boast.
www.rspb.org.uk