Birds in their splendour

The magnificent sight of more than 400 birds, most of them quarry species, proves a temptation too far for Simon Garnham

- D.Rogers

Once in a while our wonderful sport throws an ornithological marvel our way. The deadly accuracy of a kestrel; the haunting beauty of skies full of geese; the electric energy of long-tailed tits; an armor-piercing kingfisher in freefall — we all have cherished moments when sport has brought us closer to birds in their splendour. They have the power to thrill and to surprise in equal measure.

I was treated to such a moment on my last outing of the season. A friend and I were after wild duck over freshwater. It was an icy cold day and four of Pete Thompson’s five reservoirs were almost completely covered with ice. Only reservoir number 4 — no romantic names for the Thompsons — was ice-free. As we stalked towards it, one on either side of the half-acre expanse, it was clear from the whistles, quacks and honks beyond the bund line that there were a good number of birds in residence.

Keeping low — I with my back to the setting sun, Pete facing into it —we eye-balled one another from across the hidden water. Then with a nod, we crested to see what was obscured from view.

What a sight! Upwards of 400 birds, of which all but two swans and a coot were quarry, lifted in a cloud of rushing, babbling excitement. Having discussed simply clapping the birds off so they’d return, we succumbed to temptation and tried to drop some of the startled fowl.

The handful of decoys, which Simon cast in the reservoir’s shallows, had frozen in place by dusk

I hit a mallard hard, which banked downwards and away, then missed a greylag clean. Pete picked out a drake and needed his second barrel to finish it. For 30 seconds, exhilaration and adrenalin mixed with a fair dose of awe and wonder as pochard, wigeon, teal, goldeneye, greylag, tufty and shoveler all exploded into the cloudless sky. Cold fingers fumbled for reloads.