Bitternspotting in November

Peacock Tower in Barnes WWT

Back in November, we went to the WWT in Barnes on another bitternspotting quest. This was our third time. The first two times were unsuccessful, so this time, to maximise our chances, we read '10 strategies to see a wintering Bitterns (sic.) in the UK' on BirdForum. So we knew we should: 

1) 'Find your spot' - check

2) 'Don't give up' - never!

3) 'Preferably pick a clear sunny day' - it wasn't clear or sunny but not much we could do about that

4) 'If there's been a cold snap it's more likely you'll see a bittern' - it had been pretty cold, I suppose

5) 'Mornings and evenings are best' - we arrived at 2pm so we had clearly missed the morning but would be there for sunset if they didn't throw us out first

6) 'Four eyes are better than two' - check (well, eight eyes including glasses)

7) 'You have to be good at describing where to look when in a hide with your partner' - I think we're pretty good

8) 'Try and get some elevation so you can see all the reed beds' - the main hide at Barnes is a tower (the Peacock Tower) with a 360 degree panorama, so check

9) 'You're more likely to see a bittern in the air than in the reeds' - ok, thanks

10) 'Bitterns do a flyover at sunset in early/mid March to scope out nest sites, so this can be a good time to see them' - not applicable

Before seeking the bitterns, we went to see the otters. We had just missed their feeding time but they were still out playing in their otter zone, all sleek and shiny and aerodynamic like torpedoes in the water. Their movements seem so performative, it's easy to think they're putting on a show for you. It's easy to forget that they don't know how graceful they are.

Then we went back to the beginning, hired some binoculars, detoured through the new Coral Reef zone, got coffee and armed with our insider bittern knowledge, we headed to the hides.

We made the familiar loop through the reeds from hide to hide. It was quiet. A group of school children were leaving as we got there. There was not an atmosphere of excitement. Perhaps there would have been if people had spotted a bittern already that day or in the past few days, but there was nothing in the daily sightings books. It wasn't looking hopeful, but we stuck by rule 2. 

'Girl seeking bittern'

Though we didn't give up, our goal faded into the background as we amused ourselves in other ways. We played life-size snakes and ladders; watched geese running after their partners and pecking at gates and fences for microscopic food; looked at the second-hand book stand in the foyer (German wine guide, Shakespeare recipe book, etc.); admired the red trees and the blue lake and the two ducks wearing crowns of flowers on a shelf above the door in the wetland hut exhibit… 

The truth is, though we had a brilliant day, I think we had forgotten the excitement of being in the vicinity of a real-life bittern. The memory of the thrill of the booming bitterns we heard at Minsmere in the spring had faded; May was already so long ago. But I feel that excitement now as I write this. I realise that if we had seen one rise up from the reeds, it would have been very very special. And it makes me want to go back right now.

(illustrations by Emma Brook)