Ocean plastic could triple in decade Europe faces ‘biodiversity oblivion’ after collapse in French birds, experts warn Can climate litigation save the world? London air pollution activists ‘prepared to go to prison’ to force action Climate change soon to cause mass movement, World Bank warns Drugs, plastics and flea killer: the unseen threats to UK’s rivers Billion-dollar polar engineering ‘needed to slow melting glaciers’ Dirty kitchen roll among things Britons wrongly think they can recycle World’s great forests could lose half of all wildlife as planet warms – report Microplastic pollution in oceans is far worse than feared, say scientists

A precious single cygnet nurtured in the marsh

1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (No Ratings Yet)

The bell-beat of mute swans’ wings came with a grey dawn in early March. A pair of swans touched down in the river Teifi’s tidal reaches upstream of Cardigan town bridge. On wind-ruffled waters they kept proximity, gliding around in search of food, accompanied at respectful distance by small flocks of teal and unruly gangs of mallard drakes. The old shipwright from the small boatyard most days ventured out of his workshop to sit on the slipway, talk to the swans, feed them by hand. They would respond with sonorous high grunts that belied their name. Occasionally the huge cob, neck outstretched, tore off downriver, wings flailing, to warn off some presumptuous intruder. This was his territory and no other’s. By April, the closeness between the cob and the more delicate pen had become pronounced. Long mutual grooming sessions took place on the slipway. Their necks intertwined as they drifted on flooding tides. Around the middle of the month the pen disappeared. The cob held to his stretch of the water, looking muddier and more dishevelled as weeks passed. I kept watch, noted the inaccessible region of nearby Rosehill marsh to which he gravitated, presumed the nest site would be there among the reeds and hoped the otters that also inhabited the river would stay well clear. In the first week of June, scanning upriver at dawn, I saw the cob and pen paddling in golden light – and between the two of them was a single, black-billed ball of grey down. Over the next weeks, constantly looking for the cygnet’s presence, I was as fretful as a parent. One cold day the pair coasted along shallows at the farther bank, the cygnet nowhere to be seen. I focused the glass. And, there, between the pen’s folded wings, a tiny dark head was peering out.

Read More: 


Posted by on Jul 3 2017. Filed under Wildlife. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

Leave a Reply


Which Country is most Beautifull?

View Results

Loading ... Loading ...