It is quite a haul, cycling up from Esk Dale, through Little Fryup Dale and up to the open expanse of Danby High Moor. I was still puffing and panting when I heard the first unmistakable call of a curlew. It was not a happy bird. At this time of year, young curlews are stretching their comically long legs, with ever-attentive parents keeping a protective eye on them. Clearly, I was too close for comfort to a youngster. The parent bird circled me twice as I steadily cycled along before it settled down. A couple of minutes later it happened again from a different bird. Then again from yet another bird.
That is three times curlews had accosted me in just over a mile. I knew I had to come back but not with a bike, with my camera.
Which is why, a few mornings later, I was driving my car even more slowly across Danby High Moor than I had been cycling, listening for the faintest hint of curlews calling. Nothing. Then I heard the peeping of a golden plover and quickly zoned in on its location. I came for curlew, but if they do not want to show their faces, I will happily photograph whatever comes along. I did my best to get a good line of sight on the plover and position my car to avoid being an obstruction (more of a challenge than it may sound on a one-car-wide road).
In the past, I have always found plovers to be active birds that are constantly moving around and this one was no different. I had to reposition myself a couple of times but eventually me, light and the plover came together in a nice enough way and I managed to get some photographs. After a couple of curlew-less hours, and just as I was leaving, a curlew popped up as if from nowhere, walked around a bit and then wandered off into the distance, accompanied by the click, click, click of my camera’s shutter.
Nailed it – time for breakfast.