“Look, look! A gagarnee! squealed the young girl, then reducing her volume to an excited whisper “there, behind the gadwall!”

“A what?” asked her father, scanning the open water through his binoculars. He paused at a flock of gadwall, who were dabbling in the far righthand corner of the water pit. The ducks formed a dull grey mass, occasionally punctuated by their black back ends. It’s doubtful that there are any instances where a gadwall inspires little more than a passing glance, especially when surrounded by the peachy blush of wigeon, jewel-toned teal or the fiery heads of pochard.

This flock of gadwall offered nothing new. However, a lone garganey meandered past them, rousing an excited muttering between fellow birdwatchers who’d overheard the child’s shill voice. The scarce summer visitor had bobbed undetected for some time, but once spotted, his bold white eye stripe and mosaic of patterns could be seen with the naked eye. “I saw a gagarnee in my bird book” stated the girl, with an enthusiastic grin.

Without a word, the girl’s father placed a firm hand on her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze and proud smile. He’d successfully passed on his love of nature. His daughter beamed as the older gentlemen in the hide congratulated her sighting, even if her pronunciation was off. It was a difficult word after all. Crouching on the wooden bench, she raised her binoculars back to her eager eyes and scoured the water again, relishing the sight of every single bird.

~~~~~~~ 

I sit on the rickety wooden bench in contented silence, savouring the musty smell of dust and decaying wood. It’s comforting. My dad sits beside me, watching a noisy gaggle of Egyptian geese through his binoculars while I watch him. His hair is thinner and greyer and his forehead creases in contemplation. I drove him here this morning. Yet here, now, time feels unchanged. There are no garganeys on the water today, in fact there aren’t many birds out there at all. A group of cormorants stand like angels on the middle island, airing out their oil-less wings. A family of mute swans glide in front of me, two adults with a pair of grey teenagers in tow. Unseen yet unmistakably heard, hundreds of greylag geese screech deep in the swaying reed bed. I admire them all.

I bathe in the familiar sense of warm peace that overcomes me here, a feeling I’ve experienced on every visit since I was seven years old. My life looks very different now. I live in my own home with a long-term partner, have a full-time job, undertake postgraduate study and enjoy a tight-knit circle of new friends. But when I sit with my dad in a dusty old hide, surrounded by the gentle lapping of water and an ensemble of bird calls, that peace bridges a temporal gap between myself and that little girl, spotting her first – and only – garganey.