Jizz
Jizz
It’s all a question of getting your eye in. When I look out of my window at home, I don’t have to think about it, I immediately recognize most of the creatures that visit my garden. There’s the whizz of a coal tit as it dashes in, seizes a seed from the feeder and off again; long-tailed tits arrive in ones and twos, flittering restlessly from tree to tree; dunnocks have a particular way of flicking tails and trembling wings: it’s all part of what bird-watchers call the ‘jizz’. Similarly, in autumn grey squirrels undulate over our garden in search of acorns, and, at dusk, a humped grey shape and a flicker of white tell me the badger’s come for his peanut snack.
But last week – a whole new scenario. I was in NW Scotland, and the living room window looked out over a rocky garden and a toffee-coloured tangle of seaweed, across a mile wide stretch of sea loch to distant hills. The view was mostly sea – pewter and silver under grey clouds – and the creatures were different.
The birds were fairly easy: mostly large, and profiled against the darker hills or resting on the water. Creamy gannets, with their long black-tipped wings and bodies shaped like Concorde, flew past following their own schedules; two grey herons, regular visitors, flapped heavily into our little bay, then stalked the tide-line their long beaks poised for the kill; and three shags loafed about on the roof of a small boat moored just offshore, then flipped neatly into the water and swam off to fish. It was very restful and pretty predictable.
The mammals were much more tricky – a faint stir of the water, a glimpse and gone. Fortunately, the weather was calm so it was relatively easy to pick out clear wakes breaking the surface, harder to tell who was making them. Porpoises are the simplest: usually in twos or threes, their dorsal fins break the surface in a regular way as they ‘porpoise’ along, looking quite mechanical. We spot a seal far out, its grey snout forging ahead, then, with a smooth hump of grey-brown back, it dives and vanishes. The highlight of the holiday was a tantalizing glimpse of an otter, brown wedge of a head, hint of a long body, then the curve of tail as it dives – and disappears completely. Only a moment – and you just need to have your eye in.
