joy-ride, a speedboat skirmish through a funky landscape, a cheap thrill. The driver throttled back, and we put-putted gently into the trees.
And entered a new space. Oh, brave new world that has such cormorants in it!
For – instantly, melodramatically, absurdly, suddenly – we made a transition from wild to tame. At once we were not near but inside a vast unending colony of birds. Every branch of every tree – bare, water-killed and slowly rotting – bore a cluster of strange black fruit. It was like looking at the stars on a frosty night: endless constellations and nebulae and galaxies of cormorants. Some were attending to their feathers with dandified precision, others struck the traditional heraldic pose of cormorant kind – the correct term is displayed , as in the spread eagle. These cormorants are correctly described as cormorant sable displayed, wings inverted .
They flew, they fished all around us, they squabbled, they dived. The stench of the whitewashed trees rose around us, and it smelt good to me. I had no idea that there were, in fact, three species of cormorants here: the dominant one being the little cormorant, a cheery, indomitable creature that loves to gather in huge numbers whenever there is enough water and enough fish. There were also great cormorants, the same species you find in Britain, andIndian cormorants. But it was the lure of numbers that got to me on this first complete immersion into the wild world: so many! The fact of biodiversity – a term not yet invented – was the secondary experience. But it was still a matter of great wonder to notice that the darter, with its snaky neck, was quite different from the cormorants, and that of the many long-legged birds gathered around the edges of the lake, there were many different kinds: egrets, herons, night herons, painted storks. There were pelicans: I had no idea what species, or for that matter, no idea there was more than one. There were eagles, too: white-bellied sea-eagle and grey-headed fishing eagle, not that I really cared: I was simply drunk with the thought of being in the same place as eagles, my heart soaring as eagles soar, my imagination with it.
The spotter spotted elephant, far off, and we made our way towards the island they were standing on; here, the elephants swim from island to island, snorkelling with their trunks. I felt no great excitement at this: rather, a feeling that now we had entered the wild world, nothing, no matter how strange, no matter how beautiful, no matter how terrifying, no matter how wild, could cause me surprise . I was in a trance. I had finally reached the place where I wanted to be: the place I had conjured up a thousand times in the playground of Sunnyhill School, the place I had seen on the television with Zoo Quest and Look , the land I had sought in the Natural History Museum, theplace I had pursued without knowing it ever since.
I had entered: and I knew already that there was no going back. I knew that henceforth, the wild world would be a major part of my life. I had no idea how to organise this, or what to do about it, barring an almost incontinent urge to write something about Gal Oya. I just knew that this was not so much a door as a valve, one that allowed you in but did not operate in the reverse direction. I had entered through the Wardrobe: but now the back of the Wardrobe was sealed for ever. I knew I would look at the world in a different way, understand life in a different way, live in a different way. I didn’t know how or when or why: I didn’t even care. All I knew was that I was back: back in a place I had never been to before, back in a place I had never truly left.
12. Marsh harrier
Circus aeruginosus
I always like to say that seeing a marsh harrier was the high spot of my honeymoon, though sometimes I vary it by saying that in fact, it was the morning I bought the thermal underwear. However, to be perfectly honest, there were some other good bits as well, though I
And entered a new space. Oh, brave new world that has such cormorants in it!
For – instantly, melodramatically, absurdly, suddenly – we made a transition from wild to tame. At once we were not near but inside a vast unending colony of birds. Every branch of every tree – bare, water-killed and slowly rotting – bore a cluster of strange black fruit. It was like looking at the stars on a frosty night: endless constellations and nebulae and galaxies of cormorants. Some were attending to their feathers with dandified precision, others struck the traditional heraldic pose of cormorant kind – the correct term is displayed , as in the spread eagle. These cormorants are correctly described as cormorant sable displayed, wings inverted .
They flew, they fished all around us, they squabbled, they dived. The stench of the whitewashed trees rose around us, and it smelt good to me. I had no idea that there were, in fact, three species of cormorants here: the dominant one being the little cormorant, a cheery, indomitable creature that loves to gather in huge numbers whenever there is enough water and enough fish. There were also great cormorants, the same species you find in Britain, andIndian cormorants. But it was the lure of numbers that got to me on this first complete immersion into the wild world: so many! The fact of biodiversity – a term not yet invented – was the secondary experience. But it was still a matter of great wonder to notice that the darter, with its snaky neck, was quite different from the cormorants, and that of the many long-legged birds gathered around the edges of the lake, there were many different kinds: egrets, herons, night herons, painted storks. There were pelicans: I had no idea what species, or for that matter, no idea there was more than one. There were eagles, too: white-bellied sea-eagle and grey-headed fishing eagle, not that I really cared: I was simply drunk with the thought of being in the same place as eagles, my heart soaring as eagles soar, my imagination with it.
The spotter spotted elephant, far off, and we made our way towards the island they were standing on; here, the elephants swim from island to island, snorkelling with their trunks. I felt no great excitement at this: rather, a feeling that now we had entered the wild world, nothing, no matter how strange, no matter how beautiful, no matter how terrifying, no matter how wild, could cause me surprise . I was in a trance. I had finally reached the place where I wanted to be: the place I had conjured up a thousand times in the playground of Sunnyhill School, the place I had seen on the television with Zoo Quest and Look , the land I had sought in the Natural History Museum, theplace I had pursued without knowing it ever since.
I had entered: and I knew already that there was no going back. I knew that henceforth, the wild world would be a major part of my life. I had no idea how to organise this, or what to do about it, barring an almost incontinent urge to write something about Gal Oya. I just knew that this was not so much a door as a valve, one that allowed you in but did not operate in the reverse direction. I had entered through the Wardrobe: but now the back of the Wardrobe was sealed for ever. I knew I would look at the world in a different way, understand life in a different way, live in a different way. I didn’t know how or when or why: I didn’t even care. All I knew was that I was back: back in a place I had never been to before, back in a place I had never truly left.
12. Marsh harrier
Circus aeruginosus
I always like to say that seeing a marsh harrier was the high spot of my honeymoon, though sometimes I vary it by saying that in fact, it was the morning I bought the thermal underwear. However, to be perfectly honest, there were some other good bits as well, though I
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