I admitted that I was.
'What are you looking at?'
That was a good question. Apart from a pair of Pacific black ducks that were paddling around the tour boat, hoping for a piece of scone, the lake surface appeared lifeless.
'Great crested grebes,' I said. 'There's a big flock of them on the other side.'
I handed the binoculars to her and pointed at the spot, about 800 metres away.
'There,' I said. 'Can you see them?'
She passed the binoculars back to me. I peered through them.
'Oh. They've dived. Hang on. They're back up.'
'I can't see them,' she said.
'No. They've gone under again.'
And so it went, for about fifteen minutes: the binoculars passed back and forth and the dialogue repeated with variations. A Beckett play for bird watchers.
I went back today. This time with a camera.
|A watery Sahara|
|Not a dicky bird|
|Wait. What's this?|
|Goodness gracious! Great crested grebes!|
|There are 25 great crested grebes in this photo. Trust me.|