Early Saturday morning, mid July, I called in at Blacktoft Sands nature reserve. Drizzle alternated with showers. The waters displayed only a scattering of nondescript ducks, and it was mostly pigeons that flew across the reeds or clattered on the roof of the hide.
On the branches of distant shrubs hunched marsh harriers, veiled or revealed by the drifting mists. These, I think, were fledged chicks, joined occasionally by parents. I only saw the adults fly or hunt.