Kingfisher on the river Wear in Durham city

 

The river Wear begins its great loop around Durham cathedral peninsula here, at Elvet bridge. It’s always a busy spot. Aside from the rowing crews and scullers training for regattas, there are tourists in hired rowing boats and a constant passage of joggers, cyclists and walkers along the riverbank footpath. Mostly busy people on their way to somewhere, but it’s often a good place to just stand and stare: there can be interesting birds here. In winter there were goosanders fishing. In early spring little grebes took up residence for a while: energetic divers that we timed submerged for twenty seconds, leaving us guessing where they might reappear, sometimes popping up just a few feet away from the bank.  

The footpath was busy today. As I reached a narrow, elevated section of the path I moved over against the wall to make way for a rowing coach, balanced precariously on his bike as he chased his novice crew and bellowed encouragement from the bank. While he passed I glanced over the wall, towards the river and there was a kingfisher, perched on an overhanging willow. A perfect spot for fishing, where the water is clear, where sunlight glints on silver scales of fish that congregate in the warm shallows.

We stared at each other for what can only have been a few seconds, but these birds seem to concentrate surrounding energy and release it in a mesmerising azure and orange spark, an electric shock of plumage that makes time stand still. Totally unexpected, completely captivating: a gift of a bird.

And then it was gone, streaking off upriver, skimming the water, streaking past the oarsman and disappearing under Elvet bridge. King of the river.