Every month there is a count across the entire country of the waterbirds on all the wetlands and estuaries, coordinated by the British Trust for Ornithology. I am involved with three of these, two on my own - the Leys at Beesands and Slapton, and one as part of a team - the Salcombe and Kingsbridge Estuary. Most of the birds on the Estuary depart in the Spring to breed elsewhere and thus the summer is very quiet, apart from the excitement of the ringed plover and osprey passing through on their way south. On the Leys some of the waterbirds stay to breed, so there is much more activity to observe and record.

In March, when I last wrote, I was very concerned about the state of Slapton Ley, in particular the very high water levels. These had meant that all the mute swan cygnets born the previous year had been unable to reach far enough down through the water to reach the water weed and had quickly starved to death. The reedbeds had also suffered from the deep water and were in very poor condition, resulting in most of the coots abandoning the Ley for better nesting conditions elsewhere. I don’t need to tell you what happened next: no rain and a rapid fall in the water. The result has been that this year the cygnets at Slapton have thrived. There are two pairs who hatched six young each and another pair who hatched three. All the cygnets have survived so far, indeed the pair with three have now acquired a fourth. A smaller, darker bird that was presumably hatched by another pair that remained hidden in the reeds. The reeds are also now thriving again in the shallower water and this has tempted the coots to return.

Interestingly, on Beesands Ley, where nine cygnets were successfully raised last year across three pairs, only two pairs hatched young this year, and one of those pairs soon lost all of theirs, leaving just three cygnets. It’s also interesting to note that, this time last year, Beesands Ley was full of moulting swans. There are none at all this year, but there are thirty at Slapton. One must suspect, therefore, that this year it is Beesands where the water weed is much less available.

The other excitement/anxiety at Slapton every year is how many young the great crested grebes will produce. It can vary from none to thirty. There used to be the added worry that, once hatched, the young could starve for lack of small fish, but that hasn’t happened for many years now. Perhaps the rise and fall of fish fertility caused by a cycle in the life of tapeworm is not the issue that it used to be.

The weather can also be an issue. Two years ago all the nests were washed away, including nests full of eggs, and no young were hatched. Last year eleven young were hatched at Slapton, across seven pairs. All survived. This year eight young grebes were born across five pairs. Watching young grebes with their parents is always a delight: the parents catching and feeding them a variety of size of fish, some just too big to swallow; young riding on their parents back. This year one insisted on riding, even when it had become so big that the adult had difficulty in staying afloat. The adult just paddled on with gritted bill. Clearly then, contrary to how it may feel to many these days, this experience is not unique to the human parent ……

One benefit of watching young grebes is that they are relatively easy to observe. Counting young herons on the heronry at Slapton is another matter altogether. This year it was nigh on impossible. Neither I nor Brenda, who monitors the heronry with me, has any idea how many herons were hatched and raised this year. We know we had four or maybe five nests, but then the ivy grew so rapidly it obscured everything, and herons are surprisingly good at hiding. All we can say is there were ”at least three young”.

One benefit of walking the Slapton Line in Spring and Summer is the pure beauty, not just of the water, but also of the wildflowers. It is first cloaked in yellow from the bird foot’s trefoil, kidney vetch and radish, then it changes to blue, especially from the spectacular chicory. There is also the arrival of the migrant butterflies to look out for; first the painted ladies then the clouded yellows, but not in the numbers to be seen in Italy.