There, I hear it again, the tap, tap, tapping. What is it, I ask myself, as I scan the nearby bank of the pond. The tapping continues and my ears home in on a clump of last year’s hogweed – just dishevelled remains after the snow crushed it like matchsticks. Tap, tap, tap and my eyes focus on a single wasp, its mandibles chomping away at the stem. I would rather have seen a bee getting material for a nest, but the buzz of a wasp is surprisingly comforting after the recent heavy rain and biting wind. I move further round the pond, fish fry are topping on the surface and I catch a fleeting glimpse of our very own Loch Ness Monster - the ghost carp. On the opposite bank I see bubbles on the surface: they must have come from a tench feeding off the bottom of the pond. All the while frogs are calling - since April their croaks have been like cicadas in Crete - just as loud, normal and annoying!
The serenity is shattered: the fish dive as I here the ominous call of a heron. It lands on its chosen peg on the far side of the pond and then wades in - an expert fisherman. I watch it for 10 minutes before it decides to cast in, its snakelike neck striking the water and then getting a frog. Then, expertly balancing the prize in its bill, it throws it down its neck. I stand up and make my way back home. The heron sees me and flies away, but it’ll be back. The fish begin to top, the frog chorus returns and still – tap, tap, tap.....
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