Rutland Water Nature Reserve Photo Day

For us, a day at Rutland Water is an investment before we even leave the house.

They don't permit dogs, so it requires a coordinated effort of calling in favours just to get out the door.

More often than not, that effort is compounded by us taking a wrong turn off the A1—a mistake we've perfected over the years.

But as we navigate the detour, the frustration always gives way to anticipation.

Because we know what's waiting for us: a vast expanse of water and sky, and the kind of wild encounters that make every wrong turn and every bit of planning worthwhile.

It's our escape, and we're willing to work for it.

On this particular trip in February, that feeling was put to the test.

We finally arrived at the Anglian Water Birdwatching Centre to the drumming of rain on the roof.

Standing in the second-floor viewing gallery, I stared out through the rain-streaked windows at Lagoon 1.

Below us, a staggering 25,000 overwintering waterfowl dotted the water, their shapes muted by the grey, misty light.

It was a scene that captured the familiar mix of excitement and frustration I often feel.

So much life, so much potential for a great photograph, but how do you possibly pick your moment when everything is just… distant specks? How do you turn this overwhelming, chaotic view into a single, memorable story?

This is the story of how we found our answer that day.

It’s a story about looking closer, learning to be patient, and discovering that the real prize isn't always the sharpest photo, but the thrill of the unexpected encounter.

Rutland Water Photography - Group Meet Up

The great thing about a day like this is that I wasn't facing it alone.

I was meeting up with four other photographers from a Facebook group, a friendly bunch with a mix of passions.

Mel, for example, was a talented landscape photographer, and saw the misty scene very differently than I did. It’s a good reminder that there's no single 'right' way to see a place.

It was Mel who, later in one of the hides, snapped a photo of me wrestling with my camera—it's the one you can find on my About Me page.

It’s one of my favourites because it captures the reality of the day: not a majestic solo photographer at one with nature, but just one of a group of friends, enjoying a damp but happy day out, helping each other spot birds and sharing in the small victories.

Natural Drama!

The friendly chatter in the hide quieted down as we all settled in to watch the scene over the water.

This is the part of any nature walk I love the most—the quiet moment of just being. It’s tempting to constantly scan the horizon for something big, but I’ve learned that the real magic often happens in the margins.

I let my eyes drift to the reeds right in front of us, looking not for a subject, but just for movement.

And then I saw it. A tiny flicker of motion.

A male Stonechat, neat and handsome, was methodically working its way through the reeds. It would dart out to catch an insect, then fly back to a mossy stump to enjoy its meal. We watched, captivated by this small, private world.

Suddenly, a ripple of movement at the base of the reeds caught my eye—something sleek, silent, and purposeful.

A stoat. My heart jumped into my throat.

We were about to witness nature's brutal, efficient drama unfold right in front of us. The stoat slunk closer, and we all held our breath, silently rooting for "our" Stonechat.

The attack, when it came, was a flash of brown fur. The stoat dashed out and, in an instant, vanished back into the reeds with a tiny, unfortunate bird in its jaws.

A wave of hushed shock went through our group. Was it him?

We scanned the mossy stump, and after a few tense seconds that felt like minutes, our Stonechat reappeared, looking entirely unconcerned. He had survived. A collective, silent sigh of relief.

The Thrill of the "Imperfect" Sighting

Just as the adrenaline from the stoat encounter subsided, a murmur of voices rippled through our group.

Someone had spotted a Water Rail, a bird I had never seen before.

Immediately, my focus shifted. I scanned the water’s edge, my eyes searching for the elusive bird while my mind raced.

Thanks to a fellow photographer's directions, I finally found it.

It was mostly hidden, skulking in the shadows. I raised my camera, knowing the light was poor and the distance was tricky. I managed to grab a few quick shots before it vanished.

Back then, I remember looking at the blurry image on my camera screen and feeling a pang of disappointment.

It wasn’t "good enough to share."

But I've learned since then that this thinking is a trap. That photo, blurry as it is, is my proof. It’s a record of a personal first, and the thrill of that moment is far more valuable than technical perfection.

That "record shot" is a treasure, not a failure.

My next lesson in humility came a little later.

"There are two redheads out on the far side," a quiet voice said from my left. I’d been so focused, I hadn't even noticed another person had joined us in the hide.

When I asked what he meant, he specified, "Smew!"—another bird I was desperate to see.

They were impossibly distant, tiny specks my lens couldn't hope to resolve.

Seeing my frustration, the man kindly offered me a look through his spotting scope. The view was incredible. In that moment, his generosity was the best piece of equipment on the entire reserve.

I couldn't take a photo, but I saw the Smew, and it was a delightful, memorable sighting that I wouldn't have had on my own.

A Game Plan for Tackling the Hides

A place as vast as Rutland Water can feel overwhelming. With miles of shoreline and over a dozen hides, it’s impossible to cover it all in one go.

On our trip, after the excitement of the Water Rail and Smew sightings, we had to decide where to focus our limited time.

If you find yourself in the same position, here's my advice: on a chilly day, I’d suggest heading for the hides overlooking Lagoon 4.

We found the hides on the other lagoons were much quieter, but from the Sandpiper hide, we were quickly rewarded with a Great White Egret trying its best to hide in the reeds.

This is also where you learn the number one rule of birdwatching: patience is everything, and someone will always get a better photo the moment you leave!

One of the ladies in our group captured a lovely shot of the egret stepping out into the open just after we’d moved on. That's just how it goes, and sharing in her success was part of the fun of being in a group.

From another hide, we were entertained by a motionless Little Egret, its feathers puffed up against the cold, and a single, smart male Goldeneye swimming among the more common ducks.

These weren't dramatic, once-in-a-lifetime encounters, but they were lovely, quiet moments that filled the afternoon.

They are the kinds of sightings you can reliably expect if you give yourself time to just sit and watch.

Back to the Birdwatching Centre

So, what's the takeaway from a damp, chilly, and slightly chaotic day at Rutland Water?

It’s this: don't let the fear of imperfection keep you at home. Don't worry if you don't have the biggest lens or if you can't identify every bird.

• Your best moments might come from just watching a small drama unfold in the reeds.
• Your most memorable sighting might be through the lens of a kind stranger.
• And your favourite photo might be a blurry one that reminds you of the thrill of seeing something new for the very first time.

Just show up, be patient, and let the day tell its own story. You’ll be amazed at what you find.

While you are here, you might like to check out our experience of taking one of Rutland Water's Osprey Cruises.

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