Thursday was a rather nice, sunny, yet crisp, blue sky day, and so I decided to make most of it, pack the ghillie kettle and pop out for a lunch into my local post-industrial woodland. The recent weather has been doing my head in, and this was just what I needed. And as I am walking back along the canal towpath, nearly home (my mood much improved), I do a double take: for in the distance I see a cygnet, that typical grey coat of a young swan, clumsily wobbling toward me from the opposite direction, as if out for a stroll.

There are plenty of swans and cygnets around the canal, but I don’t think I have seen one walking along the towpath before; there is a reason for that, those feet are not meant for walking, its swaying gait a rather comical sight.

As we were passing, I gave it as wide a berth as I could, which given the width of the towpath is not much, and so was entirely expecting to get pecked. Instead, the bird turned around and started following me.

(One can, sometime, be rather slow on the uptake.)

The night before was very cold (down to -10C), and the canal froze solid. Swans are aquatic feeders, so need open water, and, as I noticed a couple of minutes earlier, observing another pair of swans on the edge of a small pool of unfrozen water under a motorway overpass, the smooth ice is very difficult for the birds to walk on.

The young bird got separated from its parents at some point, and is looking for help.

And so I turned around and we walked together toward the open water I knew was under the overpass some three hundred yards back, but which could not be seen from our present location.

It was a surreal and arduous journey.

We were getting passed by other people and dogs, not entirely sure what to make of a middle-aged bloke walking with, and carrying a conversation with, a swan (also, my first ever conversation with a neighbour I have lived across the road from for over twenty years; now forever that bloke talking to swans …).

I kept thinking the sustrans tarmac was probably not so great for those webbed feet; my new friend was visibly growing exhausted, and after a while just plopped down for a rest. I had nothing to feed it, the only thing I could find around were some rose hips, and we quickly established they were not going to cut it … we were so close, and yet still so far.

It took a lot of verbal encouragement as well as hand waving, but after three quarters of an hour walking backwards, we got there in the end. The last bit the cygnet back on the ice, skittering about, a character from a slapstick comedy; me waving and shouting from the bank (a character from a slapstic comedy; aye, right). But now the sight of open water providing some much needed motivation.

But with the subzero temperatures expected to stay with us for another couple of days, I didn’t like the young fellas chances.

Back home the Internet (bless it) told me best food for swans is lettuce, kale, and other green leafy veggies, as well as frozen peas. So I raided the corner shop, leaving with two heads of iceberg lettuce (that clearly lacked the staying power of Liz Truss), and two bags of frozen peas.

Back at the canal I discovered that the two adult swans didn’t take kindly to the new arrival, and chased it out onto the ice. I also discovered that nobody was interested in the lettuce; not sure if to blame the Internet, the universal Scottish dislike for greens, or the lettuce itself (or perhaps the image of iceberg lettuce has been for ever tainted by this unfortunate political association) — thankfully, the peas were received well, and, with a bit of strategic throwing to keep the adults and the cygnet apart, the two bags were soon gone.

A bitterly cold Thursday night was followed by another cracker of a day, and so another visit to the woods was called for, but this time I shoved a big bag of frozen peas I found in our freezer into the backpack as well.

What little open water there was shrunk even further over night. I could see the two adult swans on the ice, but there was no sign of my new pal; I eventually found the cygnet cowering on the ice in a nook behind a bridge, out of sight of the adults. It was clearly glad to see me, and tried to get out onto the bank to meet me, but the concrete lip at that point was just too high, but at least made a suitable shelf for the peas (though the swan beak, adapted to scooping things from water, is a rather clumsy instrument for picking up things from hard surfaces).

The bird quickly got through a half of the bag, but I could see it was shivering, and wasn’t sure whether frozen peas were ideal under the circumstances. In the end I decided to keep the other half of the bag for coming back later, by which time the peas would be warmer.

I wasn’t convinced my pal would last another night.

Returning after lunch I learnt the difference between frozen peas and thawed peas: frozen peas float, thawed peas sink. A subtle but rather important difference when one is swan feeding; and so lot of what was left in my bag went to waste. Lesson learnt.

By now the three swans moved further down along the frozen canal finding a wider open space below a lock. The territorial behaviour of the adults remained, but the cygnet looked lot better than in the morning; I messaged Linda to buy more peas.

Come Saturday, I am out with my peas not long after it gets light. The open water shrunk further, and there are now four swans, my cygnet joined by another young, but a year older, bird. They have both been exiled onto the ice. My pal scrambles up onto the bank as soon as it sees me, and works its way through the entire big bag of peas while I keep watch for the passing dogs, not all of which are on lead; a bit of banter with some of the passers by. My pal is looking well, none of that hypothermic shiver of yesterday. (But the other young bird doesn’t look so good, lethargic, and uninterested in my peas.)

A couple of young girls arrive with their dad and bags of bread; there is a big scramble and my cygnet is back on the ice with the rest of them. I guess swans aren’t that different from us people, the bread is not good for them, but presumably tastes better than my frozen peas.

It will start getting warmer over night, and I am sure that, lest it chokes on some bread, my pal will be fine.

—

Just to be sure, I went to check this morning. There are no more peas in the house, and the corner shop is not used to such a turover in greens. But I still have that second iceberg, one that Liz Truss could outlast for sure (and I can’t face). Surely the Internet could have not got this wrong — perhaps I need to chop it up into small bits (I know now that those large beaks are quite clumsy).

The ice is already melting around the edges of the canal, and the two adult swans have moved on; the small patch of open water below the lock is full of ducks and the two young swans are able to feed around the edges; both are looking fine.

I am spotted and my pal scrambles out onto the pontoon, where, with a smile, I dish out the lettuce. The cygnet pokes around it with its beak, then stretches its long neck looking expectedly at me.

Sorry mate, nay more peas in the house.

It gives me this sad disappointed look, then slowly turns around and slides off the edge of the pontoon back into the water, joining its older pal.

Aye, right. It was nice knowing you too, maybe see you around sometime. 🙂