As I swim, a bolt of burning blue shoots above me and vanishes behind the curtains of willow foliage draped over the river’s edge. Kingfishers are common along this stretch of the Wharfe, but they are typically shy, wary birds. My sightings are often blink-and-miss-it affairs; a furtive glimpse of sci-fi cyan flashing through the trees, or knifing at prey in the brown water.
Greedy to see more of those scintillating, laser-burst colours, I decide to try to get a closer look at this particular bird. When I locate it, on a low branch overhanging the water, and carefully slide forward, I am expecting the bird to get spooked. But instead, the otherworldly hunter allows me to get astoundingly close, almost within touching distance. I can easily make out the finest details of its plumage.
