A brace of HaresWild West Yorkshire nature diary, Wednesday 14th July 1999
My friend John, who I've mentioned before (the wildlife photographer who doesn't always have the best of luck) was showing us his ant bites at the weekend. He had been lying for an hour on the grass of the river bank upstream, photographing a nest of kingfishers, and didn't realise until he got up that he was right on top of a nest of brown field ants.
   As the evening sky clears, a low sun highlights the details of a panorama of the Calder valley. As I've mentioned before, on a clear day like this we can see from the windmills on the gritstone moors above Howarth, in the west, to Ferrybridge power station, peering over the Magnesian Limestone ridge, in the east. It occurs to me that in one view I can see the subjects of most of my recent booklets. There are the two local villages of Ossett and Horbury, which I sketched and wrote about last year, the wooded Lowe Hill in Thornes Park, Wakefield, the subject of a booklet which goes to the binders' this week, and Sandal Castle, which I intend to get printed in the autumn.
The fur on its back is a darker brown than that of a rabbit, and looks as if it has been gelled and spiked to give a wet look. We can see the brown pupil in its gold-brown eye, which gives it a 'mad March hare' expression. We can even see small details like a nick in one of its ears.
Another hare is lying low, but very visible, a bit further on in the field.
Richard Bell, 
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WE HAVE TWO VIEWS of Kingfishers today, in the morning we see one on the river and, this evening, on the canal. Both perch in willows overhanging the water before flying off along the bank to perch out of sight.
As we look through our binoculars at Lapwings and Mistle Thrushes at the top end of the field, Barbara spots a Hare coming into view. It follows the path down the slope trampled by the cattle, looking relaxed, stopping to nibble the grasses. We realise that it is going to come right down to us. With the sun behind us, we get a perfect view through the binoculars.
It doesn't pick up our scent until it is within six metres of us, then it sets off, lolloping up the field along the other cattle track. The movement is a bit like that of a small deer.
A sudden emphatic 'quack! quack!' from behind the tall towpath grasses and a Mallard duck leads her brood of ten small ducklings out across the canal. There's something about their movements, independent yet still wanting to be a part of the crowd, that reminds me of animated creatures in a science fiction movie.