North of Thetford, on part of the belt of barren heathland that surrounds the town, are several sheets of water known as meres, which are almost unique in their formation and situation. Of similar origin, but with very different surroundings, are other meres, a little further northward, in Wretham Park. It is of the heathland meres—Ringmere, Langmere, Fowlmere, and the Devil's Punch Bowl—that I shall more particularly write; although the bird-life of the meres must necessarily include the whole series—Mickle Mere, Great Mere, and West Mere, in addition to those previously mentioned.
Ringmere lies close to the main road, between Thetford and Wretham Station. A triangular plantation shelters it on the south—a plantation of fir, larch, birch, and beech trees. It is most impressive at night: then the trunks of the silver birch stand out ghostly in the gloom of the fir trees; and the sighing of the aspen and the soughing of the fir trees, with the crisp rustle of the brown bracken, have a singular harmony as we wander along the woodmen's paths or through the woodland glades. Mayhap we hear the uncanny "Hoo-oo-oo-tu-vit" of a Long-eared Owl, or the flapping of some startled Pigeon in the treetops. But of the mere itself—a pool in the midst of a wild heath. With the Raven, immortalised of Poe, one is at first tempted to say, "Only that, and nothing more." Thoreau
