But, if you look hard enough through the winter gloom, there are already signs of warmer and brighter days ahead.

My sudden flash of optimism has been sparked by a flock of about 20 black-headed gulls swimming in the chilly waters of the partly frozen east lagoon. One bird stands out from the rest of the flock.  The others are all still dressed for winter, with white heads marked with a black spot. But this individual is sporting a head that’s turning into the chocolate brown breeding plumage that black-headed gulls wear in spring and summer.

Over the next few weeks, as the days lengthen and the air begins to warm, the rest of the flock will follow suit.

Heartened by this discovery, I walk up the footpath to Carr Top Farm, across the little wooden footbridge, then down the path on the opposite bank of the narrow River Tutt, with vast, ploughed fields on my right.

Then I come across something that reminds me that winter hasn’t loosened its grip yet: a grey heron lying dead in the river. I can’t be sure what killed it, but I know that herons suffer in harsh winter weather as snow and ice make it harder to find prey. Even here on nature reserves, natural processes play out.

Minutes later, I spot another heron, tiptoeing through the reedbed on the edge of the west lagoon with the sort of exaggerated stealth that really ought to be accompanied by cartoon music, before standing stock still and waiting for a catch to help it get through these tough times.

There are plenty of ducks here too: whistling wigeon; grazing teal; goldeneye bobbing and diving. High overhead, four shovelers – two male and two female – wheel round and race across the sky in formation, like jets from one of the nearby RAF bases. At lower altitude, lapwings rise and fall in great, swirling, screeching flocks.

Staveley – a former sand, gravel and clay quarry close to the A1 (M) in North Yorkshire – has been transformed in recent decades into an ideal wetland habitat for water birds.

One of my favourites – a little egret - is standing in the marshy ground on the edge of the west lagoon. At first, I can only catch glimpses of it through the thick tangle of a hedge, but by walking a couple of hundred metres to an observation point I get a view that does justice to its gorgeous, snowy-white plumage.

Water birds aren’t the only wildlife highlights at Staveley. The reserve’s diverse mixture of habitats means there are plenty of other species to see.

A loud whooshing noise above my head signals the arrival of a flock of starlings, which settle at the top of tall tree further along the path.

I’ve been trying – without much success – to get some decent photos of a mixed flock of dozens of linnets, goldfinches and chaffinches that’s sweeping through the trees and plants near the river. But – not for the first time - my attention is shamelessly hijacked by an eager robin striking a series of photogenic poses within easy reach of my lens, while my original subjects disappear into the distance.

By 2.45pm on this winter afternoon, the light is already beginning to fade and the air is getting chillier. I’m doing another circuit, walking up the footpath to Carr Top Farm, when I spot a shadowy shape moving among the long, yellow-brown grass. It’s a roe deer doe. She notices me, raises her head to get a better look, then carries on grazing while I take photos.

As she ambles a little way through the field, I see that she’s with a couple more deer. These two are smaller than her, possibly her fawns. Roe deer give birth to two or three fawns in late spring, which would make them seven or eight months old by now.

All three have a good nosy at me from a safe distance, before eventually strolling off. Then I notice a tell-tale white rump next to a bramble bush. It’s another small roe deer, possibly another of this year’s fawns. I walk over the footbridge and double back on the other bank of the river to try to get a better view.

The young deer is clearly aware of me. It skips a few steps, and I think it’s going to run off, but then it stands still and starts grazing again. I watch it for a good ten minutes before it eventually saunters away in the same direction as the others.

When I arrive back at the east lagoon at dusk, a birdwatcher tells me he’s seen a barn owl hunting on the far side of the lake. I head into a very dark Carr’s hide, train my binoculars on the area he pointed out, and sit and wait.

There are a few distractions: swans glide serenely on the surface of the lake; a flustered moorhen squawks and splashes crazily over the water.

Then I get a fleeting glimpse of a light-coloured shape flying low over the field in the distance in the gathering gloom. It vanishes from view, then reappears briefly on two more occasions. Is it the barn owl? Possibly, although I’m nowhere near a hundred per cent certain.

As I arrive back at the car park, I pass an information board, which reminds me that I haven’t managed to see another of Staveley’s star species – the elusive otter. That’s a challenge for a return visit in the warmer, longer days that lie ahead.