I’ve seen several of these strikingly-marked dragonflies since arriving at North Cave Wetlands a couple of hours ago, but until now they’ve all been on the wing – tiny helicopters hovering for a moment, then vanishing in a whirr and a blur before popping up as if by magic several metres away.

Later in the afternoon, I come across another migrant hawker basking in a thicket. This one’s lower down and stays almost motionless, clinging to a stalk, as I edge closer to photograph it.

Dragonflies and damselflies are the brightly-coloured jewels in North Cave’s crown, with at least 18 species spotted here. Common darters are everywhere today, zipping around the bramble bushes. I watch a red-bodied male zoom off a branch…to be replaced immediately by a speckled wood butterfly. Nearby, a yellow and brown female darter lifts its head like a tortoise looking out of its shell.

The dragonflies are attracted to North Cave’s wetland habitat – a mixture of shallow- and deep-water lakes created during its former life as a sand and gravel quarry. It’s also an ideal environment for water birds. I spot little egrets wading daintily through the shallows; a grey heron standing stock still; swans floating serenely; coots, moorhens and several species of duck swimming and dabbling.

Eating my lunch on a lakeside bench, I watch half a dozen little grebes diving in search of fish as a breeze ruffles the blue water.

North Cave’s lakes are fringed with woodlands – and there are plenty of birds to see here too. Most conspicuous are the robins. You can usually rely on them to hop up to you and pose for a photo, and today is no exception: one breaks cover and gives me a look that suggests it’s ready for its close-up.

A chiffchaff is less forthcoming. It flits furtively among the berries in a hawthorn tree before pausing briefly to preen. It’s right to be cautious: sparrowhawks hunt in this area. I’m in the same place a little later when one appears out of nowhere, zig-zagging over my head before racing away to try its luck elsewhere.

It always pays to keep an eye on the skies at North Cave. The landscape here is pretty flat, meaning it’s one of those places with big vistas and lots of aerial action.

The air is filled with loud honking noises as squadrons of geese circle high overhead. The volume will be turned up in the coming months as their numbers are swelled by winter visitors.

Flocks of lapwings clamour and swirl. A buzzard flaps across from nearby farmland on big, powerful wing beats, shadowed by a far smaller, but irritatingly belligerent, crow. A kestrel hovers over the footpath, its keen eyes scanning the ground below.

There’s plenty here to attract serious wildlife watchers toting telescopes and tripods between the reserve’s six hides. On previous visits I’ve watched charismatic avocets, photographed a rare willow emerald damselfly and caught a distant glimpse of a bittern.

I don’t spot anything that unusual today, but I really don’t care. For me, North Cave is a wonderful place to get close to wildlife, and I’m happy when a (fairly common) reed bunting gives away its location with a burst of its trilling call. I snatch some photos as it perches for a few moments on a tall wild parsley plant.

On my walks around the reserve’s flat perimeter path, I come across a fair cross-section of people who are enjoying the natural world without necessarily wielding expensive binoculars, telescopes or cameras: mums with young children and pushchairs, young couples, groups of older people.

In a country as nature-depleted as the UK, we need more people to visit reserves like North Cave and experience the thrill of watching wildlife in a place where it’s allowed to flourish.