Natural highs and lows

One day much earlier in the year, in a flurry of activity, we began work on digging a pond in the front garden. For a variety of reasons, only one of which was the weather, things did not progress any further, leaving a bank and ditch in the middle of the lawn. In fact, there was another thing which didn't happen through the Spring and Summer, our walk around the three mile loop of the Stromness Loons. It's weird, we'd both been keenly looking forward to see what birds would breed in the wet pasture of the Loons, but Life just seemed to get in the way. One afternoon last week, we did finally have a wander around the loop, six months on from the last time, although of course the breeding season is well and truly over for 2024. Passing the poet's house, we noticed a riot of colour at one side of their garden, then noticed said poet mowing his lawn and remarked upon the profusion of gorgeous blooms. It turns out that he had begun to dig a pond, failed to get much further,

Gazing up into the night sky is quite a good way to ground oneself, if that's not too contradictory a statement. Letting ones eyes become accustomed to the darkness, picking out some of the more familiar celestial bodies  like the Moon, a few of the observable planets, particular stars and, with a bit of eye straining, the odd galaxy, well, i t all helps to give a sense of being a very small cog in a huge universal machine. This contraption could be, I suppose, a pocket watch, but I don't have much time for that theory. Image courtesy of Wallpapers.com And we mustn't forget atmospheric phenomena like the Northern or Southern Lights (Aurora borealis or australis), meteor showers and noctilucent clouds. All wonderful life-affirming experiences, as long as one is not a slightly inquisitive dinosaur. However, all these things require a clear sky, which in my part of the world is not a given. So much not a given, in fact, that I have turned off the aurora alerts on my phone. And

A recent repair job took me to the island of North Ronaldsay, a fifteen minute flight from the Orkney mainland aboard a small eight-seater plane. For our landing in North Ronaldsay, there was a bit of a crosswind, but nothing too severe or requiring the pilot to hold the aircraft at right angles to our direction of travel as he approached the runway. Once the repair, at the north end of the island, was successfully completed, there were a few hours to wile away before the return journey, so wildlife-watching mode was engaged. We bumped into one of the staff from the Bird Observatory and he suggested trying a sea-watch for Sooty and Manx Shearwaters, and pointed in the direction of the Old Beacon on Dennis Head as a good vantage point.  En route to the Beacon, we scored a bonus Hen Harrier hunting over the small fields The Old Beacon Tucked down out of the wind, on the shore below the Beacon, binoculars were steadied and trained on a patch of sea about halfway to the horizon. It took a

It has been a bit of a week, what with one thing and another, most of the household have either been to the hospital or the vet. Through this fraughtness, I have been kept mentally afloat on several occasions by a piece of music, and it finally occurred to me that here is a Nature Notes blogpost begging to be written. Mind you, I had to look up the previous instalment of Nature Notes, as I wasn't sure when it was, what number it was or even who it was (#8, a year ago, 'Manhattan Project' by Rush). So all this time I have been awaiting the muse, wondering which piece of music I could reasonably shoehorn into a wildlife blog without seeming too niche.  Oh, ok, it's always been too niche. You will be familiar with my multitudinous ID dilemmas, surrounding broad swathes of flora and fauna, so a tune which doesn't immediately appear to be certain what it is called would definitely fit the bill.  And then there's a pun. Ooo, we love a good pun at NaHaL. The track is &

You may recall, dear reader, that when we moved to Burnbank a little over a year ago, our new home was in one corner of a larger plot, with planning permission granted for three further houses. Here's a photograph from back then, showing our nascent rear garden (the mown bit) with the plots, actually an unimproved meadow, behind and to the side of it. Knowing what was to come, we decided to enjoy this meadow vicariously whist we could, watching how the vegetation glowed as the light changed, or being mesmerised by the fluffy heads of the cottongrass.   We were especially pleased with what this habitat helped to bring into our garden, most gloriously all those wonderful visits by Brown Hares. However, it wasn't going to last and, indeed, it hasn't. Recently, work has commenced on the first two plots, the one behind us and one to the north. The precious turf of fine grasses and wildflowers was scraped back into various heaps, hard-standings were laid, foundations dug, and the

If Summer in Orkney means one thing, it's more likely to be haar, than sunburn. Yes, after a few days of warm weather, we are always guaranteed a generous helping of fog. High Hoy Lighthouse on the island of Graemsay If we're lucky, by mid afternoon the haar will have burnt off, and then... ooh... I don't know... perhaps there'd still be time for some dragon hunting?   Back at the nearby pond, surrounded by wisps of fog drifting up from the nearby coast, Black Darters were busy propagating the species. Pairs were mating in the vegetation around the edges of the pool, then egg-laying in the mossy shallows. There was plenty of other invertebrate life to be seen, some of which even deigned to be photographed, or at least didn't scarper as soon as they saw me. Caterpillar of a Broom Moth Bog Hoverfly, Sericomyia silentis A Sexton Beetle (ID'd by BR as  Nicrophorus vespilliodes ) The male Black Darters were so keen to find good vantage points in the sun, they often l