Eponymous post

Well, today was the very epitome of a natural high and low, and I am still processing the resulting tide of emotions. Perhaps I should add that this rising and crashing wave of a trip was not brought on by LSD, but rather by L-tD.

Let me explain. This morning, the Orkney Field Club held one of its monthly wildlife events. As the weather of late has been so unremittingly dreich and the ground is so thoroughly sodden, AG, our walk leader for the event, had the inspired idea of an urban ramble around some of the streets and green spaces of Kirkwall, capital of Orkney.

At the allotted time, we met up in a large car park by the Peedie Sea, a man-made lochan which is occasionally referred to as the town duck pond. A circumnavigation of this water body was an excellent start to the walk, allowing good views of Mute Swan, Grey Heron, gulls (Common, Black-headed, Herring and Great Black-backed), Ringed Plover, Turnstone, Red-breasted Merganser, Goldeneye, Tufted Duck, Mallard and Long-tailed Duck. This latter species is a Winter visitor to Orkney, with its dapper plumage of black, white and brown, and its wonderful call which gives rise to its Orcadian name of Caloo. Here's a distant photo of a couple of males, a female and, in the background, a female Goldeneye.

On a sunny day in early Spring, it's amazing to stand on the pavement between the Peedie Sea and Kirkwall Bay, watching the Long-tailed Ducks flying just over your head between salt and fresh water. Magical.

We carried on, finding all manner of plants growing by kerbsides and on walls. At one point, we even saw a wasp, in January, but it was gone before we could positively identify it to species.

A tree laden with Latin-named lichens, liverworts and mosses

A tiny fruiting body of a fungus amongst the leaf litter

Unfortunately, we had to leave the walk before the end, as the tide was just right for our fortnightly survey of a stretch of coast as part of a project monitoring the shore for beached birds.

The previous survey had taken place just after a westerly gale and a very high tide, which probably had a bearing upon us finding five dead birds, a sufficient quantity to warrant NatureScot sampling for HPAI (bird flu) on behalf of DEFRA.

With calmer weather today, we hoped for less carnage, and initial signs were promising, with only one newly-deceased Guillemot on the same stretch where we had found so many bodies two weeks ago.

But as we headed around the bay, we happened upon a dead duck, laid in the seaweed along the strand line. Initially, only its back was visible, but the markings were very distinctive and our hearts sank as we realised that this was a male Long-tailed Duck. 

This passing shouldn't be any more or less traumatic than any other bird which has succumbed to the cold weather or malnutrition or disease. But somehow, we were both struck by how sad a sight this is, as male Long-tailed Ducks are such characters, with their striking plumage and instantly recognisable caloo calls. Indeed, many's the time we have heard them calling when we've been gardening or even through an open window at night.

Rest in peace, wee dapper duck, your memory will live long in my heart.