Natural highs and lows

We've (ok, I've) still not fitted a cat flap for Cookie and Mocha, as they seem quite content with their personalised aperture opening service. As a system, it does have the advantage of taking into account which direction the weather is galloping in from, thereby giving a much pleasanter feline experience via whichever door or window opens onto the leeside of the house. In turn, we have become used to checking said aperture for an irate bundle of fur, silently miaow-ing at the double glazing. "Irate" because we're never, ever quick enough to respond, and "silently" because of the sound insulating properties of modern doors and windows. All these decades later, I still find the silence of double glazing a little off-putting, having grown up in a house which had such thin panes of single glazing and so many draughts that it often felt like there weren't any windows. However, my ears were certainly attuned to any and every bird sound outside, whether i

As I write, rain is hammering against the kitchen window, bushes and trees are waving energetically in the strong wind, and my inclination is to not venture outdoors. Even Mocha, our more outdoorsy cat, who usually has cabin fever at the drop of a latch, is snuggled up on the back of the sofa, snoring gently. Yesterday, as someone once said for a very different reason, was such an easy game to play. With a customer to visit in Hoy, we took the mid-morning ferry from Houton to Lyness, and were on site for just after eleven o'clock. An hour later, with work complete, Megan and I then headed to Rackwick Bay on the west of the island, with vague thoughts of a picnic by the beach and an amble around the area. There wasn't a breath of wind, sunny periods between silver grey clouds gave way to a cloudless blue sky and, although it was chilly, only a few pools in the shadows were still etched with ice. The raindrops that fall upon the hills, and then flow into the burns, maintain a mem

More Autumnal walks, scant opportunities grasped between increasingly wintry showers, just not always successfully! There are some mature hedges (can you believe it?) along the Gyre Road in Orphir. A rare and precious jewel is the Orkney hedge. An afternoon saunter delivered a few surprising splashes of colour: a hip of a Rosa rugosa; the bud, flower and fruit of a bramble; and some Yellow Brain Fungus on a Gorse branch. As we returned to the car, the setting sun backlit a few showers picking their way between the hills of Hoy. The following day was rinse, dry, shine, repeat, which at least meant lots of rainbows. We ambled over the hill to the coast at Warebeth and munched our picnic in the rain whilst we watched umpteen waders scurrying about the beach. Again, the showers over Hoy provided drama and atmosphere. Monday was simply dreich, and we didn't even stick our noses out of the door. On Tuesday lunchtime, returning home from a morning's work, I parked the van and, as I lo

Contrary to all expectation, there have continued to be a few occasional balmy (for Orkney) days at the beginning of November. Here are some photos from three walks of varying distance and location. There's a comfortable three mile loop close to home, along single track roads which allow us to circumnavigate the Stromness Loons. I should say that 'loons' refers to marshland, rather than to any opinion of local mental stability. In the shelter of a bridge over a small burn, a Beech tree was hanging onto its leaves as only a Beech tree can. By one of the many ditches running through The Loons was a Grey Heron A couple of Hen Harriers seemingly uncomfortable sharing the same bit of sky A Fieldfare in a roadside garden November wouldn't be November without a trip across the Churchill Barriers and down to the southern tip of South Ronaldsay to marvel at the wonder that is Grey Seal pupping time. We set off from the car park at Burwick in a rain shower, but thankfully this so