Festive meals

Well, what do you know? Another gale. This one's from the east, so all the plant pots which we'd moved from the back of the house to the front for protection from the previous westerly, have had to be issued with return tickets and re-routed (re-rooted?) to their former location. Perhaps we actually sowed seeds of doubt? This particular hoolie has been designated as Storm Gerrit, and horizontal sleet is currently splattering madly against our east-facing windows. Mocha and Cookie, our cats, are taking it in turns to monitor the west-facing windows, staring out at the flailing grasses, as well as every leaf which dances in the vortices beyond the lee of the house. We're forecasted to have 70mph gusts after lunch, which sounds more like curried beans on toast than a weather prediction.

Wildlife watching in December has suffered from the prolonged period of gales. Whilst there have been moments of calm to enable us to assuage our cabin fever, the short Winter days have meant photographic opportunities have been few and far between. In fact, our Christmas Day walk wasn't until after 7pm, when a few hours of calm and clear weather allowed us an amble down the hill to the harbour and back, as temperatures dropped and frost formed on paths and leaves.

For a change, I haven't been stressing over the lack of blog output, reasoning it'll happen when it happens. However, today feels a little different, cooped up indoors as the storm rages outside. So here I am being a bit more wordy than normal to distract myself from the alarming way that the windows are flexing.

Yesterday afternoon, we did manage a walk around the local loop. As we went by the entrance to a neighbour's property, Megan spotted some feathers on the road verge. There weren't many, so either their previous owner had been killed by a raptor and the carcass removed, or the bird was struck by a car and the remains had been scavenged by corvids or gulls. Later, at home, recourse to a guide book wasn't as successful as I had hoped. Some feathers did look like those of Common Snipe, but others did not, so in the end I asked for help from local experts via the Orkney Birding group on Facebook. The consensus was swiftly and universally "Woodcock".

This was the clincher, as the white tip is unique to Woodcock. Every day is a school day.

As we ambled around The Loons, there were a couple of Hen Harriers quartering the fields and marshes. A Kestrel appeared briefly, hovering over a verge. But the stars of the show were Short-eared Owls. We never saw more than two at once, but they seemed to be everywhere, so possibly there were more.

One particular individual landed in some rough grassland, and we probably wouldn't have been able to relocate it if a Hooded Crow hadn't helped by investigating whether the owl had caught anything.

Owl is just to the right of the crow

At the same time, another owl was perched on a fence post, before pouncing down into the grass and catching an Orkney Vole. It flew off with its prize, only to be mobbed by a pair of Hooded Crows and having to relinquish its meal. The owl immediately returned to hunting, and we hoped it found something else to eat.

By now it was just after 3pm and the sun was setting, so it was time to head home for a hot beverage and another attempt to scale the mountain of festive snacks crammed into our kitchen cupboards.