Natural highs and lows

What can I say about the Sunday of Big Garden Birdwatch weekend? Well, it was mainly dry. It wasn't cold, due to a southerly wind. In fact the temperature was a balmy 50mph, so wind chill was still a factor. Small birds were entirely absent from the garden, even in the sheltered patch in the lee of a boundary wall. Not a House Sparrow from the local flock to be seen, and even the ever-dependable Mrs Chaffinch sent her excuses, presumably because she was staying in to preen during that particular hour. However, this was our first BGB from our new home, so we weren't going to miss out on the opportunity to put Burnbank on the map. Thank goodness for the Brown Hare action in the stubble field. Well, I say action, it was mainly her hunkering down out of the gale, and him occasionally shuffling around in an ever-decreasing circle until he was sat right by his intended. We managed a total of sixteen birds, not species, mind, sixteen individual birds. Of six species. The corvids arriv

It's the Saturday morning of Big Garden Birdwatch weekend, apples have been halved and strewn in the front garden, two scoops of bird seed have been liberally scattered in sheltered spots, I am stood at the kitchen window eagerly anticipating feathery fauna feeding, and I haven't even shaved yet. The RSPB's citizen science wildlife survey, reputedly the largest of its kind in the UK, is in full swing across the land whilst, here in Orkney, yet another gale is making things a bit challenging. Not for me, obvs, I'm sat indoors with a mug of tea, but the birds are a little reluctant to battle with the driving rain. Normally, by now, on any of the 363 days in the year which aren't part of the BGBW, there would have been a throng of hungry birds (from a single female Chaffinch to a horde of quarrelsome Rooks) busily feeding. Whatever. The. Weather. 🙄 Perhaps Sunday will be more to their liking. Most of the wildlife action of late has actually been on the opposite side o

It's likely a sign of advancing years, but I think that there's few things quite as pleasing as gently shaking a neatly-wrapped present and hearing the tell-tale sound of a jigsaw. It's a theory which, on first thought, works less well for antique vases or Thermos flasks although, to a certain extent, these items would still be a jigsaw, I guess.  But I digress. This particular jigsaw is entitled "99 Bees". As can be seen, it consists of 9 rows of eleven square photographs, all featuring some sort of bloom and at least one bee. Several photographs contain multiple bees, which did make me think "Hmmm...", but in my excitement to commence the jigsaw, I put any thoughts of such pedantry to one side. Mind you, by the time I had completed the edges, I'd uttered quite a few Bs myself. Despite all the awful weather keeping us indoors, progress was painfully slow, as we'd normally finish a 1000 piece puzzle in 4 or 5 days. One particularly dastardly sub-

As forecast, the snow duly arrived on Sunday night.  On Monday morning, the view from the kitchen window was rather picturesque.   At least in comparison to the view from the lounge which, although still quite picturesque, came with a side order of Armageddon.  The snow continued through Monday into Tuesday, fine particles driven by a strong wind. Even when it wasn't actually falling from the sky, it blew off the fields, a low swirling of white. Mocha, our more outdoorsy cat, was beginning to see her sister's point of view, setting off from the front door and quickly returning indoors via the back door. Come the afternoon, my planned work had been postponed, so it was time to sample some fresh air myself. Ward Hill in Hoy was looking very wintry, gullies and cliffs brought into stark relief by a dusting of white stuff.   And then some blue sky appeared, allowing a view of the Moon. As the sun sank behind the clouds once more, a flooded and frozen field caught the light, more si

With the coming of the new year, thoughts of Nature turn inevitably to lists. Records of sightings from the previous year are sent off to the appropriate county recorder, and if one happens to be a county recorder, then there's the job of checking the data for accuracy before uploading to the relevant recording scheme. Less officially, there's the matter of the household bird lists: species seen during the year (anywhere); species seen in Orkney; species seen on patch (a notional area loosely defined as "Did we walk from home?"); and species seen from home (aka the garden list). Megan's quite competitive about these, me less so, but if I ever manage to be temporarily ahead, I milk it for all it's worth.  I was roundly trounced (again) for 2023, but on a positive note, my year total for species seen was a personal best of 179, up 10 from the previous year. And so to 2024. The Ramble on New Year's Day kicked things off nicely, but there's always a bit of

Apologies for all the existential weather angst which has been the flavour of this blog for a few weeks now. My excuse was an imminent guided walk which I was due to lead for the Orkney Field Club. One of my fellow club members usually takes the reins for the New Year Ramble, but for 2024 she was unable to do so, prompting an offer from me to do it instead. I usually only volunteer to lead one walk a year, in Summer, to look for dragonflies and damselflies. As this is the nearest thing I have to a specialised subject, and the walk is very focussed on these species, it's ok, I don't feel too intimidated whilst leading a group. I do usually struggle with social interactions, but press my dragonfly button and it's a different world. But in the middle of Winter? There's lots less of everything. Few flowers, very few insects and not much in the way of bird life. Nice light, though, as long as it's not raining or blowing a hoolie. So, as storm after storm barrelled across