Natural highs and lows

The above photograph was taken around about dawn as I was wandering through to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, to sort out breakfast for Mocha the cat and a mug of tea for myself. As yet, I did not know that I would be attempting Blogtober. The end of September had seen 50+mph winds from the south, which meant that the beginning of October has Autumn on speed-dial. Today, in surprisingly pleasant weather, I finished giving the front lawn its only cut of the year, as all the wildflowers have now set seed. It was, however, noticeable that the year is inexorably turning, with plenty of evidence from our neighbour's trees decorating parts of our garden: Rowan berries, Sycamore keys and a pair of pine cones. There's an off-putting festive vibe to those photos! In the rockery, the Big Geranium (technical horticultural term) is still in bloom, providing nectar for some Honey Bees, whilst in the background, a solitary Sedum was hosting several White-tailed Bumblebees and a Red Admiral butter...

Last weekend, on a whim, we decided to head to Yesnaby on the west coast to see if we could find a Frog Orchid. These small orchids are not as showy as their blousier cousins, and can be difficult to spot on the coastal heaths which are regularly blasted by gales and the Atlantic Ocean, keeping the vegetation lower than more sheltered environments. Having parked the car, we set off northwards into what was quite a significant breeze and diligently searched the Hill of Borwick to no avail. We did, however, find a few Scottish Primroses still in flower as well as some other nice things... Primula scotica with phone for scale A Stocky Mason Wasp Ancistrocerus scoticus nectaring on some Water Mint A Great Yellow Bumblebee nectaring on Devil's-bit Scabious We wandered back towards the car park to continue our search for orchids further south. After much crawling about on the ground and plenty of general chuntering of a needles and haystacks variety, we eventually managed to find one F...

In recent times, one of the more interesting ways to encourage people to think about wildlife, and so help protect it, is the No Mow May campaign. In essence, you choose a part of your garden (can be a tiny bit of it, can be all of it) and don't mow it during the month of May, allowing more wildflowers to bloom and attracting more pollinating insects. Here at Burnbank,  I am not sure that the local insects have completely understood the concept of No Mow May. Although, to be fair, neither have the wildflowers. Or perhaps it's me? Our chosen area which made the cut to be spared the cut was in the back garden, behind the garage and to one side of the drying green. It measures about 15 x 5 metres and we knew from last year, having found evidence of orchid seed heads, that there might be something interesting in there. The remainder of the back 'lawn' was mowed as normal, so that we don't need to worry about being attacked by large carnivorous beasties when bringing in ...

Amongst the many new or different experiences we anticipated upon moving home, there are also some randomly-scattered instances of pleasant surprise. For instance, back at Houton, corvid activity mainly involved Hooded Crows and Ravens, their calls of caws and cronks echoing around the hills and rooftops. Here in Stromness, the majority of corvids are Rooks and Jackdaws, who roost in the town but commute daily out to far-flung pastures to forage.  These journeys are generally northwards in the morning and southwards in the evening, so at some point not long after dawn, I am awoken by the sounds of their various raaks and chacks as small flocks of both species pass overhead. Because I am invariably snuggled under a duvet at this time of day (at least until later in the year when dawn is at a more civilised time), there isn't a photographic record of these sojourns. You could say that I am avoiding catching corvid. In the evening, towards dusk, the birds return from their day in ...

A recent work trip to Shetland was almost more noteworthy for what I didn't see than what I did. During the course of a week, travelling around the archipelago from Unst in the north, to Bigton in the south, across to Bressay in the east and Walls in the west, I saw precisely no Great Skuas. Not one. That is a sobering statistic, highlighting the devastating effect of avian flu on this particular species in its breeding stronghold. A Bonxie, as the Great Skua is known in the north, is not a glamorous bird, it's a hulking great thug and a fearsome predator. However, its global  population size is about the same as that of the Polar Bear and is therefore extremely vulnerable to some catastrophic event decimating its numbers even further. Thankfully, there were a few wonderful moments to lighten my mood: a pair of Swifts which hammered eastward in Northmavine; a dread of Arctic Terns which drew my attention to an Otter hunting near the pier in Bressay; and whilst I was on a video ...