Natural highs and lows

Whilst the longer holiday meant that were more places we could visit in the available time, there were a few sites to which we wanted to return. One of these was the RSPB reserve at Loch of Kinnordy, and in fact we went twice, the second visit in the company of Megan's parents who joined us in Blairgowrie for a few days. The view from the Gullery Hide. Not "Gallery" as I read it, which neatly explained the lack of artwork on the walls.   Grey Heron hunting at the water's edge Brown Hare in the fields behind the reserve A distant female Marsh Harrier hunting through the reedbeds Osprey beginning a dive to catch a fish Shovelers doing their best to mimic porcelain ducks on a wall Amazing light from the East Hide Looking in the other direction The Marsh Harriers and Ospreys which frequent different habitats of the reserve were all too far away for my puny optics to do them justice. However, it was fantastic to watch several pairs of harriers gliding over the reedbeds and...

It may have been apparent from my previous post that Megan and I have recently spent some time outwith the county. Once again, we took our Summer holiday in a self-catering let on the outskirts of Blairgowrie in Perthshire, but this time for two weeks, the better to soak up the ambience of trees and rivers, as well as a wealth of birdsong. So how did a fortnight's wildlife watching go? Well, the weather was just peachy, barely a drop of rain, with the only persistent precipitation occurring on Day 15 during the drive home through Sutherland and Caithness. We explored nature reserves from Loch Fleet to the Tay Reedbeds, sauntered along riverbanks, through woods and by fast-flowing burns, eyes and ears open for plant and animal life. It could be said that this is a bit of a bus-person's holiday for Megan, what with her job as a wildlife guide, but finding things she's never seen before or witnessing different behaviours are just as exciting as ever. Caledonia did not disappoi...

After all the travails of December and early January, you may have some inkling, dear reader, just how wonderful it was to write the next sentence. A recent work trip to the island of Stronsay brought a little bit of time for wildlife-watching. Mind you, it was a struggle getting out of bed in the dark at 6am. Leaving the house just before 7am, we tiptoed along the icy path to the car and drove sedately to the ferry pier in Kirkwall. Mid-voyage, it became light enough to see out of the window, so we headed out onto deck, to be greeted by a sunrise and a wintry squall. Highs and lows, right there! There weren't many seabirds about, it rather felt as though the majority had taken the sensible decision to stay in bed a bit longer. Whilst I was working, Megan went bird-watching, then, after the job was done, we met up again to see what we could spot together.  The Sand of Rothiesholm was almost deserted of human life, we could see another couple at the opposite end, presumably the folk...

It had been an arduous week, at least for folk who don't routinely set an alarm to rouse them from their slumbers. But several island trips meant being up and about to catch ferries and, by Friday morning we were agreed, the weekend couldn't come soon enough, with the promise of a lie-in and a slow day. As plans go, it only had one small flaw. All week, whilst pinging about between islands, we were aware that a rare bird had been sighted on yet another island, and as each day passed, it was still there, ramping up hope and tension in equal measure. Would it stay? Would we go? Come Friday evening, we absolutely caved on the lie-in idea and booked the ferry to Stronsay, leaving Kirkwall at 7am. Ouch. I was awake at 5am, before the alarm, blundering into the kitchen semi-conscious, rustling up tea and coffee to kickstart our day. Paradoxically, Megan, who is normally grumpy until at least the second coffee, was bouncing around at the thought of a twitch and adding a species to her...

Recently, a day's work was cancelled at the last minute when the spare part we'd been waiting for finally turned up but was not what had been ordered. Gah! Still, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and there was a rarity loitering at a wetland pool in the West Mainland. Better still, checking my life list, the bird wasn't on it. There will be plenty of dreich days this Winter so I reasoned that making the most of the fine weather was probably allowable. The pool in question was quite close to the shore, so we left the car at a nearby car park and wandered along the coast. There were loads of thrushes about, a trend for a few weeks now, with Blackbirds, Redwings and Fieldfares to the fore. A small flock descended to the ground before our eyes and we were pleasantly surprised to discover that they were Song Thrushes. Song Thrush But on to the pool, for the main event! This diminutive wader is a Grey Phalarope, a species which breeds in the Arctic and then spends much of Wi...

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 ...