Natural highs and lows

This past week has seen two island trips, with ferry journeys to Eday and Egilsay. Although these were working days, there were brief moments of wildlife wonder, as my inner naturalist is never really off duty. Eday was a 13 hour day, and the only non-work photograph I took was this Rabbit on the customer's drive. However, whilst I was toiling away outside, a Wren frequently sang, its accent very distinctly of the island, rather laid back and unhurried.  A pair of Hooded Crows were looking after their two fledglings, and every time I stepped out of doors, they let me know that they were distinctly unimpressed at my presence. A few days later, the Egilsay ferry trip meant calling in at another two islands first, so I had to reverse to the back of the boat whilst everyone else boarded and disembarked in Rousay or Wyre. The local Library van, Booky McBookface, was visiting Rousay Rousay stop with the postie picking up the inbound mail and delivering the outbound mail to the boat Bound

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

Balmy Autumnal days are a rarity in Orkney, so yesterday was an afternoon to savour. After several days of high winds and heavy showers, I spent the morning sorting out a satellite dish problem and installing an aerial, in glorious sunshine and with barely a breeze. I had anticipated that the job might take longer, so was pleasantly surprised to be home for lunch, which we ate outside, listening to the new soundscape. Yes, it seemed there had been a changing of the guard during the wet weekend. Gone were the Swallows and House Martins (hopefully headed for warmer climes in the southern hemisphere), and newly-arrived from Scandinavia were flocks of Redwing and Fieldfare, respectively tseep -ing and chack -ing their presence as they descended on Rowan and Whitebeam trees laden with berries. Half a dozen Skylarks burbled overhead, after scouting out a nearby stubble field, their gentle contact calls in great contrast to the extravagant ascending songs of Spring and Summer. I do like to he

We're not talking invoices here, like being charged a fortune for a glass of wine in a restaurant or your energy supplier upping your monthly payments threefold without mentioning it to you. No, this post is about beaks. Bird's beaks, or birds' beaks to be more exact. Island-hopping for work had carried on apace, and yesterday I visited Sanday for various connectivity issues. As per usual, after the customers were reunited with tv signal, I had a few hours to spare waiting for the return ferry. Oddly, for me, I was quite organised, and had prepared a picnic in advance, so was able to head to a beach for lunch. I should say that there was also a bitingly chilly easterly breeze which strived to deploy my salad leaves downwind if I wasn't concentrating. Whilst working my way through some coronation chicken and pitta bread, it was pleasant to watch a couple of Gannets out in the bay, plunge diving for fish. There were waders galore in the rock pools and along the tide line,

Spent the weekend trying not to think about houses. As part of the decluttering and tidying, we caught the ferry to Rousay to deliver a sideboard which Megan has been storing for friends. Thankfully, it just fitted in the back of my van. Whilst on the island, we went for a walk around the Loch of Wasbister. If you're wondering whether it's a buoy or a gull... neither, it's a juvenile Shag Faraclett Head, Rousay Harbour Seals in Saviskaill Bay, Rousay Waders in Saviskaill Bay, Rousay (Redshank, Ringed Plover, Oystercatcher) Stone circles... that is, circles on stone, not circles of stone The following day saw the latest round of HPAI (bird flu) surveys, which were much livened up by spotting some Pintails out in the bay. My first sighting of the species for 2023, and pleasingly near home. A pair of Pintail, Houton Bay

The title is a reference to a track from Moonchild, the debut album by Celtus back in 1997. Here in 2023, yesterday was a bit of a strange day. I awoke to the news that, during the small hours of the night, the Scotland Men's cricket team had secured a 10 wicket victory over Namibia in their latest ICC League 2 match. Astonishing as it was, it wasn't going to be the biggest shock of the day. Just before lunch, after a morning of work admin, I flicked over to social media to be stunned by the news that Nicola Sturgeon, Scotland's First Minister, had announced her resignation. Now, I am not a particularly political animal, but to my mind, it is impossible to have lived through Brexit and a global pandemic without having developed a respect for such a straight talking, down to earth, empathetic and conscientious leader. She stood head and shoulders above many other politicians, both at home and abroad, in times when it was critical that she put her country first. Admittedly,

This is by far the most tenuous Nature Notes post yet, but bear with me. A much-anticipated trip south to Inverness finally came to fruition, despite a fraught few days immediately prior to the journey when the ferry broke down for 36 hours.  Fortunately, on the allotted day all was well, and we sailed serenely across the Pentland Firth, followed by a leisurely drive through Caithness and Sutherland. En route, we stopped off at Golspie for a bit of early Autumn colour, then Skelbo for a picnic lunch. At both sites we found the increasingly-misnamed Southern Hawker dragonfly, a woodland species which is expanding its range northwards, and one has to wonder if it will make it to Orkney before too long. The trip was occasioned by a fervent desire to see Elephant Sessions, a  band who seamlessly blend trad, funk and electronica. W e decided to make a long weekend of it and risk the company of 998 other music lovers at a sellout gig  at the Ironworks in Inverness. I could be wrong, but I th