Natural highs and lows

In a week when researchers at Cambridge University have found promising hints of life on an exo-planet 124 light years away, plenty of us are wondering when there might be the possibility of detecting signs of some humanity here on Earth. "Humanity" 🙄 We're gonna need a bigger microscope to unearth any evidence of compassion and benevolence around these parts. [Presses button for some Nature therapy] Feels like it's on speed-dial these days. Megan discovered this caterpillar in the garden. Our best guess is Angle Shades moth. April seems early for Mayflies. Apparently this is a Baetis sp which must've found its way to the house wall from the burn in the valley.   Two Common Cranes which recently spent some time in the county, specifically this ploughed field in the parish of Birsay. Whilst twitching the above cranes, we popped into the hide at the Marwick Loons on the off-chance that a Bittern might show. It didn't, but here's a very confiding Redshank (p...

Yesterday, with a weekend of calm and dry weather forecast, we took the opportunity to hide the tv remote control and head outdoors. Whilst we weren't quite up to the challenge of walking to the Warebeth shore from home, we felt that we could manage driving to Ness Point at the southern end of the town and pottering along the coast to Warebeth and back. The tide was quite high, so there were plenty of waders (Redshanks, Turnstones, Purple Sandpipers, Ringed Plovers, Oystercatchers and Curlews) foraging at the top of the rocky shore. In the piles of wrack along the strandline, Pied Wagtails, Rock Pipits and Starlings were busy looking for invertebrates. Purple Sandpiper Before we set off along the coastal path, I took a moment to capture a panorama of Stromness from Ness Point, later adding the arrow which indicates roughly the bit of the northern horizon where we bide. Across the sound, the tops of Ward Hill and Cuilags in Hoy were under cloud, with only occasional shafts of sunlig...

It's January, so as is the way of things these days, I remember that I am not immune to a little competitive birding. After all, when you're the worst birder in the house, you have to take your chances when you see (or hear) them. Essentially, if I wake early on New Year's Day, I can be ahead of the game for about two hours, or until Megan surfaces from her slumbers. For the remainder of the 364 days and 22 hours, I'm fighting a losing battle as, short of a miracle, I'm not going to see (or hear) as many species as she is. Now, for the first few months, most of my list seems to come from birds seen whilst driving about for work, or the weekly food shop. But the other night, I did have one moment of complete chance which, if I'd kept quiet, would've been quite the domestic coup. In the wee small hours, I couldn't sleep, worrying about some of those little things which beyond all reason keep folk awake. Outside in the pitch black and freezing cold, I heard...

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,...