Natural highs and lows

It is entirely my fault, I shouldn't have mentioned Spring in the previous blogpost. For the last two days we have been treated to some more snow and hail. Here's this morning's view of Ward Hill in Hoy. No more sign of the hares for now and, instead, the garden has had visits from Rooks and Jackdaws. The birds were very vocal as they foraged for seeds amongst the vegetation. In other corvid news, the sports page of the local weekly paper had a slightly more wildlife story than would normally be expected - large black birds stealing golf balls during play. The article mentions that they're Rooks, then crows, then quotes someone from outwith the county who has a tame Raven. The photo shows a Raven (the bird length to golf ball ratio isn't correct for Rook. Yes, I am that sad) but we're left in the dark as to whether this image is of the actual thief. Whilst I am no expert regarding the Royal and Ancient game, I can understand why a Raven or a crow might mistake a...

At the end of January... hold on a minute, let's just take a moment to savour that phrase... for in 2025, January seemed to slip by in no time at all (or at least, no longer than the statutory 31 days), rather than the two months it felt like the year before. Where was I? Oh yes, at the end of January! The first day of the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch coincided with Storm  Éowyn howling through Orkney, which meant that by the time our feathered friends showed up, the food I had put out was probably in the next parish. The following day was a little more conducive to conducting a wildlife survey and we duly recorded two Collared Doves, two Jackdaws, six Rooks and 27 Rock Dove/feral pigeons. Not a single Blackbird all day, although at dark o'clock the next morning, I could hear one sheepishly alarm calling in the garden. Gah! On Friday evening just gone, we were invited to an RSPB Volunteer Thank You event in Kirkwall. The night began with a talk by local photographer/film mak...

You may recall, dear reader, that when we moved to Burnbank a little over a year ago, our new home was in one corner of a larger plot, with planning permission granted for three further houses. Here's a photograph from back then, showing our nascent rear garden (the mown bit) with the plots, actually an unimproved meadow, behind and to the side of it. Knowing what was to come, we decided to enjoy this meadow vicariously whist we could, watching how the vegetation glowed as the light changed, or being mesmerised by the fluffy heads of the cottongrass.   We were especially pleased with what this habitat helped to bring into our garden, most gloriously all those wonderful visits by Brown Hares. However, it wasn't going to last and, indeed, it hasn't. Recently, work has commenced on the first two plots, the one behind us and one to the north. The precious turf of fine grasses and wildflowers was scraped back into various heaps, hard-standings were laid, foundations dug, and the...

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...

We've (ok, I've) still not fitted a cat flap for Cookie and Mocha, as they seem quite content with their personalised aperture opening service. As a system, it does have the advantage of taking into account which direction the weather is galloping in from, thereby giving a much pleasanter feline experience via whichever door or window opens onto the leeside of the house. In turn, we have become used to checking said aperture for an irate bundle of fur, silently miaow-ing at the double glazing. "Irate" because we're never, ever quick enough to respond, and "silently" because of the sound insulating properties of modern doors and windows. All these decades later, I still find the silence of double glazing a little off-putting, having grown up in a house which had such thin panes of single glazing and so many draughts that it often felt like there weren't any windows. However, my ears were certainly attuned to any and every bird sound outside, whether i...

This post is a bit of a mish mash (admittedly, that phrase could be used to uncritically sum up all of my literary output), which starts off a little gruesomely but then brightens up somewhat.  At the end of last month, a morning's recce at the Ring of Brodgar for one of Megan's walks saw us bathed in pleasant sunshine and in buoyant mood. Between the Neolithic stones and the shores of Stenness and Harray Lochs, there's a nature reserve looked after by the RSPB, which can be excellent for birds, wildflowers and the occasional Otter. It being late Summer, there were a few migrating waders around, and still some flowers in bloom, but our eyes were drawn to a profusion of moth caterpillars feeding on Angelica and Ragwort plants. Whilst watching one of these larvae, a female ichneumon wasp appeared. After sizing up her target, she used her long legs and even longer ovipositor to avoid all those bristles and lay an egg inside the unfortunate caterpillar. Yes, a parasitic wasp, w...

I'm a bit out of sync with my posts, having blogged in the wrong order, which had seemed like a good idea at the time. I will attempt to rectify the error here with a catch-up post for the month of August to date. There was some dragonfly excitement a few weeks ago, when a good friend reported an Emerald Damselfly from a sheltered path near her home in Stromness. Whilst this species has been in Orkney since 2010, this was the first confirmed record for West Mainland. Separately and several days later, the owner of a large pond requested help with identifying the wildlife present in and around her pond. Said pond happened to be adjacent to the afore-mentioned sheltered path and has long been thought of as the source of many dragonfly records from Stromness. So now we could answer that particular question. With a small group of local (and equally intrigued) experts, a pleasant morning was spent investigating the pond and its surroundings. The place was teeming with Black Darter drago...

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 ...