Natural highs and lows

We've been on holiday, experienced some rather pleasant weather, caught up with family and friends and returned home just before Storm Whoever hit Orkney. Now, here I am writing a blogpost whilst rain lashes the windows and all thoughts of colourful leaves have disappeared downwind at a rate of knots.  In our absence, Cookie and Mocha were well looked after in the comfort of their own home by Auntie Kat who, despite an allergy, is not anti-cat. It all started very early one morning, bleary-eyed and barely awake, stumbling out of bed at 5am to catch the morning sailing from Stromness to Scrabster. This was followed by a chilly drive to Inverness as the climate control module doesn't work in my car and, although at any point during the Summer I could have arranged for it to be fixed, we're now into Baltic season and a second hand unit off Ebay is awaiting the services of a skilled mechanic. Once in Inverness, I dropped off some books at Leakey's Bookshop and we hit variou

We had planned a Sunday trip to Hoy, not work-related, not wildlife survey-related, just Megan and I losing ourselves in Nature. Because it was mid-June, the obvious hope was for dragonflies, but the temperature was barely into double figures Celsius, with low cloud, rain showers and a chilly northerly breeze. As we drove off the ferry, most of the other passengers were either headed for the Scapa Flow Museum and its naval memorabilia or to Rackwick Bay and the scenic path to the Old Man of Hoy. This was our cue to take the quieter road in the opposite direction for a circumnavigation of South Walls, birding from the car whilst the weather did its worst. An hour and a picnic stop later, we finally headed back north with the bird list on 40 species and a pleasant Coronation Chicken aroma in the car. Despite the meteorological evidence to the contrary, we thought we would have a look at the pools near to Rackwick, just in case any damselflies were braving the conditions. They weren't

In case you're wondering, yes, we survived last Sunday's beach clean at Orphir Bay despite the 40+mph winds. Fortunately (although actually unfortunately), there was so much rope on the beach, we were able to weigh down our plastic rubbish bags quite easily. Smaller bits of plastic were trickier to handle in the gusty conditions, for despite plunging the offending piece of litter into a bag, by some sort of venturi effect, it would be whipped back out by the wind. I had to pick up one particularly annoying food wrapper four times 🙄  At a rough guess, 95% of what the group collected was fishing-orientated: rope, string and netting. There was also plenty of parcel strapping and, new for 2024, some discarded coffee pods. The following day saw Megan and I head over to Deerness to carry out some vole monitoring, with the Spring survey for the Orkney Native Wildlife Project. Shortly after beginning the first of our two transects, Megan found a caterpillar of the Ruby Tiger moth clam

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

As an addendum to the previous post about the Peregrine falcon, that afternoon we wandered up to Houton Head, passing the Starling flock which had been fortunate to avoid the predations of the raptor. They were taking it all in their stride (wingflap?), to be fair. Out on the Head, we sat on the parapet of one of the old military structures and watched the goings on out in Bring Deeps. Gannets and Kittiwakes were passing southwards close to shore, a few Great Skuas likewise, and the local sub aqua club were diving in the channel. Despite much looking, there was nary a fin to be seen breaking the water's surface, but the sky provided a bit of interest with this layered cloud seen to the south, possibly a less than perfectly neat lenticular? Tromping back along the clifftop path, we encountered caterpillars every few steps, pretty much all of them Ruby Tiger moth larvae. One Ragwort plant even had six caterpillars on it, with my cropped photo of the topmost three eliciting a chorus o

Not the most imaginative title for a post, I'll admit, but this one encompasses several topics, including the mysterious deaths of many seabirds on the north and east coasts of the UK and a day spent surveying for signs of Orkney Voles, as well as also featuring a day's birding in Deerness and several ambles around the bay at Houton. Let's begin with the strange case of the auk 'wreck'. Every Winter, usually after a severe storm in the North Sea, many dead seabirds (often juveniles) wash up on the east and north coasts of the UK. It's depressingly normal, but it's nature, and something that the species involved cope with by their breeding strategies. Recently, many auks have been seen inshore at a time when they're expected to be out in the North Sea. These birds seem to have come back to the coast looking for food, and they have been weirdly confiding, a sure sign that all is not well. Many of them have died and been washed up on beaches. Without a Nort