Natural highs and lows

Today marks twelve windswept years since I moved to Orkney. To celebrate, Megan and I are self-isolating at either end of the sofa whilst we struggle with another bout of Covid, all the while trying to keep hydrated and push the value of Kleenex shares to an all time high. Fortunately, I did manage to be out and about earlier this week, before succumbing to a virus which will pretty much discourage me from sealing the envelopes of this year's batch of Christmas cards. Rothiesholm Bay, Stronsay. A cold Winter's day for a post-work amble Sandy shore. Some distant Sanderlings foraging at the tideline Trigger alert: the following photographs feature a harvestman (an arachnid, but not a spider). Returning from a foray to the garden to recycle some coffee grounds, I noticed a harvestman sat on the door frame. It looked rather different to the species we see more regularly, so my interest was piqued. The ObsIdentify app reckoned that it was Dicranopalpus ramosus , but subsequent resea...

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...

Living within a group of islands, it's important not to take any published transport timetables as gospel truth because acts of God aren't even near the top of the list of things that can go awry. Recently, I was tasked with carrying out a repair in North Ronaldsay, one of the smaller islands within the archipelago, which is a 15 minute plane journey or a two and a half hour boat trip from Kirkwall. I was requested to attend on a Saturday and went to book a return flight which would suit. Loganair could fly me back in the afternoon, but there was no room on the outward plane in the morning. Not to worry, I could catch the early morning ferry, which would see me in North Ronaldsay by about half ten. What no-one could have possibly predicted was another ferry having a technical issue, the timetable being rejigged and my sailing being pushed back until after lunch, all of which would get me to the island just in time to catch the plane home. Oh well, let's make a new plan for ...

It's that time of year again, when our photo calendar begins to take shape. With the nights drawing in, we can spend some time recapping the images we took whilst wildlife-watching in 2023, and whittle down the shortlists we've both created to leave, hopefully, enough pictures to fill all the pages. As for last year, most of the flora and fauna were photographed in Orkney, with just one exception, although it is of a species that is resident in Orkney. For the 2024 calendar, there are two options of front cover, as one was... er... tailored... to the recipients. Of the 14 images, the split isn't quite 50/50, with 6 of Megan's and 8 of mine. The year covered the time when we moved from Houton to Stromness, and obviously the calendar reflects this. And to think I was worried that we wouldn't be able to see as much wildlife "in the town". We have tried to be varied with our subjects, rather than concentrate on one topic, so for 2024 we have landscapes, a skys...

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...

As the year ticked over from May into June, conditions improved markedly, at least as far as brightness was concerned. That's brightness in the sky, not on the part of the author. Looks tropical, eh? But there was a chilly north westerly breeze. Rothiesholm Bay, Stronsay Sedge Warbler singing in the dunes behind the beach A cruise ship on the horizon, skirting Auskerry and its lighthouse Sanderling at the tideline In the below footage, you are welcome to add your own anthropomorphic commentary to the various characters (in the style of Johnny Morris from BBC's  Animal Magic ). Just promise that you'll finish off with a slightly panicked "Wait for me!"