Natural highs and lows

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...

As forecast, the snow duly arrived on Sunday night.  On Monday morning, the view from the kitchen window was rather picturesque.   At least in comparison to the view from the lounge which, although still quite picturesque, came with a side order of Armageddon.  The snow continued through Monday into Tuesday, fine particles driven by a strong wind. Even when it wasn't actually falling from the sky, it blew off the fields, a low swirling of white. Mocha, our more outdoorsy cat, was beginning to see her sister's point of view, setting off from the front door and quickly returning indoors via the back door. Come the afternoon, my planned work had been postponed, so it was time to sample some fresh air myself. Ward Hill in Hoy was looking very wintry, gullies and cliffs brought into stark relief by a dusting of white stuff.   And then some blue sky appeared, allowing a view of the Moon. As the sun sank behind the clouds once more, a flooded and frozen field caught the lig...

Apologies for all the existential weather angst which has been the flavour of this blog for a few weeks now. My excuse was an imminent guided walk which I was due to lead for the Orkney Field Club. One of my fellow club members usually takes the reins for the New Year Ramble, but for 2024 she was unable to do so, prompting an offer from me to do it instead. I usually only volunteer to lead one walk a year, in Summer, to look for dragonflies and damselflies. As this is the nearest thing I have to a specialised subject, and the walk is very focussed on these species, it's ok, I don't feel too intimidated whilst leading a group. I do usually struggle with social interactions, but press my dragonfly button and it's a different world. But in the middle of Winter? There's lots less of everything. Few flowers, very few insects and not much in the way of bird life. Nice light, though, as long as it's not raining or blowing a hoolie. So, as storm after storm barrelled across...

Well, what do you know? Another gale. This one's from the east, so all the plant pots which we'd moved from the back of the house to the front for protection from the previous westerly, have had to be issued with return tickets and re-routed (re-rooted?) to their former location. Perhaps we actually sowed seeds of doubt? This particular hoolie has been designated as Storm Gerrit, and horizontal sleet is currently splattering madly against our east-facing windows. Mocha and Cookie, our cats, are taking it in turns to monitor the west-facing windows, staring out at the flailing grasses, as well as every leaf which dances in the vortices beyond the lee of the house. We're forecasted to have 70mph gusts after lunch, which sounds more like curried beans on toast than a weather prediction. Wildlife watching in December has suffered from the prolonged period of gales. Whilst there have been moments of calm to enable us to assuage our cabin fever, the short Winter days have meant p...

Usually (if there is still such a concept in a post-Brexit,  post-Covid Britain), at the beginning of December, there is a few flurries of snow in Orkney to remind everyone that we live on the same latitude as the southern tip of Greenland. This year, not so much. Instead, we had quite a rare thing, days of frost and ice, with barely a breath of wind. Rare because, well, we don't really do consecutive days of the same weather. Rare because to experience that many days of frost should take a whole Winter. Rare because there wasn't one flake of snow despite the low temperatures. Overnight, the mercury in the thermometer has hauled itself lethargically back above freezing and the wind (ok, a gale) has returned. Driving rain has washed the crisp frosty white from the landscape, leaving behind a subdued palette of colours, which in Winter sunlight would be burnished gold, but is currently a drab yellowy-green. During the icy spell, we did have several walks around the single track r...

Today is dreich, with driving rain being helped along by a gale force easterly wind. I am supposed to be working in Shetland, but yesterday afternoon I was informed that the return ferry sailing was under review with a likelihood of cancellation, and we all know how that game ends. I made my apologies to customers and rescheduled the visit for later in the month. So, what to do on a day when staying indoors is by far the best option? Well, there's always admin to wrangle, but I couldn't even make that last until lunchtime. This afternoon I have been drafting minutes for a meeting that was held weeks ago. Zoom recordings are useful in this regard, but it does mean that you have to re-live the meeting again, effectively doubling the sense of "There's two and a half hours I won't see again", although, duh, I did! Now I need a bit of light relief, so I thought I would share a few photos of naturey shenanigans since my previous post. An early morning trip across Sc...

You know how it is... you get up at stupid o'clock, say 05.10, to catch a ferry to a small(er) island, once there, the job doesn't take too long and you're left with a seven hour wait for the return boat home. The financial recompense is barely adequate, but the wildlife-watching possibilities are certainly rewarding, as long as one's accountant isn't reading this. On an otherwise empty beach, I pondered whether now was the time to plant a bare root tree, as in the surf was an Ash sapling. It certainly added an unexpected twist to the old saying . Did I mention that the beach was deserted? After walking along the length of the beach, a quick traverse through the dunes brought me to a small lochan next to a farm. The lochan contained upwards of fifty Shelduck and a pair of Pintail, but my attention was soon swayed from the water to the fringing vegetation where a Short-eared Owl was hunting. Across on the eastern side of the island, a clifftop walk took in the view o...