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...

The past week or so has seen plenty of natural lows in the British Isles: the UK is experiencing more wildfires; one in six species are at risk of extinction in Great Britain; a person chopped down a tree (for some reason this is worse than lots of people elsewhere chopping down lots of trees); oh, and the go-ahead has been given to extract more gas and oil from the North Sea, single-handedly driving a coach and horses through any plan to meet our climate targets. It is all rather depressing, and I struggled to think of how to lift the mood. Signing online petitions helps a little, but travelling over 500 miles to join an actual demonstration in London is clearly not carbon-neutral, never mind the financial cost. Oh well, there's always the Autumn vole survey to do for the Orkney Native Wildlife Project, so that will have to suffice. Our designated site is a couple of 1km transects on Mull Head in Deerness. Several potential dates for the survey came and went in a flurry of heavy s...

It's mid afternoon, a haar is rolling in and the skies are darkening as a November morning's gloriously sunny weather succumbs to its inevitable fate. I am frantically trying to avoid social media and all sports outlets in an attempt to not see the score of the Scotland v New Zealand rugby match, because when Megan returns home from work, we can watch the game together. For better or worse. And, yes, you did read that correctly, earlier it was the most perfect Autumnal morning, so much so, in fact, that I happily engaged in a spot of housework. I know! Much to the cats' disgust, the place was vacuumed from end to end, followed by the 'hooverings' being deposited in the compost heap. Two loads went through the washing machine, first the contents of the laundry basket and then a big throw from the sofa. Once all this was hung out to dry, I cleaned the bird feeders, refilled one of them and hung that out too, together with some apples for the Waxwings Blackbirds. Pred...

During a recent calmer and brighter spell of weather, we took a trip to Evie Sands in the hope of seeing a flock of Snow Buntings. These small birds are the epitome of cute and we'd heard reports that there were several dozen of them foraging on the tideline. Here's a view of the bay from the top of the beach. There were several flocks of waders present, as well as Twite, Pied Wagtail, Rock Pipits and Stonechats. This male Stonechat was a bit shy, I guess. The Snow Bunting flock were very mobile, so this was the best photo I managed, a stunning looking male. Shame about the stalk of dead grass! Wader-wise, there were numerous Turnstones, Ringed Plovers, Redshanks and simply loads of Purple Sandpipers.   And here's some footage of various Purps... At one end of the beach, a burn flowed into the bay, and I was delighted to see its interaction with the incoming tide. I have never seen a tidal bore, so although this was only a mini version, I was absolutely chuffed to witness i...

It is time for a bit of balance on NaHAL, after all those stormy posts of gale force winds and crashing seas. Today was calm, clear and wonderfully lit by a low Winter sun, the sort of day that reminds you why you live in Orkney.  In the afternoon, there was nothing else for it: forget festive shopping; say "No!" to chores; grab outdoor gear and immerse oneself in the spectacle. A few minutes' drive brings us to the Brodgar isthmus, the Neolithic landscape nestled between Harray and Stenness Lochs. A few other folk are taking the opportunity for some fresh air, but the car park is practically empty. Almost sacrilegiously, we bypass the four thousand year old stones of the Ring and head along the path that hugs the Stenness Loch shore, our eyes darting across the water's surface, hoping for a glimpse of an Otter, whilst our ears tune in to the bird calls which are emanating from the landscape: Curlew, Raven, Long-tailed Duck, Red-throated Diver, Wigeon and Meadow Pipit...

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...

Previously on 'Natural Highs and Lows'... "What WAS going to be my 100th bird species of the year?" As Fortune would have it, the next day saw a trip to the island of Hoy, a place of frequent pilgrimage in less virus-laden times. With all the restrictions on movement, my last trip had been in... hmmm... August, some eight months ago. That day I saw my last dragonfly of 2020 and it will be a few weeks yet before the first damselflies of 2021 are on the wing. But this post is about birds, hopefully. Aboard the Hoy Head, as she gently nosed out of Houton Bay headed for Lyness, the sky was blue from horizon to horizon. The waters of Scapa Flow were barely troubled by a wave. The view back to Houton and its old seaplane base was idyllic, although later that day the hill to the north would be ablaze as a fire got out of control. The loose aim of the day was to see White-tailed Eagle, by any measure a cracking bird to mark a century of species for the year (please note that ...