Sunday, June 21, 2009
A week in Scotland
A trouble-free drive took us from Taplow to Ullapool in ten hours - even though the car was making a noise like a plane taking off.
The following day we were out by the lighthouse at Rhue, lazing on the sun-warmed rocks with gannets, fulmars, mergansers, and razorbills to watch. Greger snapped a flypast shag.
A huge fly with a hornet-like buzz flew between us and landed nearby. Later I would learn from one of the ancient field-guides in trusty Maidenhead reference library that it was probably a Birch Sawfly (Cimbex femorata). MUCH LATER: It has black clubs to its antennae, and Birch should have yellow. It's more likely a Trichiosoma - either triangulum or lucorum.
Willow warblers were singing and a cuckoo zinged by unexpectedly close. We crossed the stream in a magical spot that looked good for wood warbler - but there was no time to linger.
I think this is a type of pudding stone. It looks like a lump of cement, but is an entirely natural kind of conglomerate.
A swallow was a nice addition to the day list around the 500 metre contour.
Three ravens materialised from nowhere and flew calling just above us. Their plumage was pretty ragged.
We chatted with a couple who had passed us earlier and Greger got the man to take our picture. If I look a bit strained it's because I've got a wet bum - my water bottle had split and the contents soaked through my rucksack.
To the south were the spires of An Teallach - considered by many to be one of the finest of Scottish mountains. Its traverse involves real climbing, so it's unlikely we'll ever go there.
On Wednesday Greger drove down to Ullapool to consult a mechanic. I went for a walk up the road and a twite landed very close to me on the verge just before the bend, giving me a great photographic opportunity. Drivers coming round the bend would see me in my yellowish jacket pointing something black at them - and instantly slow down. I felt a bit of a fool, but never mind. Perhaps I saved lives.
On Tuesday we drove round to the road-end at Culnacraig to tackle Ben More Coigach via the ridge.
Willow warblers were singing and a cuckoo zinged by unexpectedly close. We crossed the stream in a magical spot that looked good for wood warbler - but there was no time to linger.
I think this is a type of pudding stone. It looks like a lump of cement, but is an entirely natural kind of conglomerate.
A swallow was a nice addition to the day list around the 500 metre contour.
The ridge was superb, with some easy rock-scrambling and heart-breaking views of the Summer Isles.
Three ravens materialised from nowhere and flew calling just above us. Their plumage was pretty ragged.
We chatted with a couple who had passed us earlier and Greger got the man to take our picture. If I look a bit strained it's because I've got a wet bum - my water bottle had split and the contents soaked through my rucksack.
We plodded on to the stony summit of Ben More Coigach (743 metres above sea level) where we found a faded and very bedraggled Painted Lady.
Laid out below were Ardmair, Isle Martin, and Ullapool; with Loch Broom stretching inland towards Ben Dearg and the Fannichs.
To the north was a mountain-scape that included Stac Pollaidh, Cul Beag, Cul Mor and Suilven.
To the south were the spires of An Teallach - considered by many to be one of the finest of Scottish mountains. Its traverse involves real climbing, so it's unlikely we'll ever go there.
Dropping into the great scoop between the tops of our more modest mountain, we lost the wind and felt the full warmth of the sun. I looked around in vain for golden plovers and red grouse, and on the descent had to be content with meadow pipits and stonechats.
Two young wheatears were a nice sight near the car park.
As we drove off we spotted a golden eagle soaring where we'd been walking.
On Wednesday Greger drove down to Ullapool to consult a mechanic. I went for a walk up the road and a twite landed very close to me on the verge just before the bend, giving me a great photographic opportunity. Drivers coming round the bend would see me in my yellowish jacket pointing something black at them - and instantly slow down. I felt a bit of a fool, but never mind. Perhaps I saved lives. 
While the car was being fixed (it turned out to be a wheel bearing as Greger suspected) we wandered along the beach towards the camp-site. Despite all the people, some with dogs, there were several ringed plovers and at least one tiny chick.
Perhaps the presence of people deters predators such as this great black-backed gull, lurking just off-shore.
We chickened out of a hill-walk on our final day because of heavy rain and strong winds, driving north to Laxford Bridge instead. At Scourie we tried out the fine new hide and Greger used the P90 to take a decent shot of one of several red-throated divers which were fishing in the bay.
Needless to say, Saturday dawned fine and clear and the hills looked inviting once more. We cleaned up the house and handed back the keys, lingering by Ullapool harbour to eat an ice-cream.
Needless to say, Saturday dawned fine and clear and the hills looked inviting once more. We cleaned up the house and handed back the keys, lingering by Ullapool harbour to eat an ice-cream.// posted by Christine @ 1:50 PM 
