Monday, July 05, 2010
A week in Scotland
The morning after we arrived at Ardmair Bay, I got up at six and went for a walk along the pebbly beach. My first bird was a house martin (an Ardmair tick) and my second was a common sandpiper, calling from the garden fence.
There was no one else about - and I was very conscious of the crunching sound my feet were making on the sliding shingle while other people were asleep. So I walked up the beach intending to finish my walk on the road. As I started to climb the bank I realised that three steers had got out of the field below the road on the other side, which they shared with a flock of sheep, and were grazing on the grassy verge.
I'm not keen on farm animals, after a memorable escapade years ago near the Lake District with a large herd of steers; so I quietly withdrew and continued my noisy walk along the beach. When I finally clambered up the bank between the houses, I realised the three cattle were quite close - and at that moment, they all looked up and saw me.
I had just decided I could beat them if I ran to the door of the house when the cattle turned tail as one, thundered down the bank, leapt the fence like three ungainly deer and galloped across the field, scattering hapless sheep to all points of the compass. They wheeled round in unison, came to a halt and stood staring at me - and for the rest of that week, they didn't venture out of the field again!
Breabag
This was our first hill-walk, in the Inchnadamph area of Assynt, using as a rough guide The Corbetts and other Scottish Hills ed. by Rob Milne and Hamish Brown. The English translation of "little height" reflects the modesty of the endeavour - yet we still managed to make a pig's ear of it.
It started well bird-wise, with a perched buzzard, loads of wheatears, a swallow and a sand martin. A family of dippers sped away downstream as we approached the spring known as Fuaran Allt nan Uamh, leaving this one behind.
The bone caves of Inchnadamph proved a bit too far off the path to explore today. In them have been found the remains of wolves and lemmings, and other animals which inhabited these parts around the end of the last ice age - 11,000 years ago.
The man sitting in the third cave passed us on the way up. He told us he'd recently seen ptarmigan on Canisp (just across the road) so we had high hopes of one on this hill.
The dry stream bed ended at this fearsome cul-de-sac, where a thin trickle of water fell from a green mossy pool in the slumped rock above and disappeared among pale rounded pebbles. We clambered up the steep grassy slope to the right instead of the left - our first mistake.....
.....because this put us in an area of peaty bog which otherwise we would have avoided. We squelched across it and climbed to the summit ridge. The cloud descended, and in the reduced visibility we found the terrain rather confusing. At this point Greger declared the hill to be a Baldrick, which is his term for any mountain that annoys him in some way. Eventually we reached two tops, each with a cairn on, and having bagged them sat out of the wind and ate our lunch.
Our route of descent lay across this shelf but we could not get closer to the lochans without making a detour, and we were both by now pretty tired. I handed Greger the bins and asked him what he thought, and he said it looked like a tufted duck to him.
It's the obvious choice, although I would like to have got closer to clinch it. Loneliest, highest tuftie I've ever seen - but apparently they do breed in small numbers in Assynt.
A tedious walk on the road completed a long, relatively bird-rich hill-walk - but with no plovers or ptarmigans on the heights.
We felt quite chuffed to reach the top of the mountain; this is a Munro, albeit a low one at 928 metres. And coming up from Loch Broom at sea level, we could be sure we had climbed the full height.
The path down from there was not as attractive as the one coming up, being across open heathered slopes which failed to provide any hoped-for red grouse. Again we had missed out on ptarmigan on the top, and although we frequently scanned the skies no eagle was forthcoming this time.
It was quite a relief when this view opened up again, with broad forest tracks leading down to our car at Inverlael. The mountain in the distance is An Teallach.
The man sitting in the third cave passed us on the way up. He told us he'd recently seen ptarmigan on Canisp (just across the road) so we had high hopes of one on this hill.
The cuckoo on the rowan has his tail spread, giving him a "skirted" appearance. (Or, considering where he is, a "kilted" appearance.) He flew off calling and was joined by a female.
The dry stream bed ended at this fearsome cul-de-sac, where a thin trickle of water fell from a green mossy pool in the slumped rock above and disappeared among pale rounded pebbles. We clambered up the steep grassy slope to the right instead of the left - our first mistake.....
.....because this put us in an area of peaty bog which otherwise we would have avoided. We squelched across it and climbed to the summit ridge. The cloud descended, and in the reduced visibility we found the terrain rather confusing. At this point Greger declared the hill to be a Baldrick, which is his term for any mountain that annoys him in some way. Eventually we reached two tops, each with a cairn on, and having bagged them sat out of the wind and ate our lunch.
The clouds lifted and we set off down to the col. As we climbed again towards the northern end of the hill, we looked back to see a third top just beyond and above the two we'd reached. We hadn't actually got to the summit! On the other hand we'd been very close; and to offset our disappointment, the hill had a couple of nice surprises in store.
The first was this very marked trench running east-west across the summit ridge; possibly a dyke of weaker material that's been eroded.
The second was a distant dark dot (not visible in this picture) in the farther of these two lochans which lie on a broad shelf at about 550m on the eastern side of the hill.
Our route of descent lay across this shelf but we could not get closer to the lochans without making a detour, and we were both by now pretty tired. I handed Greger the bins and asked him what he thought, and he said it looked like a tufted duck to him.
It's the obvious choice, although I would like to have got closer to clinch it. Loneliest, highest tuftie I've ever seen - but apparently they do breed in small numbers in Assynt.
Breabag from the path out....
A tedious walk on the road completed a long, relatively bird-rich hill-walk - but with no plovers or ptarmigans on the heights.
Eididh nan Clach Geala
A couple of days later we parked at Inverlael near the head of Loch Broom, and set off up a path we took some years ago. Our targets then had been Beinn Dearg to the right, and Meall nan Ceapraichean to the left of the bealach; and coming off Beinn Dearg in the evening we had seen a golden eagle very close. Today we were branching off to bag Eididh nan Clach Geala, but still hoped for great things!
In fact we started well in the conifer woods with siskins, coal tits and goldcrests, while a common sandpiper called from the stream below. Following a good stalker's path in the open country above the trees, Greger spotted a ring ouzel that had just landed ahead of us; but as we carefully approached she flew back down the flank of the hill and disappeared.
In fact we started well in the conifer woods with siskins, coal tits and goldcrests, while a common sandpiper called from the stream below. Following a good stalker's path in the open country above the trees, Greger spotted a ring ouzel that had just landed ahead of us; but as we carefully approached she flew back down the flank of the hill and disappeared.
Greger pointed out this rock and said it looked like layer cake (no doubt thinking of lunch). A wheatear family was seen nearby, the male making "wee-chak" alarm calls similar to a stonechat's.
We felt quite chuffed to reach the top of the mountain; this is a Munro, albeit a low one at 928 metres. And coming up from Loch Broom at sea level, we could be sure we had climbed the full height.
Our route of descent lay across this plateau; the hill on the left is Seana Bhraigh. The plateau looked good for golden plover, but if they were there we didn't see them.
The path down from there was not as attractive as the one coming up, being across open heathered slopes which failed to provide any hoped-for red grouse. Again we had missed out on ptarmigan on the top, and although we frequently scanned the skies no eagle was forthcoming this time.
I had to be content with a snipe fly which landed on my leg.
It was quite a relief when this view opened up again, with broad forest tracks leading down to our car at Inverlael. The mountain in the distance is An Teallach.
Despite hill-top disappointments, bird-watching from the house at Ardmair Bay had been as good as ever, with a surprise sighting of about thirty swifts being noteworthy. They swooped above the bay, spiralling up as they chased towers of insects, but always moving south - perhaps leaving already?
Gannets flew in and dived nearby on several occasions, red-throated divers were frequent visitors, and when a boat containing three chaps fishing attracted herring gulls, a great skua came to investigate and pick a fight with them.
And you don't get that in Taplow.