Christine's walking & birds blog

Some pretty big waves were breaking on the beach, and two great northern divers were fishing in the shallows. This one dived constantly and came up with what looked like a completely different species of fish each time, although I have to admit I don't know what any of them were. (Later: another picture shows a pale brown flatfish which could be a common dab.)


Greger spotted the bees among the dunes. There must have been a couple of hundred of them, buzzing about low over the sand, where there were dozens of tiny holes. I'm fairly sure they were northern colletes bees (Colletes floralis); info from wr-en.co.uk/sea-and-coast.asp. Later: they could be C. succinctus as the northern colletes bee is found more on the Western Isles.


Scanning through the 'scope in a last try for a glaucous, I failed to find it on the cliffs - but as I looked back towards the beach, where the common gulls were making a racket, I saw a white-winger (probably glaucous) flying along the edge of the waves and then landing on the rocks.

The gull then took off again and flew towards us, glancing down at a couple of campers as if hoping for a titbit.

However, as we drove away and turned onto the high road above the stream, I could see that the gull had returned and hunkered down way out towards the beach, an unmistakeable white blob on the flat green saltmarsh.

They looked quite lovely as they scurried about in the company of a handful of common gulls; while one or two ringed plovers stood on the sidelines, looking grumpy as ringed plovers often do. But the gulls began to chase the sanderling, and eventually they flew off right over me with faint squeaking calls.

Later, a couple of dunlins scooted about with hoarse calls, several greenshanks were alarming from the stream, and a flock of waders comprised of oystercatchers, at least fifteen redshanks, and probably some of the sanderling, flew up from the machair, careered across the beach, and zoomed out over the waves. The glaucous gull was seen flying away from the bay.

Greger drove out and met me at our lay-by near the main road with coffee and cakes, where a pair of ravens flew over calling. He had started the painting in the kitchen and was pleased with his day. Despite a couple of heavy showers, I was pretty pleased with mine; and it turned into a lovely clear evening, although we were both too tired to do anything but admire it from indoors.

When we arrived at the gate onto the moorland there was another hitch; a notice on the gate warned that deer stalking has begun and gave a number to call. When Greger tried to phone he found there was no coverage, and we had to drive south again. I pointed to a mast on a hill and suggested we try just below. Whether it was because of that or not, this time he got through; and the man at the other end assured us that we were okay to go up Cul Mor today.

So back we went, and off we went, up into the murk. A stalker's path led across the moors and then disappeared; as we picked our way across more stony ground the cloud lifted from the upper cone of the main hill and the weather became fine for the rest of the day.


After negotiating a boulder field (quartzite?) we reached the summit with its cairn and trig point.


A wheatear just beyond the summit cairn made a nice change from meadow pipits; and down on the col five "brown" birds seen with the sun behind them turned out to be pure gold.


As we continued our walk the plovers took flight and zoomed off round the shoulder of the mountain. This is looking back to the col and Cul Mor above it. The terrain here was completely different from the grey boulder field we had struggled up, with badly eroded areas (including the loss of vegetation) of Torridonian sandstone. This erosion (called a "deflation surface") typically occurs on exposed plateaux and cols, and is a natural process.  (Info from Land of Mountain and Flood by McKirdy, Gordon and Crofts.)


The tiny cairn of Creag nan Calman sits on a precipitous edge looking over Inverpolly and out to the misty sea.



Just below this top Greger pointed out a frog. There were also loads of small tortoiseshell butterflies around, including on both summits. During the descent, a juvenile golden plover flew from us with a call of alarm and stood watching as we dropped away down the hillside.


A runner, who overtook us on the way up, was one of very few other people on the hill. When he greeted us in passing he hardly sounded out of breath. We were still toiling up when he came back down, making us feel very slow and pedestrian.

The walk was 13km long and more than we'd meant to do as we're still not completely well. The weather was cool and very windy throughout; we lost the path and splashed across a boggy area and then had to climb a couple of rickety gates to get down to the recycling centre road. By the time we got home we were shattered.

Eventually the Arctic skua flew off towards Handa island, and the bonxie soon followed.

The worm-casts on the sand are maybe a clue to why the birds were there; along with the other gulls the glaucous would make little darting runs and pick something up from the sand or the water's edge, the shot below having caught it with a worm (lug worm?). On another occasion the food item was a small crustacean, and sometimes the birds seemed to be catching flies.



Three ravens landed on the cliffs beyond the stream, so I got a shot of them "with" the glaucous.


Later, up on the moorland, several grayling butterflies drove me mad by keeping their wings closed when they landed. I can remember the first time I saw one of these, in Swinley Forest. It was a lovely warm day, I seem to recall.....

The lovely sheep field sloping towards the sea at Achnahaird was always good in the past for lapwings, skylarks, and wheatears, despite the fact that it was a camp-site. It's no longer a camp-site but the birds seem to have deserted it too. There was one juvenile wheatear on the cliffs, and the field held a sprinkling of skylarks - possibly just one family. There was no sign of lapwings.

When the rain stopped I walked in the other direction, along the cliff-tops towards Reiff. I saw stonechats, ravens, fulmars, and black guillemots; but not the Arctic skuas I was hoping for. I made my way down into a rocky cove, and as I sat having my lunch two eiders with chicks of varying sizes came in close and a merganser sailed by with three well-grown youngsters.
And when I got home the naughty builders hadn't turned up, so poor Greger stayed in all day for nothing. I'd had my mobile switched off because it wasn't fully charged, so he couldn't contact me. He gave up having a "thin" day and we went out for dinner at the Argyll Hotel, where I got quite merry on my half of a bottle of red wine.

The female lays her eggs in the living larva of other insects so that her own hatchlings have a store of food on tap.

We left the chalet at Ardmair this morning and are now back home. There's still quite a lot to be done and we can't use the lounge or watch TV for a while, but everything's going to plan.

The telegraph pole on the left of the photo below is a reminder that golden eagles can be seen from lay-bys.


Three greenshanks were also seen from a lay-by - this could be a well-grown chick.


And a dipper was having a bath at the edge of the same loch.

The annoying thing is that Greger came home from the house with the news that he had driven through the camp-site - and all the Germans had left. I wanted to see them go, but they must have headed south. (Life is fairly quiet here. The sight of a large convoy of German camper vans going up the road would have cheered me up no end.)

Greger came back to the chalet early evening and suggested a drive up to Knockan. As we drove off, he remarked that he would really like a good view of an eagle - not too far away and for a goodish time. He took a flask and when we arrived at our lay-by, he sat in the car having a coffee while I got out and scanned the loch. Common sandpipers were still present, and soon came the faint call of a greenshank.

I don't know why I turned round, but as I did so a movement above the ridge caught my eye and I gabbled out "This is big Greger!" He scrambled out of the car and we both stood watching as a hooded crow mobbed a golden eagle just above Knockan Crag.


Greger got this shot before the eagle finally turned and vanished behind the crag.


Talk about getting your wish! We then drove through the camp-site on the way back to the chalet so that Greger could show me how full it was - with Germans. He had counted twenty-two German-registered camper vans, most of them pretty big and all of them with satellite dishes. I've never seen the site so full. It can't have been a coincidence; they must have been travelling together. A convoy. Now that would be a sight for sore eyes.