Christine's walking & birds blog

Upstream from the gorge following the bank was hard work, with the faint path obliterated in places where the flood had eroded and swept away large chunks of the soft, peaty ground - some with heather still growing on them - while many of the rocks seemed newly deposited.


We crossed the burn without too much difficulty and started the long ascent. Up here at the back of An Teallach, the Ardessie Burn is really already a considerable river, its meanders cutting a broad, terraced groove across the sloping moorland and gathering more force from a couple of significant tributaries before thundering down through smooth pink rocks and under the road to end in the salt waters of Little Loch Broom.


Halfway up the slope from the river, it began to drizzle with rain. Gaining the rocky ridge at last, we set off on the last gradual pull to the summit; and as we reached the cairn, the rain stopped.

The mountain scenery was superb; it was just a shame that the weather and visibility weren't better. Half a dozen meadow pipits skipped about above us and then settled to forage for goodness knows what. As we set off down again, half a dozen goats were cavorting on the skyline; and it was while we stood there looking back at them that I heard the croak of a ptarmigan. I saw movement near a rock and snapped off a useless shot - but it did prove it was a ptarmigan.

We descended roughly the way we had come, but took a short cut across boggy moorland towards the river. Eventually we had to cross it, but this time we were unable to find a good series of boulders. I rolled up my trousers, slung my boots round my neck and waded across. It was over my knees at the deepest point and the water was fairly cold though not icy. Greger followed, but as he swung one of his boots to one side so that he could see where he was going, his sock fell out and ended up in the water.


At least he saw the funny side.

Yesterday: We walked up Ullapool Hill and then the next hill, Maol Chalaisgeig (301m). It's about all we can manage at the moment. The cruise ship in Loch Broom just outside the harbour is the Ocean Majesty.



We had lunch near the bridge, and Greger pointed out a lovely bright grey wagtail down on the rocks; it was too far for a decent shot but I did get a pic of my first ever black darter.


And this is my first ever common hawker.


A spotted flycatcher was flycatching from the fence near the bridge, and a raven calling from a fencepost near the quarry was answered by a second individual flying in from the south. The day was sunny and bright but the wind was still strong and chilly.

Three merlins were flying around calling anxiously; presumably parents and a juvenile. Returning to the car I drove on to Badentarbat. The wind spoilt the day a bit, but the sky was mostly blue and the sun was warm. It felt almost like summer.

Four sanderlings and two dunlin were on the exposed sand beyond the rocks. Redshanks and oystercatchers were present but there was no knot today.

The sanderling was standing on its own preening when it was joined by a juvenile ringed plover. Then a couple of adults moved in until it was surrounded by them, when they chased it off.


The sanderling didn't go far. It foraged at the edge of the water until it almost reached us, when it flew along the beach uttering a call that sounded like "wit wit".


I took the next picture even more into the sun to get four wader species in; redshank, knot, sanderling, and ringed plover.


Oystercatchers, two dunlin, and a common sandpiper were also present. It was bright and sunny but the wind was freezing cold. We've given up hope of any summer.

There were still many turnstone and ringed plover present, which flew across the river from their high-tide roost on the golf-course spit as the water receded. These turnstone may be fresh from breeding-grounds well to the north; they have a hunched look, as though they find it a bit chilly here. Yep, welcome to Scotland, guys!


Also present: two dunlin, two redshank, one common sandpiper, one wheatear, one linnet, and one twite.

Greger had just pointed out a group of eleven goosanders on the sea when a flock of waders came flying in. There were at least twenty-three turnstone and at least fifteen ringed plover.


After lunch I returned to the river spit. The tide by now was quite far out, the waders were all distant, and I had only bins; but the hugely-cropped pictures show this to be a juvenile little stint.



One curlew and at least two dunlin were now present, with two stonechats and a wheatear on the beach.

The next stretch looked worse (although fortunately no houses were involved) because the stuff had nowhere to go and had been pushed back by the diggers and piled at the sides of the road. A couple of streams flow down steep slopes which had been destabilised by forestry operations, with the overflowing streams washing down earth, rocks, and timber, blocking the culverts and flooding the road.


We then picked up a bit of speed - but it hadn't finished yet. Looking along the slowing file of cars ahead, I could see a caravan lurching up and down, and we soon realised why; there was a third landslide at the foot of the drive belonging to a B&B, and this pile of debris had not been completely cleared from the surface of the road. We edged slowly forward over some alarmingly large stones; this is when you could do with a 4x4.


When we reached Ullapool, we saw that they had placed a Road Closed sign just before the garage, so traffic heading south was building up in a queue there awaiting its turn to go through.

At home we had no TV for a while, and now we have no water. Greger discovered that the water people are working on getting pipes repaired. We go out looking at torrential rain and raging rivers - and because of the torrential rain and the raging rivers, we have no water. Oh, the irony.

Two red-throated divers flew round the bay twice calling "kak-kak, kak-kak", and a merlin raced over moorland in the distance. A stonechat was alarm-calling from the headland beyond the stream, and several rock pipits and wheatears flew along the shore in a panicked huddle. I soon saw why: a stoat was among them, running across a pale grey rock and disappearing into the heather. I watched its progress up the hillside but couldn't get a picture.  There was no sign of the glaucous gull.

We turned onto a very rough track that was something like a quarry road, which I felt was wrong. A French couple who'd passed us now came back and said also that the track must be wrong - it was going downhill. Greger pointed out that it might descend for a while, as it had to get round the spur of the hill before turning. But they decided to look for another path, while we went on. I pointed out a line on the steep flank above, which looked like a path; but it would have been hard work to get up to it just there. So on we went.

A bit further on, the track petered out. We sloshed along a sheep track, crossing and re-crossing a stream. I got a bit grizzly. Greger pointed out a wren, busy among the rocks and the rapids. I got a bit less grizzly. Further on, we looked up the hill to see the French couple. They called out that they had found a path, so we made our way up to it.

We had good views on this route of the south side of Beinn Dearg. LATER: I had thought that the lovely white outcrop in the foreground was marble; but I think it might be white quartz.


Approaching the summit cairn.....


Looking north-west towards Loch Broom and Ullapool.....

Also seen at Scourie: cormorants, shags, kittiwakes, three Arctic skuas flying together, twite, wheatear. We stopped at the Bone Caves car park on the drive home to see if there was any stalking information posted. As usual we looked for dippers on the stream; this is one of two.


A grey wagtail and a spotted flycatcher were also present; but we soon had to retreat, beaten by midges. Several hill-walkers coming down the path were wearing midge nets over their faces.