Monday, October 27, 2014
We escaped the rain by crossing to the east coast. Climbing the Dirrie Mor (I thought it meant the Big Pass, but apparently it means the Long Ascent) we saw twenty-one whooper swans on the usually bird-less Loch Glascarnoch. From Dingwall we drove up the Cromarty Firth towards Nigg. The name is as unattractive as a neighbouring village's name - Arabella - is pretty.
The Nigg Bay car park was empty, and I walked along the path between high banks towards this new (new for us, I mean) hide full of anticipation; Greger laughed at how excited I was. But we were greeted by this!
Greger tried the door but it wouldn't budge; he refused to give up, and led the way over a narrow stile, down a wet grassy slope, across a stream, and up onto a rough piece of ground in front of the hide. Then he went back to the car to have a coffee while I scanned amazing mudflats. Unfortunately, the tide was out, so everything was miles away. But the atmosphere was great, with ragged skeins of pink-footed and greylag geese crossing the sky, four whoopers flying in, and masses of waders including lapwings, oystercatchers, redshanks, and probable godwits feeding on the shining sands. The music of curlews was on the air.
As we left the car park, a sign to Nigg Ferry cheered us; it would get us across to the Black Isle and save a long drive back down the Firth. When we stopped to look at some wigeon, Greger surveyed this old heap and remarked gloomily that it was probably the Nigg ferry.
It wasn't, but when we got to the slipway, a large sign informed us that the ferry stops running on the last day of September. Typical. We drove the long way round to Inverness.
On the beach at Nairn, a turnstone looked pretty (if slightly incongruous) among autumn leaves.
From a distance, I'd assumed it was sea-weed washed up on the shore. There were oak and sycamore leaves, what might have been beech or hazel leaves, some kind of willow, a sprig of alder cones, and several leaves that we couldn't identify.
At the end of the pier we could see leaves being carried rapidly downstream on the river, presumably from Nairn gardens and other woodlands; they were probably then swept round to the beach and left high and dry on the sand as the tide receded.
At home, our unwanted visitor turned up again, knocking first on the back door and then going round to knock on a side window when Greger refused to let him in. It didn't help that this time, it was dark. Good job we always lock doors now, otherwise he would probably have just walked in again.
// posted by Christine @ 5:05 PM 
