Christine's walking & birds blog

The dunlin was one of two along the short river that runs down the edge of the beach, on the start of our headland walk along the east side of Achnahaird Bay.


A small pale beachcomber among the rocks turned out to be a redpoll.


The common seals were lounging in their usual cove.


The Eider family was at Garvie beach.


A family of mergansers was also present - with a red-throated diver a bit farther out. As we turned away from the sea, a reed bunting flew across the path. Gannets, black guillemots, and a great skua were also seen on our walk; but there was no sign of the glaucous gull.

It was a sunny day although a persistent wind kept the temperature down. Our neighbours told us that a red squirrel visited their peanut feeder this morning; we must put ours back up.

Four common sandpipers were present on the river spit on Wednesday, including this juvenile.


This juvenile (meadow?) pipit was at Knockan Crag yesterday in gale-force winds and drizzle.


A male stonechat was in the heather carrying food; and fledged willow warblers were being fed in nearby birches. On the way home I scanned the reedy pool and spotted a redshank - my first for some time.

The tadpoles were in a ditch in the Inverlael Forest this afternoon, when we had some sunshine after a rainy morning.


Back home in the garden a froghopper was in the mint.


It was about 5 or 6 mm long. Once, in our Taplow garden, I put my finger carefully under a leaf where one was sitting - and I actually felt it push off as it jumped away. They were studied by Professor M. Burrows, and found to have phenomenal acceleration and to generate a G-force of 400 gravities (info above my head but found on a BBC website).

On 9th May this year we saw loads of newts in a puddle on a high track through Rhidorroch Estate. Today I looked without much hope for newt tadpoles - and was surprised to see a few, with their feathery external gills just visible. The pond skater in the bottom right-hand corner shows how tiny the tadpole is.


There were not many, given the number of newts we saw in May; and I doubt if even these will survive.
An incident that I forgot to mention on my blog from England was the lamb in the river at Cuckmere Haven. We heard the frantic bleating of many sheep on the far bank, and realised that a lamb was standing in the shallow water, unable to climb out onto the bank. It looked easy, but the lamb was quite portly and while it several times got its forelegs up, the plump back half of the animal didn't seem to want to follow; and it would gradually slip back in, while its fellow lambs stood around baa-ing. The older sheep made their way past this youthful mishap and proceeded along the bank, bleating (in sympathy?) but still feeding as they went. Quite a crowd collected behind us as the cacophony of bleats grew in volume. What made it funnier was the range of bleats - little high squeaky bleats, deep resonant bleats, and wavering neurotic bleats. Eventually the lamb scrambled out and a big cheer went up from our side of the river. The other lambs seemed really pleased their mate had rejoined them on the bank, and all the noise died down. The daft thing was, if the lamb had walked a little way upstream, it could have just walked out of the water!

We walked off, mindful that even in hot weather we'd never seen sheep wading or paddling as cattle do. Now we know why.

The juvenile cuckoo flew low over the road and the pig pen and alighted on the remains of a drystone wall as we pulled up above the beach at Scourie.


I leaned on the fence trying to snap it over a corrugated tin roof and Greger laughed as the two piglets peered up at me - in hopes, no doubt, of being fed. After a while their hopeful squeals subsided and they went back to rooting about in the grass.

It was bright and sunny but out on the headland the wind was strong and cold. We found a sheltered spot for lunch where we could keep watch for skuas flying across from Handa Island.


But two Arctic skuas caught us out, approaching from behind and then turning over our headland. One was a dark phase bird and it came too close, too fast, for a photo. The pale bird was further off but flying like the wind with the sun behind it.


A herring gull flew past with a starfish in its bill. Another herring gull raided an oystercatcher's nest amid clamorous protest and made off with a large crab, an oystercatcher in hot pursuit. Greger pointed out eight ducks in swift flight near the small island - tufties or scaup, although more likely the former at this time of year. Two kittiwakes flew by, and a fulmar came unseen from behind and planed down towards the sea - I heard the rush of its wings as it passed. A twite perched on a nearby rock and sang its twangy song; and two or three juvenile wheatears were among the sheep.

We drove the length of Britain for three days of summer.

Pagham Harbour was our first stop. The car park was unusually full (I'd forgotten the presence of a Hudsonian whimbrel); and walking along the bank in windy sunshine we batted away questions as to whether we'd seen it, with me denying, in my autistic way, being a twitcher.

We lay on the beach sunbathing and watching Sandwich terns fishing along the edge of the sea; and then set off back, avoiding the overgrown path at the start and picking our way through the supine oaks that would soon be washed by the incoming tide.

Yesterday: The weather forecast was good so Greger suggested a walk in the Inverlael forest. At the highest point we had good views up to the bealach between Meall nan Ceapraichean (to the left) and Beinn Dearg with its "dry stane dyke".


My target birds were spotted flycatcher and tree pipit, both of which we've seen here on hill-walks. But there was no sign of either; and in fact it was so quiet bird-wise that this nice summery day belonged to flowers and insects. There were several spectacular golden-ringed dragonflies around, but a four-spotted chaser was a first for me.


Two small pearl-bordered fritillaries restlessly patrolled the sunny open area where we had lunch, one landing on what I think is a northern marsh orchid.


A rambling shrub was attracting many bees and hoverflies, but I remarked that I would have to look it up at home as I had no idea what it was. Greger suggested wild raspberry. Sometimes, I'm completely dense! It even had small green raspberries on it.

As we packed up and walked on, a large tawny moth was seen flying upwards among spruces. It flew down and past us, looking very furry. Possibly an oak eggar. On the higher path was a patch of pretty little flowers which I've identified as heath speedwell; just before I took the picture a green hairstreak butterfly had been nectaring there.


Before climbing the stile back into the car park, I snapped the phone box. You never know when it might disappear.


We walked in shorts and T-shirts. Greger still has not quite shaken off his cold so he was tired. Back home, I got him to drop me off at the quarry road and I walked further up, hoping for more fritillaries. The upper quarry is more active this year, and the grass and flowers along the roadside are grey with dust. However, a patch of wild thyme had attracted two small pearl-bordered fritillaries, both of them wary, and one of which I managed to snap from a distance.


As for the pearl-bordered fritillaries, they emerge earlier in the year, so what's become of them? I didn't expect anything else of interest as I trudged down the dusty road, but right at the bottom there was a nice surprise. Deep among the trees on the bank of the river, at least one adult spotted flycatcher was feeding at least one fledgling.

And today? Well, there were strong winds overnight and it has been raining for most of the day. Normal service.    

On my walk yesterday I snapped this insect that landed on a nearby rock. I couldn't see any antennae and assumed it was a bumblebee mimic of some sort. The creature wouldn't let me get behind it; as I carefully walked round to get a look at the abdomen the fly moved round to keep me in sight. There was something familiar about it, but it wasn't until this morning that I identified it.

Of course it's a bot fly (gadfly, warble fly, etc).


Bot flies lay their eggs on living animals, the larvae hatching out to feed on the flesh. But, fortunately for me, bot flies are fairly specific in their choice of host and this is probably a deer bot fly - or deer nose bot. In this case, the larvae live in the nasal cavity of (mostly red) deer. There are some pretty horrible photos and videos on the net of dead deer being cut open to show their heads full of writhing white grubs.

In any case, the only bot fly that targets humans is found in tropical America. For which we in cool temperate climes may be truly thankful (although it would be better still if the blooming things didn't exist at all).

It must be summer at last, because this afternoon we've had a thunderstorm. However, the morning was lovely - warm and bright with quite a lot of sunshine. Greger's still convalescing so I drove north and then walked west, heading for the moorland between Cul Beag and Cul Mor.


For the first time this year I was wearing shorts and T-shirt, and it felt great. I felt tons lighter. I was hoping for reed buntings, red grouse and golden plovers - all of which I saw here last year. I saw none of these, but a white-tailed eagle flying high and purposefully from north to south was compensation of sorts.


This was golden eagle territory last year, but I saw none today. I walked on - well, I didn't walk on. I squelched and splashed on, thanks to the boggy nature of the ground - and looked through to the heart of Inverpolly and Drumrunie Forests. The only forests are the birch woods - which have been described as "moribund"; there is certainly an air of deadness around, with the birch and rowans seeming to fail in their efforts to reproduce. This is almost certainly thanks to the red deer which are not culled properly. Areas need to be fenced off so that any seedlings get a chance to grow; or the deer need to be shot. Harsh but true. These wild areas are wonderful in their open aspect, but a few more trees wouldn't go amiss - and would mean more birds.


There were plenty of meadow pipits, and something was chacking somewhere, but I couldn't get onto it. Mindful of Greger at home alone, I turned. As I made my way back to the log bridge over the stream, a young dipper flew up onto it.


I took some pics and then walked slowly towards it. A shame to disturb it but there was no alternative but the track and the bridge. Anyway, the dipper flew off upstream, and as I crossed I could see it a short distance away on a stone. There was no sign of an adult.

Back at home, Greger was also in shorts and confessed he'd walked downtown and had an ice-cream. But he'd also mown the lawn, so he deserved it!