Christine's walking & birds blog

A golden eagle flew over the road south-east of Ledmore Junction, and alighted on the hillside.



This was the closest I've been to a golden eagle on the ground, although it was further away than the severely cropped photos suggest.

We drove to Oykel Bridge, taking a walk along a track that skirts the clearfell area beyond the bridge. This might be a good area for tree pipits in spring; but today we could only manage blue tits and great tits.


On the drive back, stonechats were seen on fence posts in several places. I took a walk at Craggie, where a pair of ravens flew over calling, and a kestrel and two buzzards were up hunting. As we prepared to drive away, a peregrine was spotted flying purposefully westwards above the moorland until it was lost to sight behind Meall an Fhuarain.  A good day for raptors.

On a really beautiful sunny day, the beach at Achnahaird had been whipped and moulded by wind and waves into a strange moonscape of miniature hills and peaks. A couple of (rock?) pipits and a male stonechat were foraging on the sand.


A dunlin was hunkering down with half a dozen ringed plovers.


At the edge of the beach where we walk up onto the cliffs, a male stonechat was flycatching from the tops of the rocks. A female was a short distance away, and there was possibly a third bird further off.


Twenty-nine barnacle geese were on the sloping sheep fields at Old Dornie.


Old Dornie harbour held oystercatchers, at least four curlews, a pair of red-breasted mergansers, and a great northern diver.


A drake goldeneye was on one of the roadside lochans; and I spent some time snapping a kestrel on wires, trying to make it into a merlin.

Hail and thunder last night were followed by general dullness and rain today; but a lull in the showers called us out for a drive up the Dirrie Mor, where we enjoyed a short walk across the dam and along the northern shore of Loch Glascarnoch.


The fence to the left held a male stonechat; and a few minutes later he was joined by a female.


Greger did well to pick out a dipper, foraging like a tiny, quick duck off a spit among the tops of drowned bushes.


On the drive home, at least thirty goosanders (many drakes) were seen from the road far out on Loch Broom. Back in Ullapool in failing light we parked on West Terrace and walked down onto the waste ground. On the bank of the raised beach and in the bushes were chaffinches, goldfinches, and four twite.


I was aware of a chunky bird among them and finally turned the bins on it - to see a waxwing feeding on the few remaining berries.


That's a nice bag of small birds for what had seemed an unpromising day.

The unusually mild weather we're having was today accompanied by wind and rain. I stood on West Terrace watching gulls drift along from the river spit towards the harbour. They were mostly herring gulls with a few great black-backed - while two black-headed gulls caught what light there was in the murk and looked quite beautiful. They're so common down south, it's easy to forget what smart gulls they actually are.

And then something different. Something large, broad-winged, flying ponderously or gliding effortlessly on the wind - a glaucous gull. It turned and passed me again, and then went out over the loch where I lost it. It looks like a first-winter bird.

  
I searched for it around the harbour with no luck and eventually went home, beaten by the worsening light and the persistent rain.

Two very cold nights have preceded two very bright sunny days. Yesterday, the Ullapool spit held wigeon, curlews, turnstones, oystercatchers, and ringed plovers; but when I tried to continue along the river path into the woods, I found that the tarmac was a sheet of ice. It was impossible to walk on it. And it would be no good trying from the other end, as a long flight of concrete steps leads down to the path, overhung by trees. No doubt they would also be iced over, and that would explain why there weren't many people about.

Out to sea, strange atmospherics gave the impression that the ends of the islands were floating in the air.


The harbour was full of shags. I counted forty plus on the water, so with the additional ones perching on buoys, there must have been at least fifty. A string of them can be seen on the right-hand side.


Today I found that the path and boardwalk had been gritted, so I was able to check on the firecrest - which was still there! Once again, I had the impression that the firecrest was checking me out. I spotted it in a tree right by the path, and before I could lift the bins it had flown towards me, perching on a twig just above me, and certainly giving me the once-over. It then flew down to forage in brambles, bracken and gorse; and I'll post the poor shot as a record of its winter feeding habitat (or at least part of it; it goes all over the place, although I've yet to see it in one of the holly trees - often a favourite with firecrests down south).


Back on the rough ground where they have the bonfire, there were seven twite in a tree. They flew down to feed on the ground quite close to me, but none of the pictures I clicked off were any good.


It's lovely to watch them and to hear their nasal calls, which have a sort of questioning lift and which always sound cheerful.

After a very cold night, there was a clear sky and a sprinkling of snow on the hills. Loch Glascarnoch was so still that you couldn't immediately tell where the sloping moors ended and the water began. In its reflection, a gorge carrying a stream was turned into a mountain range.


We carried on south to Rogie Falls, where Greger hoped for the big flock of finches we saw there last winter; but we didn't see any at all. Three goosanders flying downstream and a dipper were a fair exchange.

Back at Glascarnoch, we walked out on the dam looking for snow buntings, as, again, we saw some here last winter. What we got was a wholly unexpected great tit!


The great tit was searching for food under ledges on the vast dam wall. It flew across to the central tower and hovered in corners where there could be hibernating or pupating insects.

Two meadow pipits flew past and disappeared into the heather, a buzzard was sitting on wires some distance away, and a dunnock called repeatedly from a snow-covered rock near the water. There were no birds on the still water; but as we passed Loch Droma we saw two whooper swans, with at least three more on the river (Abhainn Droma) that runs down to the Corrieshalloch Gorge.

It struck me today that we didn't see any juvenile whoopers this autumn, and although we saw some juveniles last autumn, they didn't seem to overwinter. The swans that wintered here were adults only. I can only suppose they are failed breeders, which is a pity.  So it was good to see that five whoopers were reported in Oxfordshire today, at Cholsey Hill - 2 adults and 3 juveniles.

A barnacle goose was grazing on the sloping fields above Old Dornie harbour on this frosty-cold but sunny day, along with half-a-dozen greylags. Five more barnacles then walked out of the long reedy grass.


One or two of the sheep seemed mildly curious about the birds, but if they took a step towards them the geese would close up together, raise their heads on stiff necks and sidle away like a bunch of neurotic ballet dancers.  A curlew and an oystercatcher were also foraging on the field. A drake goldeneye was on Loch a' Mheallain.

Achnahaird Bay held great northern divers, a black guillemot, and a female common scoter. A pair of stonechats flew across the road. On a reedy loch-end near the main road a pair of whooper swans preened and fed. They were several hundred metres from the road but Greger tried a shot from the car.


We pulled in at Ardmair hoping for snow buntings and purple sandpipers and other impossible things, but it was very quiet (five shags were close in) and so cold that we didn't stay long. But the cold was manageable as there was no wind - and after all the hail and thunder and hurricanes, the weather today was very welcome.

We set off on a rainy morning last week to drive south; but by the time we had climbed to the Drumochter Pass beyond Aviemore, snow was falling thickly. Out on the fields and paddocks, red grouse could be seen huddled together in what I think are called packs. There must have been several hundred, which was heartening with respect to numbers. But then this is grouse-moor country, so the fate of many of them is already sealed.

Inevitably, we ground to a halt on a hill, and assumed one of the many lorries had got stuck (it had). I didn't mind because in the half hour we were there I saw some more grouse on our side of the road and got some poor pics through the snow/sleet.




Poor things. They picked half-heartedly at the protruding tips of heather, but they don't seem to be as well equipped as ptarmigan to survive in the snow.

Next day, we spent some hours in Burnham Beeches. We failed to see a lesser spotted woodpecker, but enjoyed the walk through the woods in bright, mild conditions. The following day in London, Greger went on a business lunch and I went shopping. As I walked down Oxford Street I saw several cormorants flying over and a blue tit, foraging in a small tree opposite the Bond Street tube station.

We drove home yesterday in one go, and I just happened to be at the wheel when we hit the first rain, close to the south Lakes turnoff. Despite the awful storm sweeping across Cumbria, it wasn't too bad on the motorway. We saw great floods on the farm fields near Lancaster, and a lorry lying on its side on the southbound carriageway somewhere near Penrith. I think there wasn't too much surface water on the M6 because the wind was blowing it away! Greger drove the final stretch, cheering himself with the thought of a nice cold beer when we got home; but in the 24-hour Tesco in Inverness, it was pointed out to him that he couldn't buy alcohol after 10 pm. Luckily he'd bought a couple of small cans in The Swedish Shop in London. We had the usual eye-straining drive across the Dirrie Mor and sure enough, there were quite a few red deer milling about in the darkness just feet from the road. A dead one lay on the verge.

Today I walked along the Ullapool river path. The firecrest is still there, moving along with a big mixed flock, and in fitful spatters of hail I got an impressionistic shot which appears to show two birds - thanks to the slow shutter speed and the firecrest's nippiness.


The firecrest here was just inches from the ground, foraging through drenched bracken, grass, and brambles. Next moment it was searching the twigs high in a small tree until it suddenly went into freefall, twirling down like a dead leaf to continue exploring the undergrowth. Trying to snap it was a complete madhouse.