Christine's walking & birds blog

A very windy, cloudy day. Four herring gulls landed briefly on the lawn after Greger had thrown some bread out. This one is, I think, a 3rd winter bird.


The first day of March tomorrow; but a look at last year's blog shows that we'll have to wait at least another month before we can expect to see any summer migrants. Now that it seems unlikely we'll be getting a visit from an ivory gull, I just want the spring to come.

Another bright sunny day with no wind, although the temperature was just a couple of degrees above freezing. There was a small patch of pancake(ish) ice on the bend of the Ullapool River; apparently the presence of foam can help to cause these formations.


After the dizzying multitude of waders at Udale Bay yesterday, the local spit was always going to be a bit thin. But curlews and oystercatchers were present as ever, and I snapped this turnstone - one of several that had just been bathing - while two ringed plovers shared a secret.


Patches of snow still lay on the camp-site, where a rock pipit was foraging.


Two black guillemots with very different plumages were diving in Loch Broom.


This morning at 5 o'clockish I got up to go to the loo, and heard two tawny owls hooting; one seemed really close, but I couldn't see anything. It doesn't help that there are two very sharp orange street lights out there - which also hamper any stargazing (although I have to admit it's usually too cold to stand outside long at night). But I wonder why they're on all night; most people in Ullapool seem to be in bed by 10 o'clock, so it's just a waste of electricity.

Looking north along frozen Loch Droma towards An Teallach, early this morning. We weren't the only ones to pull into the lay-by to snap this scene; but we soon set off again as we were heading east for the day.


On the east coast the fields were green, with snow confined mostly to higher ground. On the north-east tip of the Black Isle is Udale Bay, with extensive mudflats, salt marsh, and rough grassland.


The tide was out but on the turn, and waders were everywhere. A passing peregrine put up most of them, including these bar-tailed godwits.


Also present were redshank, knot, dunlin, and curlew. As the tide crept in the waders flew towards the RSPB hide; it's a nice hide but because it was a perfectly still, sunny day, most birders just stood in the lay-by to view the birds.


The Cromarty Firth is a busy place, with the oil industry creating an interesting back-drop. Where the firth narrows, these enormous structures looked like giants, marching in from the sea.

  
We paid our first visit to picturesque Cromarty and walked out onto a partially fenced-off, decaying stone pier to get a closer pic of one of them.


At the end of the disused pier (not in the picture) was a small group of dozing oystercatchers, redshanks, and turnstones.


Large numbers of scaup could be seen far out, while long-tailed ducks and Slavonian grebes dived repeatedly. Small flocks of gabbling pink-footed geese now and then crossed the sky.

It was such a great day that I felt guilty for being out in it. Visting a place like Udale is not the same as finding the odd wader yourself by chance out at Achnahaird, say; but it's enjoyable in a different way - a spectacle really, and perhaps more interesting for a non-birder. A bonus sighting was of a positively glowing male yellowhammer sitting in a tree; it was spotted from the car but unfortunately flew before we could stop and grab a pic.

We woke up to a couple of inches of snow; and drove out with skis again, this time up the Dirrie Mor.  We intended to ski along the far side of the loch; but the snow was already thawing on the dam wall, and parts of the gravelly track were showing through - so we called it off.


She was foraging among weeds along the fence-line; if there was a mate around, we didn't see him. The day before, there was a pair of stonechats near Old Dornie. I'm always amazed to see these little birds surviving through the northern winter.

Two days ago, it was fairly sunny on the east coast. We went to Inverness for eye tests and, for me, new specs. They put drops into your eyes before inspecting them, as this opens the pupils. Driving out to Alturlie afterwards we found we couldn't stand the glare and so headed home - after watching a big flock of pink-footed geese come in to land on the beach. They looked high, wild, and wonderful - for the short time we could bear looking up at them!


Yesterday, we had to go back to Inverness for a couple of things, and called in at North Kessock on the way home. Our eyes were back to normal, but still viewing conditions were difficult with a bright sun on choppy dark blue water; however once we got used to the brightness we could see that the Beauly Firth was just buzzing with guillemots.


There were also loads of shags and cormorants but guillemot numbers must have been in the hundreds. Presumably they're all healthy and thriving - so far. However, we couldn't watch them for long this time either - because, despite the sunshine, the wind was bitterly cold.

A beautiful sunny day called us out to Achnahaird beach; but a fringe of cracked ice along the tideline behind a sand-spit (the only part of the beach high enough to have remained dry) was a reminder that it was only a couple of degrees above freezing.


It had in fact been a very high tide, and apart from the sand-spit there was just a narrow margin of sand to walk on between the receding water and the dunes. We headed out onto the saturated machair which felt spongy and springy underfoot. The farmer was about with his border collie, dragging a dead black sheep onto higher ground.  It had drowned, presumably.

Eighteen golden plover were running about on the drier grass towards the houses. My pics were all poor, but this one does just show that a couple of the plovers were showing the beginnings of their breeding plumage.


A rock pipit was feeding among them. Walking back through the dunes, Greger took a picture of a buzzard which was probably there for the rabbits - of which there were dozens and dozens.


Greger jumped across the stream while I walked up the slope looking for the footbridge; and as I did so, a wader flew up from the boggy ground with a mad flapping of wings and a sharp nasal call - my first snipe of the year.

As we drove across the headland, Greger braked suddenly and then pulled into a passing place; twelve whooper swans were sailing majestically on Loch Raa. I took a couple of pics - of nine swans and then three a little way apart from them - and Greger took the close-up portrait.

  


A couple of them seemed to be festooned with something stringy, but I think it was weed rather than fishing lines. I thought there was just one juvenile so I was pleased to see from the photo that there were two.

Before leaving the headland I had a last sweep with the scope from the high lay-by. Far off on the other side of the river, halfway down the beach, I caught sight of a greenshank beyond the two mallards.


There were also a few teal about; and yesterday I saw a lapwing flying round above the golf-course in Ullapool. I wonder if some birds aren't already on the move. Still, mustn't get ahead of myself; it's only February. But then, who doesn't long for spring?!

I'd had an idea. I've always wanted to see a ptarmigan in its all-white plumage, but we aren't equipped for winter walking and in any case I was doubtful whether my knee would manage a whole hill. On both our ascents of Ben Wyvis we'd seen ptarmigan on the rocks at the 500-600m contour; if we could get up that far, I reckoned, we had a good chance of seeing one.

We checked the weather forecast for today, and it was fairly good. We had checked the snow-line last time we drove to Inverness, and it was just above the crags. So we set off, arriving at the car park at nine o'clock this morning. No other cars were there, and we set off in good spirits and in hopes of getting up to the ptarmigan spot before anyone else could disturb them.

Trouble was, while it had rained during the night in Ullapool, in the higher places snow had fallen. It was nice and crunchy however, and we climbed up through the plantations to the open moorland without too much trouble. Tracks in the snow were grouse - don't know which, though.


The blue sky was slowly blotted out by yellowish-grey clouds moving in from the east, and for a while we were bombarded by tiny white pellets of snow and sleet. Eventually the clouds moved on and we walked in sunshine. It was hard work climbing the zig-zag path towards the crags, but at last we approached the big rock where we sat and had lunch.


Just above the big rock is the area where we saw ptarmigan before - but there were none to be seen today. Below, a walker with two dogs stopped at the bottom of the zig-zags, rested for a while - and then turned and went back down. Good choice. It was no place for dogs. It was no place for us - or at least, higher up wasn't. The nice crunchy snow was beginning to give way to ice in places; and if we stood still for even a few minutes, the soles of our feet quickly grew cold even through thick socks and walking boots.

Reluctantly we set off down. This was the best part of the day, but no birds graced the lovely snowy scene with their presence.


Back down at the car park, we had a coffee while a red kite circled nearby. And on the way home we saw a raven carry a stick to a nest on the dam wall.


It was a good walk, a small adventure - but I still haven't seen a ptarmigan in its winter plumage!

"It's cold enough for a scaup!"© I said at Alturlie today, thereby coining a new saying. In fact there were loads of scaup, but mostly far out with only a few females closer to shore.


Then we went to the pictures to see Dad's Army. It was fairly full for an afternoon showing. (When we went to see The Man From Uncle, there were only four of us in the audience.) The film today wasn't bad; and near the end, when Catherine Zeta-Jones is standing on the beach, a common sandpiper can be heard calling.

I walked the usual woodland paths along the river in search of firecrest and brambling, but had no luck. In a brief spell of sunshine, three male bullfinches came flying towards me and landed in a nearby tree.


Back home when I drove through the gate, absolutely loads of birds went up from the ground and off the feeders. Waiting indoors for them to settle back, I caught sight of one of the birds I'd just been walking around looking for!


The brambling perched in the taller cypress tree for a while and then vanished. I think it's a different bird from yesterday's - probably a 1st winter male.

The innermost corner of the harbour has become a guillemot's graveyard; here are three of four drifting in the oily water near the boats.


At least I'm fairly sure they're guillemots - they seemed to be missing their heads. They might be the dead ones I saw before, just washing in and out with the tide; but this guillemot, hiding against the harbour wall, looks as though it might soon join them.


It always seemed an odd place for these auks to hang around; but what is actually killing them, I don't know. Perhaps the bold razorbill yesterday at Chanonry Point was also sick. I think it will be a long time before I take pleasure again in the sight of auks - perhaps not until after this year's breeding season when plenty of healthy juveniles are to be seen far out on the sea where they should be (fingers crossed).

A walk along the river path brought no firecrest, but I did catch a glimpse of a female brambling.

And along West Shore Street, I snapped off three pictures of a glaucous gull from the car.


What's annoying is that two pics suggest the gull is making a sound of some kind. Had I been walking, I might have heard it. All this car-birding has to stop. But by the time I'd parked up, sat out a shower of rain, and then walked back along the front, the gull had disappeared.

Thursday was a washout so we went to the pool and swam 1000 metres. We'd paid for a sauna but found it hadn't been switched on, so we did another 10 lengths (250 metres) while it warmed up. This is probably the most either of us has ever swum in one session, and it resulted in a rest day yesterday; so this morning we were raring to go. And we went east.

After several misunderstandings about the actual destination, we ended up at Chanonry Point. A sign advised that there was no vehicular access to the point but we drove down a narrow lane and found a small car park, and then walked out along the edge of a golf course. The golfers we encountered were all very cheerful, and when Greger asked one if it wasn't too cold for golf, the reply (in a rich Scottish accent) was: "It's never too cold for golf - too dark, yes, but too cold - never!" It must have been nice for them not to have to struggle against the wind on this very still day.

There were a few other people about, watching dolphins. Several long-tailed ducks went flying swiftly down the Moray Firth and there were guillemots dotted about on the silvery water. A razorbill paddled by close in.

Three mergansers were preening a little way out, and beyond them a grebe was diving. It came closer to the shore until we could see that it was a red-necked grebe.



The grebe checks out a noisy plane leaving nearby Inverness Airport.


The work being done at Chanonry Point is an upgrade of the car park. This is a very popular place in summer, as it's probably the closest you can get to dolphins without going on a boat trip. The last things we saw before driving away were a black-throated diver, a great northern diver, and a wren.

Some still, dry weather (at last) with just one shower drew me out for a walk. On the open ground near the camp-site were nine twite, three rock pipits, a pied wagtail, and this grey wagtail.


The harbour held Eider duck, shags, and a single guillemot. I failed to see the firecrest, but a passing dog-walker told me that a birder had pointed it out to her a couple of days ago, so it's still around.

The shocking weather of the last two days was good for something - the house got cleaned, and the washing got done.