Christine's walking & birds blog

Although still freezing cold, the day was bright and dry - so we drove south. At least three greenshanks were at Poolewe, with two seen well from the path.



Our first common sandpiper on the mainland was also seen here.


Several redshanks were present but only one dunlin. Sand martins and swallows were hawking low over the sea, a willow warbler sang from the gardens, and a great spotted woodpecker drummed from the forest.

The sports-field at Aultbea was worth a visit; there must have been a couple of hundred meadow pipits feeding there, with the bonus of nineteen wheatears.



The birds were jittery, frequently taking to the air and streaming towards us to dive into the bushes behind the car park. I couldn't understand why until a merlin came flying across the field, twisting and darting as only a merlin can; but it failed to kill and flew off to the south.


On the drive home we saw two wheatears from the car, making twenty-one for the day.

Greger suggested a short visit to the Outer Hebrides; he booked ferries and hotels, and off we went. As we drove away from Stornoway, the most numerous birds on roadside lochs were tufted ducks and mute swans (plus one whooper).

We also caught a glimpse of a white-tailed eagle and found a greenshank. A black-throated diver was on another loch, and a ringtail hen harrier was spotted in the distance as the light drained from the dull, damp day.

Next day we drove south, down the length of North and South Uist, crossing the causeway onto Eriskay, and calling a halt at the ferry to Barra. It would have made the day too long to go across, as we had our first hotel on North Uist booked for two nights. About twenty golden plover were in a road-side field.



Driving back across Benbecula, we pulled in near a beautiful curving beach and spotted some waders among the rocks. Two purple sandpipers were foraging near three dunlin and a turnstone.



Ringed plovers and a pretty sanderling were also present.


The following day was bright and sunny but still with a freezing cold wind. We drove to the RSPB reserve at Balranald; just before arriving we spotted a short-eared owl flying strongly to our right; it crossed the road behind us and was soon over the dunes and out of sight. A merlin was swooping low over the fields when we arrived at the reserve car park, but it vanished immediately - like the owl, not to be seen again. We set off to walk the headland. It was wonderful not to be trudging through bogs, but to be on firm dry sand bound by grasses, surrounded by the machair.  The air was full of the sounds of lapwings and skylarks, and a sense of freedom came with the approach to the headland.

A dozen or so black-tailed godwits went over flying north-west; and a flock of forty or so barnacle geese that we'd failed to notice took off. They circled over the sea and landed near the top of the island, while fulmars flew to and fro in protest.


Back at the car park, a probable glaucous gull was looking shifty in the cattle pasture. It lifted off as we approached but went down again on the road to the cemetery.


Driving away from the reserve, we saw three or four black-tailed godwits feeding with some urgency on rough pastureland next to the road.


A bit further on we pulled over onto the turf to look across the shining sands of Vallay Strand. You can walk across at low tide to explore the ruins on the island. Some people drive across; in the photo, two dogs are being exercised the lazy way.



Crossing a machair headland we drove down a road to a parking and picnic area. Gazing out over rocks and sand where a channel of water ran down, I was surprised when a small whitish bird flew right over me and went down in the channel. I'd thought it was a wader, but could see now that it was a tern. It looked up with tilted head, pointed its bill skywards, and called - and a second bird came down to join it. It was quite a thrill to see the yellow bills and know that I was looking at little terns.



I must admit I didn't know that little terns could be seen in Scotland, far less that they breed on the Western Isles. But this is what I love about the serendipitous approach to bird-watching; the sighting came as a huge surprise - and a treat, as I haven't seen little terns for some years. And then it was only at bird reserves like Titchwell Marsh and Farlington, and thus always a kind of twitch-once-removed. I've never "found my own" before.

At about five-thirty we took the small ferry from Port nan Long. It was freezing cold, so we sat inside; but seeing this knobbly rock I went out to get a picture - only realising as I zoomed in that it was speckled with shags and cormorants.


Several terns were perched on  a buoy.



I was fairly sure they were common terns but couldn't be certain as we were past them in no time. However, the pictures prove the identity. What a lovely way to see my first common terns of the year! They didn't seem too bothered by my attentions, and I watched in delight as they remained on the buoy and receded into the distance, a little group of tired migrants maybe, beaten for the moment by the strong icy winds raking the Sound of Harris.

We drove through the lovely mountainous scenery of Harris to a much better hotel than the previous one, right by the ferry terminal for Skye in Tarbert. The following morning we stopped at the greenshank loch of the journey down, and this time saw our first common sandpiper of the year. On the ferry to Ullapool we saw lots of kittiwakes, a couple of great skuas, a white-tailed eagle, and about twenty puffins - either in pairs or threesomes (hmmm, topical). Our four-day trip felt as though it had been much longer - for all the right reasons!

The tadpoles had hatched out into several wriggling clumps, and a dark newt slid beneath them, menacing as a Russian submarine. A distant hirundine might have been my first sand martin of spring, but I lost it against the conifers. Three stonechats and one wheatear were spotted on fence posts.

Back in the village, the faithful old glaucous gull was present to save the day.


Seemingly in Isambard Kingdom Brunel mode - just needs a top hat and a cigar.

There were hundreds of pink-footed geese near the hide at Udale, and even more landing on the mudflats at low tide. There must have been thousands altogether. I've seen pinkfoots in May in previous years, so the ones passing over recently were early departures - if they really were departing.


Greger took the curlew from the car.


In fact you couldn't stand outside for long as it was bitterly cold; the hill we climbed two days ago wore a cap of white, and as we drove past it a diver was seen flying high above the Dirrie Mor.

Beinn Liath Mhor a' Ghiubhais Li

Before this point on the climb, there had been a tedious struggle through peat hags and bogs. Ahead are presumably what the Corbett book calls "solifluction boulder ramparts" - although they look more like terraces than ramparts. But this might not be the feature referred to; geology isn't easy!


To the left of the picture below are some of the peat hags we'd splashed across. The lochs are: Loch Droma (at 280m) and the western tip of Loch Glascarnoch (260m), next to the A835; and beyond are Loch a ' Gharbhrain (270m) and Loch Choire Lair (300m).


Higher up was a vein of white quartz looking like a row of jumbled teeth, and nearby this larger outcrop, with what I think is a Racomitrium moss of some kind. There are colours here that are echoed in ptarmigans' plumage.



And higher still, almost on the top, there was a pair of ptarmigan.


I walked on and then looked back from above. The wind was making it difficult to hold the camera still, but I was lucky to get a break in the showers. At least I know now that even mid-April is too late to catch the ptarmigans in their winter finery.



Greger had gone ahead and was sitting at the summit shelter, from where he took a picture of me.


The strongish easterly wind brought frequent showers - one of which, fortunately brief, turned into hail that stung our faces. Views of the Fannichs were soon obliterated; and trying to take a summit shot with a view in the background was hopeless.


The ridge carried on to a lower top, and I longed to explore further; but poor Greger had wet feet - and in any case, towards the end of the walk I had to admit it was just as well not to overdo things on this first hill-walk of the year. (I always tend to bite off more than I can chew - and I also have to admit that I did quite a bit of whinging today.)

Dropping down to a shallow col, I stopped for a moment to readjust my headgear or something, and Greger called out "Look!" as two snowy birds came flying across the hillside. The ptarmigan wheeled away from us and vanished up the slope before I could get the camera out. They might have been the ones from the summit, although Greger was sure they took off from the col.

Just after this a rapid sharp call carried to us on the wind, sounding rather like a kestrel or merlin. But the bird I could see silhouetted on the distant skyline was certainly a golden plover, and we could hear liquid calls that confirmed its ID. It flew towards us and landed; I failed to see the second bird at the time, so I was lucky to get them both in the shot. However, rather than a pair, they seem to be both male.


We took a wide detour round the plovers, and they made no more fuss; so it's possible that it was a bird of prey rather than our presence that had disturbed them. But if so, we never saw it.

As on the ascent, meadow pipits were everywhere as we made our way down the steep rough slopes to the road. At last we could see the car; and the gate (centre bottom) is what we were aiming for in order to cross one of the deer fences that blight many a hill. It's okay when they make allowances for hill-walkers and provide stiles (usually enormous things that give you vertigo) but very often, they don't. However, the fence is there to protect young conifers from the ravages of red deer, and I see the need for this - I just like to moan.


When we eventually reached the "gate" we realised it was nothing of the sort. It was a high structure, maybe intended simply to strengthen the fence at that point; it was certainly difficult to use as a stile because the wire and the wood didn't coincide, so your feet got tangled up; and the pole at the top was too short to steady you as you went over.


The hill is 766m, and the day's walk was a bit over 8km. We kind of did it on the spur of the moment and only realised afterwards that it was the earliest we've ever been up a Scottish hill.

The otter had caught the fish in Loch Ewe and brought it onto the rocks to eat.


It started to gnaw at the fish, looking up warily at me every now and then. But I had already been standing there when it hauled out, and anyway, if I moved now I would disturb it. A man coming along the path with two dogs seemed to decide things, and the otter slipped back into the water.


I've identified the fish as a short-spined sea scorpion.

The sea eagle was seen ahead as I drove, cruising towards me over the sea and the fields. By the time I'd pulled over, it was already passing me.



I got back in the car, only to see two golden plover fly across the road and land. They started to forage, and I didn't want to disturb them so I snapped them from the car through the wire fence. I've seen plovers on this field before - possibly the eagle had scared them away for a while.

At my next stop, a dozen or so greylags were seen grazing on distant fields beyond a sandy cove. Then I saw a handful of pink-footed geese, not feeding with the greylags, but "keeping themselves to themselves" and having a snooze.

The Slavonian grebe was probably the same one I snapped before; it was in exactly the same place, anyway. The sea was nice today but the sun was all wrong. Someone should move it.


Five greenshanks were feeding along the falling tideline at Dundonnell, on Little Loch Broom. Three additional greenshanks flew up the loch, low over the water, and landed in the shallows. They made their way up the beach and started to feed immediately.


This behaviour and the fact that they stayed in their little group, made me think they could be "new-in", having travelled north together from - wherever. But I won't add them to the year's tally, just in case I've already counted them.

A solitary swallow was my first on the west coast this year, and I saw my first wasp near Inverewe gardens.

With regard to the pink-footed geese flying north over Ullapool yesterday, an observer reported (on assyntwildlife.org.uk) 200+ of these geese over Little Assynt - so they could have been the same ones I saw. How lovely to know that someone else looked up to see them pass over. Also, c1600 in 11 skeins were seen flying past Stoerhead Lighthouse.

Today, we drove south in unpromising weather. On the edge of Aultbea we looked down on a pair of black-throated divers. Greger held his fleece over me and the camera as I took some shots in the rain.


He then retreated to the car, so he missed hearing one of the divers call - and I realised that I hadn't learnt how to switch the camera to video yet. Not that it mattered - the bird didn't call again. Down on a small sandy beach, a greenshank was picked out among the oystercatchers.

A football field on the edge of the low cliff (more a high bank, really) held at least 100 meadow pipits.


The lovely beach at Little Gruinard was empty - thanks to the rain, because the car park was full. I scoped it from the road and found: 5 greenshanks, 7 Slavonian grebes, 6 black-throated divers, 3 great northern divers, pair mergansers, pair mallards, 2 ringed plovers, 5 oystercatchers, 1 curlew, and 1 shelduck. Then the rain eased off and people headed for the beach. We drove on.

Still skirting Gruinard Bay, we pulled into a lay-by and had a short walk. Greger spotted an otter. Several great northern divers were out on the steely water, and a Slavonian grebe not quite in full breeding plumage was diving closer in.

Back at Dundonell on Little Loch Broom, the very high spring tide we'd seen on the way out was ebbing, leaving a vast expanse of sand/mud. A greenshank was among oystercatchers there; with two further individuals seen at Poolewe and Aultbea, this made a total of eight seen today. Allowing for duplications, this adds up to 13 individuals so far this year, which is probably the most I've ever seen.

I heard them from the garden, the calls of pink-footed geese; and I looked up to see large skeins flying north, around 250 birds, very high and stretched out across the sky.



I watched until they faded into the blue, wondering if they were leaving already and feeling sad at heart to see them go.

A few of many hundred scaup riding the waves on the Cromarty Firth.


As we drove back across the Black Isle, two hunched figures on wires in the rain proved to be my first swallows of the spring. Approaching the Aultguish Inn on the way home, I had a brief sighting of a greenshank, standing on a stone in the Glascarnoch River - my seventh this year. (G. liked my post yesterday, although he reckons he's not a non-birder, but a semi-birder.)

A walk round the river paths and the spit started well, in dry weather and with a chiffchaff singing at the end of the quarry road. But the rain soon began to fall, and with quite a lot of swearing I finally gave up and put my bins back in the rucksack. I just managed to rearrange my angry face in time to return the cheerful greeting of another birder.

A dozen of so meadow pipits, possibly new in, were feeding on the football pitch; and a constant muttering from the conifers at one end proved to be a flock of redwings. Out on the spit the wind made photography (or even snapping) impossible; otherwise I would have tried to record the greenshank that was present among curlews, turnstones, and ringed plovers.

I've done well with greenshanks so far this year, from an early one in February to this local bird making six altogether.

I crossed the camp-site in pouring rain as a yellow helicopter took off. An ambulance was there, so maybe someone was taken ill. Both this and the camp-site at Ardmair are now open, and there were perhaps twenty camper vans/caravans on this one today.

Back home, I took the siskins through the window and through the rain.


Greger took over the feeding of the birds almost as soon as we moved here. He's not such a cheapskate as I am, and once he knew what they loved (sunflower hearts) he provided it for them. (I used to buy the less expensive cereal mix - which was a waste of time, because they just used to throw the cereal out and take the seeds. This resulted not only in a fine mess beneath the feeders, but also a small patch representative of the three main cereal crops of the western world - i.e. wheat, barley, and oats.) So I salute G - and all other non-birders who feed their garden birds.  

It was a lovely day and I felt sure we would see a wheatear. Our first was a single wary bird on the cliffs.


A second one was at Badentarbat, and four more were seen on the road-sides. Greger spotted yet another one at Old Dornie, quite a distance away in the sheep field.


An eighth wheatear (they were all males) was seen on a distant rock (its wide-open bill suggesting it was singing) as we returned to Achnahaird to scan the sea. This is one of three red-throated divers present in the bay.


Three great northern divers were also present, showing hints of summer plumage.


Lapwings were displaying over the salt-marsh where two nervy golden plover were feeding, and skylarks were singing and foraging everywhere, with the odd meadow pipit thrown in.