Monday, August 29, 2016
It's highly unlikely we will see a barred warbler in our garden again this year; but hope springs eternal in the birder's breast - as Alexander Pope nearly said - and the trees round the edge of the garden will be closely watched from now through September. This proved useful today as a blackcap was spotted in the willow tree.
I haven't seen many blackcaps this year, and this one was the first of the year in the garden.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
It was a warm sunny day - but only warm, nothing like the heat down south. Walking across the dunes and salt-marsh at Achnahaird as the tide fell was very pleasant. Thirteen dunlins were scanned carefully for a longed-for curlew sandpiper - nothing doing, but a knot is always nice to see.
We had the sun against us, but didn't want to walk round the waders and risk disturbing them (very easily done in this flat place with no cover). We watched them for some time and then left without flushing them.
A very flighty flock of twite (20-30 birds) was near the junction to Reiff.
A few migrant wheatears were also around on the peaty moorland.
I failed to get a decent shot, but his colours are rather nice.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Cranstackie and Beinn Spionnaidh - the far north
The picture of these two rocky Corbetts and their green, pointed outlier was taken at the end of our walk, with the sun better placed than in the morning.
Parking on a useful rough patch by the single-track road, we set off in already warm sunshine along the stony track to the farm at the foot of the hills, and then started the climb across pathless and sometimes wet moorland up to the bealach. Just below the bealach (at about 500m) several meadow pipits flew around calling and a wren burst into song and was answered by another.
Further off, a golden eagle cruised across a bouldery slope.
To gain the first top, Greger suggested cutting up the flank to our right while I thought the steep narrow section onto the col looked more interesting. I won, but he was probably right! By the time we reached the col it was very hot and still, and I decided to leave my rucksack behind for the final pull up to the summit of Cranstackie (pronounced Carnstackie) - 801m.
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Looking to the north-west we could see below the road crossing the River Dionard while beyond, the small but characterful hill Fashven (457m) rises above Loch Airigh na Beinne in a wild area known as the Parph. And beyond that, unseen, is Cape Wrath.
On a holiday many years ago Greger, my dad, and I were driving along the north coast when we saw signs to a ferry for Cape Wrath. We joined a group of other tourists standing around uncertainly near a small boat, until a man approached with a can of petrol. We boarded the boat, and the man proceeded to fill his outboard motor; he had a lit cigarette in his mouth and we all sat very still, exchanging worried glances and waiting for the big bang. Safely across the kyle, we stood around again for quite a long time until an ancient Mercedes minibus appeared and we all piled on. A little way along the rough track we caught up with some more people who had been deposited by the boat but had got fed up with waiting and started walking. The driver told us cheerfully we'd have to double up (making an exception for Dad, who was over 80 at the time) so I sat on Greger's lap and two jolly Dutch ladies squeezed into the seat next to us. At Cape Wrath there was a military exercise going on, and I was speedily divested of my binoculars as the aerial bombing of a small rock offshore took precedence over birdwatching.
Some enjoyable walking up the grassy slope and then along a short ridge was followed by a scramble over a fairly extensive boulder field, which made for slow going. At the summit cairn, Greger wards off a large swarm of black flies - visible when the picture is clicked up.
For this reason, we didn't linger - pausing just long enough to admire the intricate ridges of Foinaven to the south-west (photo from G's mobile)
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After renegotiating the boulder field we stopped for lunch above the col, looking down on the loch in Coire Uinnseinn and eastwards to Loch Eriboll. On the skyline are Ben Hope (the most northerly of the Munros) and Ben Loyal.
Ahead lies our second top of the day and beyond, the north coast of Scotland.
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We descended to the bealach where I retrieved my rucksack, and set off to climb Beinn Spionnaidh (Ben Speeonie). This hill is also capped with a boulder field, though not as steep and bothersome as that on Cranstackie; and close to the bottom of it, we were cheered by the sight of a ptarmigan.
Eventually the ground levelled out, but it's quite a long summit plateau (and all of it still covered with boulders!) with the highest point at the far end. The views were stupendous, though hazy. Below is the Kyle of Durness, while far away in the misty east Greger picked out Dounreay nuclear power station.
Looking to the north-west we could see below the road crossing the River Dionard while beyond, the small but characterful hill Fashven (457m) rises above Loch Airigh na Beinne in a wild area known as the Parph. And beyond that, unseen, is Cape Wrath.
On a holiday many years ago Greger, my dad, and I were driving along the north coast when we saw signs to a ferry for Cape Wrath. We joined a group of other tourists standing around uncertainly near a small boat, until a man approached with a can of petrol. We boarded the boat, and the man proceeded to fill his outboard motor; he had a lit cigarette in his mouth and we all sat very still, exchanging worried glances and waiting for the big bang. Safely across the kyle, we stood around again for quite a long time until an ancient Mercedes minibus appeared and we all piled on. A little way along the rough track we caught up with some more people who had been deposited by the boat but had got fed up with waiting and started walking. The driver told us cheerfully we'd have to double up (making an exception for Dad, who was over 80 at the time) so I sat on Greger's lap and two jolly Dutch ladies squeezed into the seat next to us. At Cape Wrath there was a military exercise going on, and I was speedily divested of my binoculars as the aerial bombing of a small rock offshore took precedence over birdwatching.
One odd and slightly annoying thing about this summit is the wall of stones built around the triangulation pillar. Unlike most such structures on hill-tops, this one formed a complete circle; so you couldn't get in, whether to snap yourself next to the trig point, read the flush bracket properly, or seek partial shelter in cold, windy weather. Who done that?!
I just about managed a shot of the flush bracket by balancing precariously on the lower stones and leaning over the highest ones. The flush bracket number is S6098.
A wasp was having a wash-and-brush-up on the wall of the shelter, while a large hoverfly (Sericomyia silentis I think) was flying around, landing now and then on the summit rocks.
Tearing ourselves away, we began our descent down a grassy slope and then up towards the pointed top of Cloch Mhor - but then contouring round the flanks of this hill rather than going over the top, as we were, by this time, very tired. The lower slopes were steep, boggy, and rough, and it seemed an age until we were down again by the farm and setting off along the track for the road. Greger went on ahead, and in his relief and joy at the prospect of sitting down in the car, took a picture of it on his mobile!
Poor Greger suffered with very painful feet after this hill-walk - probably because of the leather boots he was wearing. Fabric boots are the way to go - much more comfortable.
The walk was about 14km with almost 1,000 m of ascent, and took us ten hours. Other birds seen: two wheatears on the moorland and seven golden plovers flying over.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Eight wary sanderlings were at Achnahaird in dullish light early this morning, first on pebbles up on the machair.....
.....and later on the beach (the lower half of which was covered with seaweed complete with holdfasts, probably thrown up by a stormy sea).
The farmer and his dog round up the sheep. Nice office.
Tuesday, August 09, 2016
Under the wide Norfolk sky, waders at Titchwell pause in their feeding as something unseen by us causes momentary concern.
But soon the avocets were back to their tricks, chasing all and sundry - including a spotted redshank.
A solitary golden plover looked uneasy on one of the islands on the freshwater marsh, and two juvenile little ringed plovers were feeding on the extensive mudflats near the bank.
When everything on the marsh went up for the second time, a knot that had flown past with dunlin landed briefly on the mud.
These are black-tailed godwits. Whether they are all the same race, I don't know. I've researched this on the internet and remain baffled.
Leaving Greger on a bench on the main path, I retraced our steps to the hide to snap a small wader (which turned out to be a dunlin) at the back of the marsh behind a fence. Without the scope, I couldn't quite make out the three waders near the duck - and took a picture (without realising it at the time) of two (maybe three) wood sandpipers. I can't include them on my year list as I didn't identify them. Meanwhile, Greger had been told that two wood sandpipers were in the corner of the marsh by a passing birder, one of those who, without any preamble, informs you in passing of something they think you might be missing, and carries on walking by. He knows now why this irritates me so much!
We carried on to the beach. With a falling tide, everything was distant. Right on the edge of the waves a bar-tailed godwit was feeding; and now and then a whimbrel could also be glimpsed.
Common terns flew to and fro, and Greger spotted a stunning grey plover, really too distant to photograph.
We saw a group of eleven at Titchwell, but the following day at Cley we would have closer views of five spoonbills.
Sandwich terns, a common scoter, and a solitary sanderling were seen from or on the beach at Cley.
Greger had found and booked our holiday home - a former artist's studio in Plumstead Green, near Holt. It was a lovely property, and very reasonable, probably because it's a bit off the beaten track along single-track roads. Well, we're used to them, living here - only in the Highlands, they have thoughtfully also provided passing places. On one occasion, meeting a large tractor towing some of the harvest along a tunnel-like lane, Greger had to reverse and then just drive up onto the sloping verge to let it pass. And on another occasion we encountered, in the field to our right, a little convoy just ready to depart; first a truck with a flashing orange light on, then three mighty combine harvesters, and finally another tractor towing a trailer stacked with hay. "Thank goodness we got past before they pulled out!" Greger exclaimed. But thinking about it afterwards, we assumed they just went a short way to another field - because we stood outside when we got "home" to see them go by. And they never did go by. (We lead rather quiet lives.)
The barn owl was across the road from the property, hunting over a field full of thistles, and then flying into an oak tree.
Sitting on a wooden bench in the garden, I saw what I thought was a huge insect flying around; but when it landed, I realised it was a bee carrying a leaf. I suppose it was a leaf-cutter bee - although I thought they cut neat little patches out of a leaf, rather than carry the whole thing around. Anyway, it flew into the flower urn, and disappeared down a hole - one of several it had evidently made in the soft soil and moss in the urn.
On the last day we wandered around Holt in warm sunshine, and then headed back north. Greger had sworn he wasn't going anywhere near the A1M again (we'd come down it from Scotch Corner), and suggested going up the M1 and then crossing to the M6. In the event, I picked out a route that included a short stretch on the A1M, but there were no hold-ups this time, and we arrived in Glasgow in good time to break our journey overnight. It was already much colder than it had been down south.
The following day we made our way up through Scotland. It's all so familiar to us now, and it was good to see it again - the lonely hills and the bleak moors, all so very beautiful, and beginning to feel like home. But it's still bloody cold!
