Christine's walking & birds blog

Up beyond the higher quarry, a chiffchaff was singing as it hunted for insects among the yellowing leaves.


A bit further on where the trees ended, a large hawker dragonfly was fly-catching above the heather. I went through the gate onto the moorland and climbed the wet, rocky path that leads back past Ullapool Hill to the village. The calls of pink-footed geese made me look up to see fifty-four of them flying high to the east - one of the loveliest sights and sounds in the autumn sky.


Dropping down to the road on the last stretch of the path, I was reflecting on the fact that I still hadn't seen anything eating rowan berries when a bunch of birds on the ground ahead caught my eye. Five or six chaffinches were feeding on fallen berries - which had maybe become detached from the trees in recent strong winds and rain. Still, if the warblers don't want them there'll be more for the winter thrushes.

Also seen on the walk: great, blue, and coal tits, treecreeper, meadow pipits, stonechat, buzzard, and raven. The raciest moment came at the end. Just as I turned into our road, two collared doves (I thought) whizzed past me so close I could hear the air rushing through their wings. I know they're pretty speedy, but do they usually go that fast?! I lost them behind the trees, but a few seconds later a sparrowhawk emerged and flew back over me, flap-flap-gliding away to look, perhaps, for something a little slower while a collared dove lived to fly another day.

Yesterday at Alturlie, both tree and house sparrows were feeding on the stubble field. When spooked, they flew to roadside weeds where they sometimes found it difficult to keep their balance in the very strong wind.


I've been revisiting the tern I saw at Tarbat Ness, as Arctic has been suggested. (I'm glad to see that I originally wrote "I think" it's a common tern; I wasn't 100% sure.) Here are a couple of juvenile terns seen at Poolewe earlier this month - I think I can safely say they're common terns.


There is a relic of the brown saddle mentioned in the BWP and of the brown loral spot mentioned to me; while the eye is clearly visible. But I know what the real sticking point with the Tarbat Ness tern was for me - the partially red bill. I kept reading that the juvenile Arctic has a dark bill, and illustrations I've looked at also showed a dark bill. Why would it be turning red?

Then I went back to my old field guide Birds of Europe by Lars Jonsson, who says "Juvenile has red bill base initially but bill becomes all-dark towards late summer". So I had it the wrong way round - the bill is on the way to losing its red base. Jonsson adds that the Arctic "has more dark around the eye than juvenile common" and that's borne out by my two pics; it was very difficult to bring out the eye of the Tarbat Ness bird in the photos. He also mentions the "prettier head" of the Arctic which can possibly be seen here; while the bill does appear shorter.


Finally, the legs aren't completely visible, but they give the impression of being the titchy legs of the Arctic, partly because of their angle. However, it is just an impression, and can't be seen as diagnostic.

I'm still not saying I'm 100% sure, but I think this could well be an immature Arctic tern after all. Anyway, it was an interesting problem and I feel I know a bit more about tern plumages than I did before.

Tarbat Ness lighthouse is privately owned and you almost feel you should drop your eyes respectfully as you pass it. When you're rich you can buy up land, history, heritage, and views.


Dozens of gannets were diving where the Dornoch Firth meets the North Sea, and three great skuas speeding north-westwards seemed very purposeful - a band of pirates with plunder on their minds.


Two redshanks were resting on the pitted red sandstone platform while others called faintly in the distance.


Rewritten later: Greger went back to the car for a coffee before driving home, and as I lingered, a tern flew in to the shore and landed, standing with just its head showing.


I moved round cautiously to get the tern in profile.


Out to sea rain was falling, grey smudges against the lighter sky beyond; and perhaps it was this weather that had caused the tern to seek refuge on land. I backed away without disturbing it, but wondered if it was okay. Returning to the car, I told Greger that I'd seen a juvenile Arctic tern (which he remembers). It was only when I got home and looked at it on the computer that I started to think it might be common; a southern birder used to breeding common terns but seeing Arctics only occasionally, I feared to err on the side of the more "exotic"; and I plumped for common. Rewriting three years later, I'm pleased to say I got it right first time.

Two stonechats and a robin were on the lighthouse wall, and a male blackcap was seen in the gorse. We left as rain swept over the headland. It had been an enjoyable day out.

Yesterday: We were going to Cromarty anyway, so it seemed reasonable to drive just a bit further to reach a viewpoint and a triangulation pillar. The familiar symbol of blue triangle with a dot in it is like a magnet to me; and judging by the map, this one couldn't be easier. But maps can't tell the whole story!

 
The road up to Mains Farm and then left to the viewpoint is single-track with few passing-places, and rises through an unexpected woodland area of mature trees (including beech, lime, and sweet chestnut) before reaching the car park at the top of the cliffs, where pines and rowan predominate. A footpath sign pointing south-west across the fields to Gallow Hill was reassuring, and we set off through a thistly area where meadow pipits and goldfinches were feeding, and several painted lady butterflies were on the wing.


There were wonderful views down to Cromarty and across the firth to Invergordon.....


.....while the opposite headland promised another nice future outing to bag the trig point there.


Meanwhile we continued our walk, until today's destination was in view - and then we came to a dead stop. Because there in the fold of the hills, crowded round the gate into the next field, was a herd of tail-lashing, head-tossing, restless-looking cattle.


We debated going on, but soon agreed to turn back; and we sat in the sun near the car park with buns and coffee to soothe our ruffled feelings. An interesting small warbler appeared in a nearby bush, but by the time I'd cleaned my sticky fingers enough to pick my bins up, it had flown.

We got back down the narrow road without meeting anyone and drove away from Cromarty; and here was more frustration on the trig-point front. There is one standing right next to the road, but it's in a sort of garden area belonging to the houses opposite, and there is absolutely nowhere to park. I do believe it's less bother to walk up a flaming mountain to bag a trig point!

At Udale Bay we were pleased to see that there was still an osprey around.


Likewise a handful of Sandwich terns.


But four pink-footed geese and hundreds of wigeon were a reminder that autumn is well and truly here; while many of the waders were on the further spit, too far away to be seen and in any case, mostly fast asleep.

As on the second of September last year, we drove up to Loch Glascarnoch to walk down onto the old road which has been exposed by the lowering of the water level. Last time my knee was too painful to walk far and I was using Dad's old walking-stick, but this year I was okay to walk along to the bridge. The road was dry for most of the way but there was a sticky, muddy section that nearly pulled our boots off.


Just beyond the old bridge there were five or six ringed plovers and a dunlin, almost as muddy as we were.



The Beinn Dearg group looked inviting across the old bridge, but Greger still has painful feet and my knee isn't brilliant, so we're having to rest from hill-walking. The bridge, like the road, is remarkably well-preserved; in fact, the road surface is better than the modern road.


Yesterday at Achnahaird, the low spring tide made rock-pooling enticing. I got quite excited over a fairly large fish which turned out to be a common blenny. Oh well, it's another species. I looked up belatedly to see a skua species flying towards Polbain. Probably a bonxie, but interesting because I thought they'd all gone south.


The last thing I saw before I headed for home was a woman cycling across the salt-marsh with two dogs running ahead of her. They just about covered the area between them, so no wonder I saw loads of waders flying away earlier. I don't suppose there's a law against it. There would be if I was in charge!

Yesterday was warm and often sunny, but with clouds sometimes down on the hills and a persistent mist over the sea. Greger spotted an otter slipping into the water at the end of Loch Raa; it was joined by a second one and they hauled out at the far side of the bay and disappeared.


Dunlin, ringed plover, and a solitary golden plover were feeding on the cliff-tops, giving novel views of waders on the skyline.



A walk through the dunes and across the beach brought no new waders; but twenty-eight pink-footed geese flying south were our first of the autumn.



Later, on the western side of the headland, I spotted a roe deer on the grassy slope of Isle Ristol (innermost of the Summer Isles).


It possibly swam across the narrow stretch of water between Old Dornie harbour and the island; but doubts that the island could provide sufficient cover for the deer were dispelled when it walked up into the patch of bracken above - and vanished.

This insect was seen on the surface of a pool at Rhue yesterday - probably a rainwater- rather than a rock-pool; it's a water cricket (Velia capri).


Wikipedia offers two interesting facts about this creature: it can spit on the water in order to travel at twice its normal speed; and it aligns itself to the plane of polarised light. Hmm - have to work on that one.

The sparrowhawk flew low along the side of the road to Rhue and swooped up onto the fence post.


I stopped on the single-track road and took a hasty shot, and then another car appeared round the bend and I had to get quickly back in and reverse into a passing place. This also happened out near Old Dornie on Sunday, when I spotted the grebe as a tiny dot in passing. I couldn't see much of the road ahead, but took a chance and stopped to look at the bird through the bins - only to then hear a sharp toot on a horn from a local waiting in his truck at the passing-place just up the hill. Double Oops.

The rock-pools at Rhue seemed bereft of life; I suppose the intertidal zone also has its seasons. There were a few tiny fish darting around - probably gobies. Then I spotted a slightly larger fish immobile on a rock.



I haven't seen this one before; it had noticeable white facial barbs. It could be a bullhead (or long-spined sea scorpion, Taurulus bubalis).  This fish, says my Observer's Book of Sea and Seashore, has no swim bladder, and so must rest on the bottom of the pool when it stops swimming. Well, that fits. But I'm not sure. Perhaps it's a blenny, although I'm inclined to the bullhead. Fish are a minefield to id, I reckon.

Talking of fish, the Portland Bird Observatory website reports that a couple photographed a sunfish off the Isle of Portland two days ago - but tantalisingly doesn't carry the photo.  I'd love to see an ocean sunfish. I think I would be able to id one of those.

It was almost low tide, and the sands had attracted a good number of waders. Dunlins, ringed plovers, and sanderlings were bathing and loafing around the end of a shallow lagoon, and three bar-tailed godwits and a knot were foraging and preening further down the beach towards the sea.


More people arrived and the waders, though not too bothered by their presence, became a little more mobile. The godwits and knot flew up the river, but one godwit later returned and gave me close views for some time.



On the loch beloved by bathing great black-backed gulls (at least ten were present now), a tiny dot on the choppy water turned out to be a Slavonian grebe, its summer colours beginning to give way to winter plumage.


A merlin was darting about at the speed of light, vanishing behind the hill before I could do anything sensible; and when I finally drove away, the three godwits were down beside the river below the high lay-by. Now what, I wondered, had become of the knot?

The curlew was foraging on the beach at Poolewe.


There were at least 50 common terns, local breeders or maybe migrating birds driven by the fierce winds of last night and today into relative shelter at the head of Loch Ewe. Several times they flew together high above the water, then swooped down again to separate and continue their fishing.

  
Adults flew around calling with fish in their bills, young called back, and the whole bay was alive with their colours and their grace and their screeching clamour! Now and then some would fly down to rocks by the stream outlet, and preen and wash or just rest.


These, possibly my last common terns of the year, were a nice surprise; and they sent my thoughts winging back to April when I saw my first of the year - a group of five huddled on a buoy, as we travelled in the car ferry across the Sound of Harris.

More than a week into September, and I haven't posted a blog; but there's little to report bird-wise, and we're not yet ready to attempt another hill walk. This sparrowhawk was in the Coigach area seven days ago; it flew low across the road in front of my car and settled on a wall by Loch Raa.


Seems an odd place for a sparrowhawk, with few trees and bushes and definitely no hedgerows.

Today we went to Rosehall and did some foraging. Half a punnet of blueberries (they're getting a bit soggy now - we left it too late) was enough to have with some ice-cream while Greger found a few chanterelle mushrooms to fry with our steak.  We wouldn't consider picking any other kind of mushroom and I wouldn't pick these at all on my own; but he's always known chanterelles because they grow in the forest where he grew up and his family love them.

I walked further into the forest, seeing lots of goldcrests, coal tits, a great spotted woodpecker, and a spotted flycatcher.


There were a few bright meadow pipits about, and a family of stonechats with some very young-looking fledglings.


Two buzzards were seen, but there was no sign of the jay we saw briefly last time we were here (worthy of note because it was my first Scottish jay).