Wednesday, July 25, 2018
An Coileachan
A bridge over not-so troubled waters - the second of two on this walk deep into the heart of the Fannichs. Our hill is hidden behind the green slope to the left - and the part of the ridge visible is the part we didn't manage today.
After the bridge we somehow missed the faint path, and got bogged down along the riverbank - but at least this gave me two grey wagtails for the day list.
I also spotted two kinds of plant, the first of which I couldn't pin down for ages. It's a horsetail, possibly field or common (Equisetum arvense).
It spreads through spores rather than seeds, and is a relative of ferns.
The second was a scattering of common sundew growing in moss among the peat hags.
As we trudged up this steepish section with its bogs and rills, and Greger paused to rest, an owl materialised behind him and flew out across the valley. This is is the only presentable shot I could grab before it dived down behind a heathery hillock.
There was something a bit odd about its appearance, and the thought crossed my mind that it could be a long-eared owl, which apparently can be seen in uncharacteristic places when on migration; but on balance I think it was a short-eared owl. It acted as I've seen SEOs do before - not flying "away" away, but travelling in an arc around us and turning towards us again before diving down out of sight. The chunk missing from its wing suggests a moult (perhaps post-breeding) - although I don't know what's happened to its tail.
By the time we reached the first of the lochans we were fairly tired, and paused for a breather. There can't be many places in the UK at the moment where you can see snow - but a couple of small patches linger on the distant eastern flanks of Sgurr Mor.
It was worth the climb just to see Loch Gorm, tucked in under the cliffs of Meall Gorm. In Greger's atmospheric shot I'm falling behind because I'm looking at plants.....
.....such as these crowberries, which are part of the ptarmigan's diet (BWP).
It was quite a steep trudge up the last part of An Coileachan, but at last we reached the summit - a slabby outcrop of rock at 923m bearing a large cairn. Greger set up his camera in self-timing mode and then rushed over and told me to take a step backwards, which is why I look as though I'm dancing (or collapsing). It was overcast and grey at this point, and the braids on my hat show which way the wind was blowing.
We clambered down the slabs on the east side for lunch, and when I'd finished eating and drinking I walked down the hill a bit to take some photos. I was just turning to my left when a dark falcon came dashing across the slope below, giving me one shot before vanishing round the hill. The picture shows (I'm fairly sure, anyway) the slender shape and pointed wings of a merlin.
The ridge onwards, over An Eigin towards Loch Luichart, looked tempting - but we were too tired to include it in our walk. The zigzag line running below is probably a water pipeline and part of the hydroelectric scheme based in Lochluichart.
We set off back down, and just above the bealach we spotted ptarmigan ahead of us. If they hadn't moved we probably wouldn't have seen them, so well camouflaged were they among the scattered rocks. Here are six of eight birds which we found ourselves inadvertently herding down the hillside.
I initially thought these were all this year's young; but, editing this much later, I've learnt that adult ptarmigan have three moults a year - and this could be their grey autumn moult. Anyway, would juveniles be fully grown by now? "Chicks are almost adult-sized by mid August" states The New Atlas of Breeding Birds in Britain and Ireland: 1988-1991 - which not only often provides snippets of information I can't seem to find elsewhere, but is also a beautiful book.
Our disappointment at not feeling strong enough to get up the other two tops (the further one is a Munro and about two kilometres away) was forgotten as we descended back into the stunning scenery - now better lit as the clouds cleared and the sun came out. Beyond Loch Gorm is Beinn Liath Mhor Fannaich, with Beinn Dearg in the distance to the right.
We stayed on the high ground going down, and found this drier and easier; but it was still a long way, and by the time we reached the track we were hot and tired and limping. A pair of ravens flew over calling and tumbling, and in the plantation there was some half-hearted willow warbler song. An Azure Hawker settled on the path nearby. I snapped one along this track in June 2016, on a dull day when it looked rather grey. Now in the bright sunshine this one was much bluer (not sure if that is connected).
Later that evening, while sitting on the sofa watching TV, I suffered horrible bouts of cramp in my thigh muscles. Greger had had this on the summit, when after sitting still for half an hour he merely leaned down to tie up his bootlace. Can this be the end of hill-walking for us? I hope not - I still want to see dotterel one last time.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
One hundred plus dunlin were on the river at the southern end of Achnahaird Bay.
It was murky, windy, and wet on the Coigach peninsula this morning; and three of four greenshanks feeding further along the river were snapped through the drizzle, giving them a rather ghostly appearance.
A black-headed gull landed near them and constantly chased one or other of them - particularly when they'd found food.
Across the headland it was still raining, so I sat in the car to eat my sandwiches. Three waders, flushed by walkers, flew past and landed briefly on the grass. I grabbed a shot through the window, vaguely registering a "pale wader with a red face". (That's a "much-ringed" plover in the middle.)
It wasn't until they flew again and the larger one came down closer that I realised it was a knot. It looks patchy - I don't think I've seen that particular stage of the moulting process before, but presumably it's an adult losing its breeding plumage.
The rain stopped and the cloud began to lift as I drove away; ahead of me, a shrew just made it to the side of the road and a merlin was glimpsed darting about on a rocky skyline far, far away.
Friday, July 20, 2018
Another picture of yesterday's elephant hawk moth caterpillar, with the soldier beetle crawling down it. The out-of-focus bumblebee was probably a buff- or white-tailed.
After some research, and quite enough viewing of unsettling photos, I've learnt that the wasps I saw hovering around the caterpillar are quite capable of laying their eggs in its flesh; and if they do, this particular individual will never become a beautiful moth, but instead will be eaten alive. Isn't nature wonderful?!
Thursday, July 19, 2018
We drove across to the east coast as the weather forecast was better, and enjoyed a walk along the lovely sandy beach at Dornoch. Several Sandwich terns, including a couple of juveniles, were lounging and preening with common gulls.
On the way home I requested (sounds formal!) a stop on Dornoch bridge to look for waders, but the tide had come in and swallowed up the mudflats. About to get back in the car, I spotted a small tortoiseshell butterfly, and as I watched it dance away over the splendid purple rosebay willowherb flowers I noticed a dark, pod-like shape on one of the plants. A slender black and yellow wasp (possibly an Amblyteles ichneumon wasp) was moving about on the stem just above it; and then I realised that the "pod" was a large caterpillar. It could be elephant hawk moth or small elephant hawk moth - but I think it's big enough for the former. Here, the wasp can be seen at the top of the picture.
It was difficult to photograph the caterpillar. I had to crawl under the crash-barrier, and stand on a slope which was littered with tissue paper (so probably a toilet stop), with a large patch of willow-herb waving in the breeze between me and the larva, and use full zoom on the camera. After a while, I realised it was slowly but surely moving down the stem, so I had to work quickly before it disappeared from view.
At one point, it had an orange soldier beetle crawling up it; but this probably simply mistook it for part of the plant. The question is, was the parasitic (or is it parasitoid?) wasp there for the caterpillar? It had no ovipositor so must have been a male; but a second parasitic wasp (unseen at the time but caught in flight in the photo below) clearly does have one. Does she have sinister intentions towards the caterpillar? Or is she waiting for it to pupate? I'm not sure at what stage they lay their eggs in the host that will feed their own young.
Researching at home, I discovered that willowherb is one of the host plants for elephant hawk moth, and that the horn towards the rear of its body is (possibly) diagnostic for this species rather than the smaller one. It wasn't easy to assess the size, as I couldn't get close to it.
This was the first time I've seen one of these creatures, and it made my day. Meanwhile, Greger had read the paper and was wondering whether we should take the "northern" route home, towards Lairg and via Oykel Bridge; but because there are long stretches of single-track road to negotiate, we decided against it - a decision we would later regret.
Because it wasn't until just after Contin that a road sign advised us that the A835 was closed west of Braemore Junction. Pulling into the cafe at Tarvie, Greger asked a lone police officer standing near his van with blue light flashing what the situation was, and got the reply that the road would probably not reopen until about 9 pm. There was nothing for it but to turn and retrace our journey back to Dingwall, and then drive the length of the Cromarty Firth and back to the Dornoch bridge. As we headed inland along the southern shore of the Dornoch Firth, I remarked that it was odd there seemed to be no-one else coming our way. A bit later, I commented that we would probably meet the odd car coming south from Ullapool. Ha!
It was along the stretches of single-track road just after this that we started to meet batches of traffic coming in the opposite direction - this was mostly from the Stornoway ferry. Then vehicles coming our way on the diversion started to catch us up; and a fine mess it all became.
Eventually we were on familiar ground, on the road (my favourite road) east of Ledmore Junction - but with more traffic than I've ever seen on it before! The traffic from the opposite direction had begun to thin out, while our "convoy" had grown; there was little opportunity to make way for a single oncoming vehicle with such a queue behind - and the unfortunate guy in the white van being passed by motorbikes had to wait in the passing-place for some time.
Later we would hear the sad news that a motorcyclist had died near Braemore Junction after a collision with a car, and that's why they'd closed the road. The ferry to Stornoway had delayed its sailing for two hours; and apparently those who also missed that were accommodated on the freight ferry at 3 am the following morning.
Friday, July 13, 2018
Ben Wyvis (again)
Early morning and the car park was empty! My sights were set on dotterel, and with no-one ahead of me I had a chance of getting up onto the plateau before there was too much disturbance. For this reason I walked unusually fast (for me) with many a backward glance to check I was still okay. As I approached the "large boulder" I spotted several ptarmigan on the path ahead.
Now it may seem sacrilege to some, to build a stone staircase up a mountain for hill-walkers - but there's no doubt that these ptarmigan liked the steps as well. They didn't want to leave them. They kept walking/jumping up them, pausing to look back at me and whimpering to one another in mild consternation at my presence. In the end they flew off round the hillside.
Way up on the skyline I spotted two tell-tale ears and climbed a bit further before taking a picture of a mountain hare through the now-descending cloud.
Yet another ptarmigan was on the summit ridge, seemingly interested in one of the frames that has been laid down to protect newly seeded/planted areas on this eroded route. After a long haul along the undulating ridge, it felt about time when the summit shelter and trig point loomed up out of the mist. I rang Greger, who was amazed I'd reached the top so soon; he was also surprised that I was in thick cloud, as it was sunny at home - and then we got cut off.
I continued walking, and immediately the ground changed; there's a path beyond the summit, but it's narrow and pleasant, with grasses and moss crowding in on it (most walkers stop at the trig point and then go back the same way). I sat down on a tussock before I reached the col and had something to eat and drink. I could just see something on the path ahead and this materialised through the bins into a wheatear. And then the cloud lifted to show that it was probably a young bird.
It was also nice to see where I was going! It's a 176m, steepish drop to the col, but from there it's a gentle climb to the top of Tom a' Choinnich (963 metres).
Soon I was at the summit, looking back at Ben Wyvis.
I'd had high hopes of seeing dotterel here, but there were only meadow pipits. However, they're cheerful company, and it was good both to reach this final top on the main ridge and to get some new views. Just below lay Loch nan Druidean.
I turned away reluctantly, and set off back down to the col; and for the first time while on the mountain, I had a glimpse of the eastern crags that make Ben Wyvis something more than just a boring rounded hill.
Heading back up to the trig point I walked slowly, scanning the mossy flanks of the hill each side of the path; and then I was aware of a buzzing noise. My solitude was over. Three people were on the summit, flying a drone. I turned off the path and traversed across to an eastward spur of the hill (An t-Socach) to avoid them; and as I did so, I spotted a distant bird on the skyline. The bird, which was clearly a plover, disappeared almost immediately - and then reappeared in flight with two others. They winged down the hill and out of sight to the col where I'd just been! I gave up. I couldn't go back. But from the poor picture I got (copied and then cropped separately), they appear to have a white wing bar and I suspect they're probably golden plover.
Comforting myself with the thought that I shouldn't chase the birds anyway, I trekked up to the ridge and sat down to have the rest of my sandwiches. I wasn't very hungry and in the end I just picked out the ham and left the bread. I don't know if the drone-flyers had disturbed the birds, but they'd left the summit and were still at it halfway along the ridge, with the buzzing perfectly audible.
A trio of nice quiet ladies sat nearby and had their lunch, while I continued to scan the ground in case the plovers returned. But I couldn't stay there forever, and eventually I returned to the main ridge and set off back. A raven came and kept me company with a fine display of cruising and tumbling parallel with the ridge, and there were more plants to look at. The dwarf or least willow (Salix herbacea) that I first saw up here in July 2016 was now dotted with white; the red seed capsules are splitting to release fluffy white seeds (info from the website wildflowerfinder.org.uk) for the wind to blow wherever it will.
A heather plant in bud had me flummoxed at first, and a solitary harebell looked fragile and pretty in among the Alpine lady's mantle.
Yet another ptarmigan was on the summit ridge, seemingly interested in one of the frames that has been laid down to protect newly seeded/planted areas on this eroded route. After a long haul along the undulating ridge, it felt about time when the summit shelter and trig point loomed up out of the mist. I rang Greger, who was amazed I'd reached the top so soon; he was also surprised that I was in thick cloud, as it was sunny at home - and then we got cut off.
I continued walking, and immediately the ground changed; there's a path beyond the summit, but it's narrow and pleasant, with grasses and moss crowding in on it (most walkers stop at the trig point and then go back the same way). I sat down on a tussock before I reached the col and had something to eat and drink. I could just see something on the path ahead and this materialised through the bins into a wheatear. And then the cloud lifted to show that it was probably a young bird.
It was also nice to see where I was going! It's a 176m, steepish drop to the col, but from there it's a gentle climb to the top of Tom a' Choinnich (963 metres).
Soon I was at the summit, looking back at Ben Wyvis.
I'd had high hopes of seeing dotterel here, but there were only meadow pipits. However, they're cheerful company, and it was good both to reach this final top on the main ridge and to get some new views. Just below lay Loch nan Druidean.
The western end of Loch Glass can be seen beyond the bulk of Glas Leathad Beag - another 3,000 footer but not a Munro. I'd love to explore these outliers, but going out there and back would make it an enormous walk - and even from the other side there would be problems.
Glen Glass may be driven up only so far, the public road stopping short of the eastern end of the loch; you may cycle along the loch, but, unfortunately, I can no longer cycle. Then there are forestry plantations to negotiate on the hill-side with no nice path as there is from Garbat. However, I might do a recce one day. Meanwhile, this top, little trodden I think, was soft and spongy with its carpet of racomitrium moss.
I turned away reluctantly, and set off back down to the col; and for the first time while on the mountain, I had a glimpse of the eastern crags that make Ben Wyvis something more than just a boring rounded hill.
Heading back up to the trig point I walked slowly, scanning the mossy flanks of the hill each side of the path; and then I was aware of a buzzing noise. My solitude was over. Three people were on the summit, flying a drone. I turned off the path and traversed across to an eastward spur of the hill (An t-Socach) to avoid them; and as I did so, I spotted a distant bird on the skyline. The bird, which was clearly a plover, disappeared almost immediately - and then reappeared in flight with two others. They winged down the hill and out of sight to the col where I'd just been! I gave up. I couldn't go back. But from the poor picture I got (copied and then cropped separately), they appear to have a white wing bar and I suspect they're probably golden plover.
Comforting myself with the thought that I shouldn't chase the birds anyway, I trekked up to the ridge and sat down to have the rest of my sandwiches. I wasn't very hungry and in the end I just picked out the ham and left the bread. I don't know if the drone-flyers had disturbed the birds, but they'd left the summit and were still at it halfway along the ridge, with the buzzing perfectly audible.
A trio of nice quiet ladies sat nearby and had their lunch, while I continued to scan the ground in case the plovers returned. But I couldn't stay there forever, and eventually I returned to the main ridge and set off back. A raven came and kept me company with a fine display of cruising and tumbling parallel with the ridge, and there were more plants to look at. The dwarf or least willow (Salix herbacea) that I first saw up here in July 2016 was now dotted with white; the red seed capsules are splitting to release fluffy white seeds (info from the website wildflowerfinder.org.uk) for the wind to blow wherever it will.
I reached An Cabar again and started down with a heavy heart; there was no chance of dotterel now. I was cheered by a young man walking up who looked hot and bothered but who nevertheless managed a nice smile and remarked "It's one almighty climb!" It certainly is; and I found the descent harder than I remembered, as well. I was amazed at the number of people, especially families, who were toiling up this late in the day; everyone was friendly, apart from a couple of sulky children who clearly didn't want to be there!
A heather plant in bud had me flummoxed at first, and a solitary harebell looked fragile and pretty in among the Alpine lady's mantle.
A kestrel was circling below; I wasn't quick enough to get a picture, but this was a first for my hill-walking list. A woman making her way upwards with her family told me they'd seen a red kite over the forest - but it had gone by the time I got down. I didn't mention the ptarmigan because there'd been no sign on the descent, and it was unlikely they would see them now with so many people about. A large hoverfly was near the stream (probably Sericomyia silentis); and I ate a few blueberries as I descended through the forest, which left me with sticky blue fingers. Despite my failure with dotterel it had been a good day on the hills - and worth getting up early in order to have, for a while at least, those fabulous places all to my selfish little self.
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Some bits and pieces:
A pair of adult black-throated divers were accompanied (sometimes at some distance) by two juveniles - one obviously older than the other.
Greger meanwhile had gone to Inverness to fetch my damaged camera; we went a couple of weeks ago, but it was still not working properly and had to go back. This time he checked it all in the shop, and it seems okay. Thanks to his bad foot and my sinusitis we haven't been able to use the lovely weather to do any more hill-walking; and now, it seems, the dry sunny spell is over.
I went back to Loch Glascarnoch and found the common or round-leaved sundew (Drosera rotundifolia) in flower.
I also noticed another kind of sundew with longer, larger leaves; the tallest was 20cm, so I think these are great sundew (Drosera angelica). This was confirmed by info on seasonalwildflowers.com.
A short walk at Alness Point on the Cromarty Firth brought common, Arctic, and little terns. Everything went up when an osprey approached from the north and hovered over the pools; and Greger tried out his telephoto lens.
