Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Hundreds of geese, ducks, and waders took to the air in panic - for no reason that we could see, though we scanned the sky for a peregrine. I noted that one of the great black-backed gulls went up too and half-joked that perhaps it was their presence making the birds uneasy.
A minute later I walked to the other end of the lay-by and looked over the gate to see a great black-backed standing over a pale, bloodied blob in the grass; this turned out to be an adult male wigeon. The gull stabbed downwards with its bill and swallowed something - and I was then dismayed to see a sudden struggle by the wigeon, which I'd assumed was dead. But there was no chance of escape, and by the time I took this picture there was no further movement. This must have been an act of predation.
The gull eventually flew back to the muddy spit, and a little while later either the same gull or maybe its mate returned to the remains. Meanwhile a small gang of carrion crows, hoodies, and jackdaws had gathered, hoping for left-overs.
Birds of the Western Palearctic states that great black-backs catch puffins in mid air, while Jonsson says they're "able to kill full-grown ducks". A wigeon is quite a large, heavy duck, so I imagine the gull attacked it on the ground.
Otherwise, it was the usual suspects at Udale on this ferociously windy day; hundreds of pink-footed geese, loads of redshank and knot, a handful of black-tailed godwits, four or five Sandwich terns - and an osprey which sat on a distant fence-post until the tide started to turn.
One of several ruff present ran out along the muddy spit.
Meanwhile everything settled down, with ducks and waders seeming relaxed about the proximity of fearsome predators - although if a peregrine falcon or buzzard had flown over, they would all no doubt have gone up again in hysterically noisy panic. This mallard seems oblivious to the potential threat looming over him - but like the ducks, the gull now appears to be searching for invertebrates in the mud.
A windblown but exciting couple of hours before we drove back to the rainy west coast.
Saturday, September 22, 2018
An eagle was hunting above a distant ridge, finally landing on the highest point - about one-and-a-half kilometres away.
A great black-backed gull took exception to the eagle's presence and buzzed it over and over again.
The eagle refused to budge and the gull gave up and flew away. It's surprising how large the gull looks in comparison with the raptor, and in fact through the bins it was difficult to tell which eagle it was. But the fanned white tail in the top picture, and the general shape and the huge yellow bill visible in other pics, point to a white-tailed sea eagle.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Sanderling have apparently had a tough year, with late-lying snow on their breeding grounds in Greenland leading to starvation for some and late or no nesting for others; so eight juveniles on this bright morning were a welcome sight.
They weren't the first juveniles I've seen this autumn; there were four here at Achnahaird on 2nd September - looking, I thought, a bit skinny.
Today there were also two bar-tailed godwits, and a handsome wheatear near the dunes.
That was about it, but we enjoyed the walk across the wet salt-marsh and sand after a fairly high tide.
Sunday, September 09, 2018
The Cairnwell & Carn Aosda
The last hill-walk we did got me halfway through the Munros, but put Greger on number 99; he naturally wanted to make it a hundred - preferably with a fairly easy one. These two hills, slap-bang in the middle of the Glenshee ski area, are close to the road with the start at about 650 metres.
I chose a Sunday because you don't have to worry about deer-stalking; but the weather forecast was, unfortunately, accurate - with cloud down over the hills and rain to start with, and strong winds later on. Eventually there was a break and we set off up the wide track. This was taken with Greger's mobile, looking back to the ski-centre buildings and huge car park.
A snow cannon standing by the track would no doubt have mountain purists who already object to all the other paraphernalia raising their eyebrows; but I reckon skiers have as much right to be here as walkers - and these aren't the most beautiful hills in Scotland anyway. There's room for everyone.
And some of the wildlife doesn't seem to mind, either. Red grouse were heard and seen all the way up the track; while the manmade pool behind the cannon gave us a dipper.
I managed just one shot before the dipper flew into the pipe and vanished.
By the time we reached the top of the Cairnwell (933m), the wind was unpleasantly strong. A friendly Scotsman took a picture of both of us, but I chose this one of Greger on his 100th Munro.
A picture I took with the self-timer on my old Pentax, when I did these hills alone in 2001, reveals how the shelter has deteriorated over the years. I didn't take the winding track we'd followed today, but bashed straight up the steepish flank under the chairlift. I then dropped to the col and walked west along this nice ridge, past the two little lochans, and on to the summit of Carn a' Gheoidh (left of centre).
We'd planned to do that today but because of the strong wind decided against it, just going on from the col to reach the stony top of Carn Aosda - which at 917m is one of the lowest of the Munros (914 being the defining height in metres).
Looking back to the Cairnwell on his 101st (Munro, not birthday).
The view north towards Braemar, with remote Ben Avon and its tors on the distant skyline.
As we descended, a swallow dashed past and a raven flew over. We had our lunch in the car and then set off on the three-hour journey home, feeling slightly stunned after our shortish, sometimes wet, and always windy walk.
