Christine's walking & birds blog

The summer-plumaged great northern diver had caught a flatfish near the rocks at Achnahaird, during a brief dry spell on an otherwise rainy day.


A probable pine marten crossed the road a good way ahead as I drove out there - although I can't swear it wasn't a mink. I hit a button on my dash-cam to protect the clip - but I hit the wrong button, and it was lost.

Ben Wyvis (yet again)

It's just after 7 am. We've taken about 40 minutes to walk up through Garbat Forest, and the lingering bands of cloud are being rapidly burnt off by the sun.


We weren't first in the car park this time, and soon we meet a man walking down and later, a woman with two dogs. The dogs run downhill towards us barking; they turn out to be harmless but my heart sinks as I reflect that they have probably been careering about on the plateau, chasing anything delectable away. Obviously there are no ptarmigan to be seen at the rock!

However we don't think there's anyone else, and we reach the top of An Cabar with no walkers in sight behind us and the empty plateau stretching invitingly ahead in the sunshine; a bit different from last week, when we couldn't see more than twenty metres. We've agreed to carry on past the trig point if we reach it without a dotterel sighting, and take in the bealach and the last top on the main ridge of Ben Wyvis.

I scan the ground all round as we walk, but it's Greger who suddenly stops and says "Look!" and there on the skyline ahead, is the unmistakable profile of a plover. The light's behind it, and I think it might be golden - but no! It's a dotterel.

The report of a blue-cheeked bee-eater on wires at Achnahaird tempted me to a rare twitch. Greger was up for it so we called in at Tesco for provisions and set off in pouring rain for one of our favourite places.

It rained the whole time we were out there, but we took a walk anyway along the backs of the houses at Brae of Achnahaird and out onto the beach. We got absolutely soaked. We then drove slowly round the loop scanning wires, walls, bushes, and posts.

A golden plover was a nice sight where the road climbs high - a snipe was also here, and a red-throated diver was down on the loch.

This isn't a bad spot to have lunch, especially on a fairly warm, sunny day with only a moderate wind.


Willow warblers were singing, redpolls checking me out, meadow pipits collecting food, and a male cuckoo had been answered by a female's bubbling call. I turned to see an orange butterfly (species unknown but possibly a painted lady) dancing towards me - and instead of veering away, it seemed to fly straight at me, and, as I instinctively ducked away, straight into the back of my head! I don't know where it went, but a bit later a similar butterfly came flying back up the hill past me, so I suppose it survived.

Anyway, that itself seems odd in retrospect - a sort of setting of the scene. Because next thing I was aware of was the repeated calling of a raven; and again looking round, I spotted it high up and also flying over me to the west. The sun was in my eyes, so I saw nothing else, and turned to watch the raven continue its flight. Then came a sudden, explosive "Whoosh!" that left me reeling and thinking wildly of military jets....but there in front of me, swooping down over the moorland beyond the trees, was a second raven pursuing a golden eagle. I'm pretty relieved they didn't fly into the back of my head!

The birds headed towards the hill in the picture, where the ravens flew around calling for some time. Then I spotted the eagle soaring and got one awful picture before it disappeared.


I don't know if the "Whoosh" was from the eagle's wings alone, or the eagle's and raven's combined - but they must have been very low when they went over me for the sound to have been that loud, and I can only regret that I didn't have the camera in my hand at the time. The moment went unrecorded and lives now only in my memory - and will do until that, too, disappears.

I made the wrong decision today. Anxious to get up Ben Wyvis in the hope of seeing dotterel I suggested an early start, and having parked in a satisfyingly empty car park we set off at 6.15 am. It was very windy, and the tops were hidden by cloud - but the forecast was for better weather later on.

In the usual place above the zigzags near the large boulder, three ptarmigan walked carefully across the stepped path above and watched us warily, whimpering softly to each other.





We walked up past them, but then they flew anyway - gathering one more individual (of unknown sex) from somewhere - and landed again a little way down the hill.

We climbed on into thickening cloud with flurries of light rain. At the top of An Cabar we sat in the shelter and had something to eat and drink - and decided to go back down. It was a wrench to leave the summit plateau, but the wind was so strong we could hardly stand upright, let alone walk; and it could be an hour or more before the weather improved.

It didn't help that halfway down, we began to meet walkers coming up - walkers who had timed it right and were approaching the top just as the wind dropped and the cloud lifted off the hill. Even the sun made an appearance. Going back up was not an option - I'd led us up through the forest too fast and we were both tired. Most people stopped to pass the time of day, and I had to be polite while inwardly raging at myself. Pausing for a rest and looking back, I reflected that somewhere up on that now-clear summit ridge, there could be dotterel! Greger cheerfully pointed out that we can try again next week - and meanwhile, we had at least enjoyed a feast of ptarmies.

I was hoping to see a different family, but there was no sign of any ring ouzels. The juvenile wheatears were being fed by their father; I couldn't see a female but didn't hang around in case I disturbed them.


A greenshank was heard down on the lochan, but a scan of the shoreline brought nothing. A camper van stopped in the lay-by, and two men and a little girl got out and walked towards a stag grazing by a fence on a grassy bank above the road. They spent some time taking photos with their mobiles and edging closer, but eventually returned to their van.  They'd been kind of blocking me in, so as they set off I walked back towards my car; as they drove past the stag (on the same side of the road as they were) they tooted their horn. I saw the stag start, raise its head and brace its hind legs as if for flight. In the end it stayed where it was and then settled back to feeding. But what a daft thing to do; it couldn't go uphill because of the fence, so there was a risk of it running down and across the road. The stupidity of people who think wildlife is there for their entertainment never ceases to amaze me.

Greger's interested in buying an electric car, so we went down to Silverstone for the "Fully Charged" exhibition. Not having followed the development of the new technology as he has, I was amazed to realise how much it's advanced and how it's catching on; many people are now driving, not just hybrids, but all-electric cars. In the car park at Silverstone, Greger kept pointing out the various electric models, while a fleet of Tesla cars was waiting to ferry us to the venue. On the way south, at Abington services, we'd seen ten Tesla and two ecotricity charging points. It's really happening.

We then drove to Dorset for a week's holiday - hoping to escape the cold winds and rain of the north-west Highlands. Hmmm.

The description of Rose Cottage had stated there was a small car-parking space, but plenty of room for on-road parking. Our hearts sank as we turned into the lane - this is coming back out the following morning.


And the parking space by the cottage? The weedy triangle straight ahead. Okay, we have a large car - but even my Fiesta would not quite fit in there! A note in the cottage (not included in the original description) warned visitors not to block the lane as we could get an obstruction notice.


We arrived in a rain storm, so Greger was determined to at least unpack by the house. (In fact, he actually parked there for the night but after that always left the car up on the road.) He then tried to go into the wrong cottage before I noticed that it had a different name!

The cottage had a rustic charm, although it was a bit depressing on a dark evening of torrential rain (the two downstairs rooms had those god-awful wall lights rather than ceiling lights). It was a bit better in daylight.


Bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom were okay - although Greger, on cooking duty, was heard complaining that he had to wash every utensil before using it.

Sunday was fine and we drove up to the NT car park at Ringstead Bay, with its fine views out to Chesil Beach and the Isle of Portland, and walked the coastal path towards Durdle Door.


A few butterflies were seen, among them several large skippers nectaring on common toadflax, a painted lady, and a wall butterfly. The wheatear is presumably returning to young with the grasshopper.


At lovely Ferrybridge (in the rain) were dunlin, a bar-tailed godwit, and some bathing sanderling.


On the mainland, the lesser whitethroat was rattling and warbling from the under-cliff as we walked along a pebble beach. There were plenty of common whitethroat around as well.


The corn bunting was one of several singing during our first visit to Maiden Castle, a huge iron-age fort near Dorchester.


Our flat purchase on Portland fell through - because the developers refused to issue a building warranty, which makes it almost impossible to get a mortgage. Greger was planning to buy it outright, but this would have been a temporary home while we searched for another house or bungalow, and the lack of a warranty would have made it difficult to sell on for the next 10 years. It's a pity because it was "us"; part of a big square block once owned by the MOD, (so not new-build taking up once-green space), now converted, and a bit sort of industrial in its surroundings. The name also appealed, with Greger's interest in spies - Espionage Place. Oh well.

A spotted flycatcher is back on its territory up the quarry road. A tree pipit was displaying and singing nearby.


But there was no sign of the wood warbler(s).  A blue tit landing on a speed limit sign made me raise the camera for a picture (I hadn't realised it was carrying food) - and the next second, it had disappeared into the pole! I hope the nest isn't very far down.


It was a still, grey, and drizzly day - and the midges were out in force.