Christine's walking & birds blog

Beyond the beach, and the quayside, and a line of moored boats, a white-winger was cruising and dipping in its endless quest for food.


It seemed to me to be a neatish gull with a buoyant flight that didn't say "viking". And when it landed on the quayside, although it was still quite a distance away, the small bill and the long wings extending beyond the tail suggested this was an Iceland gull.



It would have been nice to have got closer but I'm not venturing into the harbour area during lockdown.

At least a dozen twite and a wheatear were at the point; but along the bull park, there wasn't a peep today from an unseen singer we'd heard yesterday, which I think was a whitethroat. It started to rain before we reached the spit - where we found at least sixteen turnstone and at least two common sandpipers mixing with a handful of ringed plovers.


Further out on the grassy, muddy shore, a dunlin was foraging along the waterline.



A cuckoo was heard calling in the distance, and the delicate cuckoo flowers that are named for the bird were growing at the tangled edges of the dog-walking field.


But there was no thrilling reeling from the brambly corner near the river to betray the presence of a grasshopper warbler; and I turned for home with a heavy heart, knowing I couldn't go out again for a second try, or a second look at those delicious waders. However, I'm not complaining; it was a super walk and I've got three ticks for the lockdown walk list. Ullapool birds all!

It was still sunny and bright this morning - but much colder, as I realised when I rounded the point at the end of West Shore Street and was met by an icy wind that penetrated my thin fleece and T-shirt - luckily the fleece has a hood. I was snapping a black guillemot that was still winter-grey when a bunch of eider flew by heading down the loch - a tick for the lockdown walk list.


Towards the horizon, a bank of grey vapour lay across the foot of the loch, swallowing up a fishing boat and blotting out the islands.


A little way ahead, a handful of turnstones were dozing away high tide.


We heard a cuckoo yesterday as we walked up the quarry road; it was calling from up the hill so we hoped we'd see it later. But as we made our way along the hill-path, it called again from down near the quarry road! Typical. We never did see it. Now, I heard a cuckoo calling from Allt na h-Airbhe across the loch - but again, it would remain just a disembodied voice.

Turning into our own road, I could see there was a band of haar (now white in appearance) lying along the unseen loch.


At home, Greger was up a ladder painting but hadn't noticed the mist as he was facing the other way. Now he half-turned and remarked on how fast it was moving up the loch, aided presumably by the keen wind. I'd seen on my walk that the ferry was about to leave, and now we heard its fog-horn as it moved off down the loch. In happier times I would have jumped in my car and driven to West Terrace to watch this phenomenon; but it would go against the rules, and I'm a goodie two-shoes (for the present, anyway). However, the haar didn't last - thanks, perhaps, to the strength of the sun from a completely clear sky.

For about an hour around midnight last night, I stood outside scanning the starry sky - and saw three meteors from the Lyrids shower. Greger joined me for a while and spotted one which I missed; it's impossible to point meteors out - by the time you've said "Oh, there's...." it's gone! Meanwhile, numerous satellites tracked their swift, unerring courses across the sky. We identified Lyra with its beautiful bright star, Vega; for this I used my ancient Observer's Book of Astronomy - not without a certain amount of distaste, given its author.  Patrick Moore was for some reason seen as a lovable eccentric; I think he was a hateful man. He loathed women and voiced his misogynistic views publicly on several occasions. Never mind, I can always give a little cheer whenever I see Dr. Maggie Aderin-Pocock on The Sky at Night.

The best moment during my sky-watch came when I heard a single, rather hoarse trill somewhere above - I can't be 100% sure but I think it was a dunlin. Nocmig! And we both saw a bat (looking, oddly, white) hunting beyond the garden around the orange streetlights - the lights that are particularly irritating when trying to stargaze!

I think we reached 17℃ today! I certainly ventured out without thermal underwear - and that's an important milestone in the progress of my year.

A wheatear (a different one from the original bird) was at the point.


Among seaweedy rocks where the tide had fallen, a turnstone was foraging.


A redshank flew across the river to a small pool on the spit - and as I snapped it, a second, unseen bird answered its calls.


I returned home via the dog-walking field; I had it to myself and enjoyed the songs of willow warblers and blackcaps - but there was no reeling from the undergrowth announcing the presence of a grasshopper warbler. I can't agree when I see this song described as "monotonous" (although technically, I suppose, it is precisely that!). I find it exciting. I've found three grasshopper warblers in three different locations since we moved here; each time the reeling came as a huge surprise as I wasn't looking for grasshopper warblers on these occasions, and I hope I hear it again this spring.  

At the top of the quarry road where we turn onto the hill path, a grey-brown bird swooped into the trees and landed on a low branch, clearly aware of us watching. It was a mistle thrush (we'd seen one here on Sunday), and it seemed to have something quite large in its bill. When it turned its head to look at us, I realised with a shock that it was either a newt or a lizard - I think, the former. The bird flew further into the trees before I could get the camera out.

When we were on the hill path I filled a large plastic mineral-water bottle I'd brought with me in a stream, and when we got to the tadpole puddle I emptied it in, much to Greger's amusement. A grey-brown bird, almost certainly a mistle thrush, flew up the hill and into some conifers. We continued along the path and found that the newt puddle had dried up. Had the newts been making their way to another puddle and been pounced on by the thrush? Don't know - but it was strange that there were no newts in the tadpole puddle, where food was plentiful.

I went out for my walk mid-afternoon, hearing a willow warbler singing close by as I left the house and snapping it in the neighbour's rowan tree.


The drake pintail and his mallard companion were still present on the river - being followed at a little distance by a hopeful male mallard. The tide was still quite a way out and I could hear and see ringed plovers displaying among the gulls. A white winger was preening there; it could of course be the viking, but it looks more to me like an immature Iceland gull.


Three or four twite were feeding among the daisies at the point.


Despite blue skies and sunshine there was a brisk and irritating wind, which I turned into as I rounded the point. Then it was a boring stretch along the road until I reached home. (P.S. for yesterday - we saw our first peacock butterfly of the year.)

Walking up the quarry road, I counted 20 singing willow warblers between Ullapool and the river bridge. A lovely deep humming sound made us look up into a tree (willow? poplar?) to see numerous bumblebees nectaring on the catkins/flowers. They're either buff-tailed or white-tailed - or there was a mix of both.


On the river bank, I caught a glimpse of a pipit down by the water; it flew off, but I suspect it might have been a tree pipit. I wasn't doing very well on my IDs so far - but two sand martins flying over us gave me a definite tick for the daily walk list. In the distance, beyond the cattle grid, a mistle thrush and a wheatear were foraging on sheep-cropped turf.

The tadpoles were still in a writhing mass in the diminishing puddle; I think these are frog taddies, as toads' are black. Some still show external gills, which are later absorbed (I'd thought these were only found on newt tadpoles, but this is not so).  If the fine weather continues there's a risk this puddle will dry out and they will all die.


A pair of buzzards circling in the cloudless blue sky were the last birds of the walk.


And their far-carrying calls not only made up for the absence of any cuckoos - they also followed us home.

We varied our daily walk from home again, following the road up to the Braes and walking through the plantations where I thought there might be an outside chance there would still be a crossbill or two - but in this we were unlucky. A singing blackcap by a lay-by was a nice first for the year.

There were siskins and redpolls in the plantations, but it was Greger who pointed out the toad spawn, like a string of black pearls in a shallow grassy pool.



The little pool was alive with creatures, some of which were too tiny and quick to photograph. There were lots of leggy pond skaters, and these lesser water boatmen.


Out on the open hillside, green tiger beetles flew along the path ahead of us, landing, and then flying off again.


Looking back over the plantations and Loch Broom to Beinn Dearg and the Fannichs on this lovely day.


A fly on the wall at home appears to be a hairy maggot blow fly - not perhaps the most attractive of insects.


I got up twice in the night to step outside and look for meteors, but saw nothing. It's nice though to see clear starry skies - not a common occurrence here!

We returned to our village walk today, and I was chuffed to see what I thought was a pair of pintail on the river. But when they hauled out onto the bank to graze, I realised that if the drake was a true pintail, then he was definitely playing away with that duck - which looks like a mallard.


He seems to be a genuine pintail although I'm not sure about the brown patches on the belly. I think pintail/mallard hybrids are fairly common, and this drake was certainly serious about his companion - fiercely chasing off a drake mallard that came calling.

At home, this hoverfly had emerged; each year I have fun trying to photograph it (or a similar) as it patrols the airspace over the rotary washing line, hovering in the same place for ages so that I raise the camera hopefully - and then darting sideways at the speed of light before I can click the shutter button. Today, I managed to catch it sitting still.


I think it's an Eristalis intricaria. The old tennis ball is one of four, which Greger split and then pushed onto the (sharp) ends of the dryer arms after he'd bashed his head on one while mowing the back lawn! 

On our daily walks round the village, we'd noticed people going up or coming down the quarry road; and on the BBC News website for Scotland, an item said that landowners in the Highlands had been told not to close footpaths. So today, we walked up the road until we were in sight of Loch Achall, and then came back over the Ullapool Hill paths.


Willow warblers were singing all the way up - I lost count, but we must have heard at least twelve.
A puddle on the hill path contained a wriggling mass of tadpoles, and a second, larger puddle held its usual spring newts. The webbed hind feet and the filament at the end of the tail show this to be a male palmate newt.


This of course will mean the start of the Other Species Lockdown Daily Walk List.

A pair of stonechats watched us from the skyline, possibly already nesting in the heather.


The walk was about 7 kilometres. We made our way down to the village, tired but with spirits lifted.


A chiffchaff was singing as we descended. We saw a few other walkers and one runner, but I think I was the only one wearing a hat! For me, despite sunshine and blue skies, the wind still has an edge to it.

Spring is slowly dawning in the far north, and sightings of insects/invertebrates have given rise to a new list - the Other Species Lockdown Garden List.  Two small tortoiseshells were sparring over the lawn a couple of days ago.


And when I went to get the washing in yesterday, I found a hawthorn shield bug on one of the pillowcases.


Also around - various queen bumblebees, honey bees, and several millipedes, resembling hammered-in rusty nails on the white walls of the bungalow. I think it's the white-legged snake millipede - which is a rather grand name for a tiny creature that many think of as a pest (including, judging by his reaction, Greger).

Greger took these three pics with his smartphone on different occasions over the last two weeks, showing the stages of our daily walk. An almost deserted Shore Street.....


The "bull park" heading towards the spit.....

A redshank was present at the river spit, my second here this year but a first for the lockdown walk list.

It would be nice to think this is a bona fide glaucous gull, preening and loafing with other gulls on the island in the Ullapool River. But there seems to be a brownish tint to some of the flight feathers, so I have to assume it's the same old viking that's been haunting the harbour for some time now. I thought at first that the bird was just bathing and preening, but it seemed to be doing an unusual amount of head-dipping - and keeping its head underwater for long periods.


One of my snaps seems to show that it caught something, although I didn't see this at the time.


A singing goldcrest was new for the walk list, and when we got home a swallow hunting over the roof-tops was new for the garden list (and for the year).

Two twite skipped over the spit calling, and landed in an ash tree.


They flew across the river and were joined by a third individual, where they all bathed and preened.


Not a true overseas migrant, but still a longed-for first for the year - and, of course, for the daily-walk list. Chiffchaffs were heard in a couple of places but there was no willow warbler song today.

A chiffchaff was seen fly-catching near the sports field during our daily walk.


It was a bright sunny day, with temperatures reaching the dizzy heights of 11℃ after a clear cold night and a sharp ground frost this morning. The weather map shows it's twice as warm in southern England - the main reason I want to be back there!

Greger painted the main garage door a lovely postbox(ish) red this morning while I cleaned windows and did other housework; then we painted the flaking, mulberry-coloured wrought-iron side of the outside porch black. It looked much better black. We then felt we'd earned our walk.

At least one willow warbler has reached Ullapool! We heard it singing half-heartedly along the river path but, as with the chiffchaff on Sunday, failed to locate it (mainly because I don't like to hang around too long as we're supposed to be out for exercise only).

Back home, two coal tits visiting the feeder gave me another lockdown garden tick.....


......and there was yet another when a peregrine was spotted soaring above the village very high, before powering off to the south....


.....and there should have been a third, but it was too quick for me. A martin swooping over the roof-tops could have been either sand or house - although sand martin is probably more likely.

The lesser black-backed gulls along the riverbank were new for both the lockdown walk and the year.


The cheering sound of a chiffchaff singing from somewhere beyond the river was a first for the year, but a walk along the river paths brought no sightings of the singer.

I'd been musing on the absence of redpolls this winter when one suddenly turned up around midday. The window was spattered with raindrops but I finally managed to focus past them.


Its bright white underparts and lack of heavy streaking made me think hopefully of common redpoll; but the view from the back, showing brownish mantle rather than grey, buff in the wing bars, and not-particularly-long primary projection, point to lesser redpoll.


The rain was forecast to end around 3pm - and it did, so we took our daily walk. A grey wagtail made its frenetic way along the opposite bank of the river, tail wagging madly, and then stopped to bathe.



Other birds: goosander, merganser, curlew, turnstone, oystercatcher, black guillemot; and, at the end of West Shore Street, a wheatear (possibly two). A strongish wind was blowing but the rain kept off and we walked for a while under blue skies and sunshine; if only everyone could.