Wednesday, March 30, 2022
Despite a forecast for snow (or perhaps because of it) I drove up the Dirrie More to see if any snow buntings had come down from the hills; but in fact the snow showers didn't amount to much, and the only birds I saw on the dam were a handful of pied wagtails. I snapped some behaviour as the birds strutted about on one or other of the walls, their bills in the air.
Soon after this, dark clouds came in from the east and I set off for home - where, Greger said, they'd also had a snow shower.
Monday, March 28, 2022
A day of misty sunshine in the Coigach area brought my first greenshank of the year. It was remarkably immobile for a greenshank and sometimes had its eyes closed; presumably it was exhausted after a long flight.
A walk from the beach car park brought a snipe, flushed from a ditch on the machair; it rose with a squeaky call, flew further along the ditch - and went down again. Two wheatears were on the salt-marsh and nine or ten golden plover flew around restlessly. A great northern diver out in the bay also looked sleepy - although it might have closed its eyes against the cold north wind that, blowing straight in off the sea, seemed to me to cancel out the warmth of the sun.
The diver appears to be carrying what could be a gift of food as it was swimming behind a second individual with less advanced summer plumage.
Across the headland two black-throated divers, still looking very wintry in black and white plumage, loafed about near the shore - keeping, whether by accident or design, to the shimmering, dazzling path of the sun's reflected light. If I moved to get a better position - so did they. All photos rubbish.
Driving back to the junction lay-by I got out to have a last sweep of the river and salt-marsh. There was no sign of the greenshank but it might have been tucked in below the field where it would be hidden. And then something nice happened. I heard the drumming of a snipe - brief and faint but unmistakeable. I caught a glimpse of the bird in the sky before it plummeted, and I lost it against the drab moorland.
I think this might be the first time I've heard this lovely sound since May 2016, when we had walked the length of Loch a' Bhraoin to climb Creag Rainich. I stated in that post that we weren't sure if it was a snipe "or the thrumming of fence wires in the wind" until we actually spotted the bird, high up. An entry on Wikipedia refers to folklore in some parts of Sweden, where they decided a horse had been transported into the sky because they thought the drumming sounded like a horse's whinny. I read it out to Greger, to see if he would defend his countrymen - but he only said "They were probably drunk."
Sunday, March 27, 2022
It's been a lovely day, and early afternoon I was surprised to find the car park at Rhue empty. I walked down to the lighthouse and spent a peaceful hour looking out across calm water towards the misty Summer Isles. Now and then, my first porpoises of the year broke the surface far out past Isle Martin.
My first returning summer migrant.
Wednesday, March 09, 2022
It's been a drizzly sort of day so it was no sacrifice to stay in and get some housework done. I now feel very virtuous. Yesterday I got out late and drove south to see if I could find some snow buntings. I failed to find any, but returning over the high moorland before the long descent to Loch Broom, I was surprised by a bird flying low along the road towards me, and slowed down. As it peeled off to the side I could see that it was a lapwing; it showed quite well on the clip from my dash-cam, but a snap from the computer screen was not very successful.
I'm still posting it though. Not only was it about the only bird visible on those bleak, windy moors today, but it was also my first lapwing of the year - an unexpected and welcome sighting.
Tuesday, March 01, 2022
A gorgeous sunny morning (though still with an icy wind) called us out to Achnahaird, where 28 golden plover were feeding at the edge of the dunes.
