Friday, June 03, 2022

It was a beautiful day for a walk at Clachtoll - once we'd negotiated a ticket machine that didn't seem to be working. A passer-by was helpful, having sussed that you needed to reach right up into the machine to grab your ticket; the one that had popped out (for a shorter stay than we'd paid for) belonged to the previous customer - who must have given up! We're not against parking charges (new here this year) but they should at least make sure the machines work.

Up on the cliffs, the wind was decidedly cool and we didn't regret wearing our jackets. Later on, down near the broch, a young man asked if we'd read a different weather forecast. True, most people were in shorts, but I didn't see what business it was of his what we were wearing. However, when Greger pointed out that he'd had on a T-shirt proclaiming he was a republican, I forgave him.

A white-tailed sea eagle was a fine sight as it flew high across the blue, blue sky.


Greger spotted something he thought might be a diver out on the slightly choppy sea; it looks to me like a juvenile black-throated diver.


But that wouldn't be this year's juvenile, surely? I read up on the divers and discovered that they become sexually mature after 2-3 years; but I couldn't find any reference to how long they keep immature plumage.

Sitting having lunch, I was sure we'd seen Arctic terns fishing; they then seemed to make their way over to the split rock on the far side of the beach. Feeling somewhat conspicuous in our walking clothes (Greger had actually taken his jacket off at his point but I was still wearing my coat) we trudged across the lovely sandy cove through groups of people in their bathers, children busily digging, and various crafts being launched on the waves, and reached the path that takes you up onto the cliffs.

Tucked into a sheltered bay of turquoise water, were four adult black-throated divers; but there was no sign of any terns. Then Greger pointed to something - and there was an Arctic tern, standing on lichened rocks with a garnish of sea thrift.


We retraced our steps, finding a short cut to the dunes so that we didn't have to run the full gauntlet again (mind you, no-one gave us a second look - they were all too busy enjoying the wonderful day, as well they might) and then set off on the drive home. The camp-site at Clachtoll had a notice out to say it was full; and the roads were pretty busy, mostly with "great whites" (as a man in Greger's Spanish class dubbed the larger camper vans). The summer season has well and truly begun.
P.S. Forgot to mention: quite a few wheatears, a pair of lapwings mobbing a buzzard, and a small pod of dolphins very far out.

// posted by Christine @ 12:25 PM
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