Wednesday, June 18, 2025
Two days ago I was putting stuff in my car, aware of a large sparrow family active in the rowan tree and on the lawn below, when something white caught my eye and I straightened up, ready to shout at a certain white cat that hunts with annoying persistence in our garden (I'm not a cat lover). But on this occasion it was a herring gull. It grabbed one of the sparrows and took off, flying over me and out of sight.
We can see a nest with two chicks from our back window, although I'm not sure that's where this particular gull was heading.
It's well-known that herring gulls nest on rooftops, but I've always supposed that the parents still hunt for food on the sea and shore (or scavenge from people); I hadn't expected to see one predating a small bird in the garden. Last year, we watched this nest as a single chick grew and finally fledged, glad that the gulls had chosen a house rather than a bungalow as this puts a bit of distance between the birds and the residents. However - when I went out the back to hang up washing, there was a herring gull on the neighbours' roof, making a real din. Before I could think what this might mean, I felt a sudden rush and heard a whoosh as a second gull buzzed me - fortunately, without making contact. Greger came out and spotted the chick on our roof - from where the parent had launched its attack. The juvenile loitered for a while, and was later seen on the pavement outside before disappearing again. A few days later, I saw a dead juvenile herring gull on the side of the road as I drove to Tesco - maybe the same one, maybe not. It would be better if they gravitated on fledging towards the harbour, which I suppose many do; and oddly enough, when an adult is present on the nest we're watching, it's almost always facing the other way - out to sea.
Wednesday, June 11, 2025
Meall an Torcain
We set off across the dam towards this hill (closest to the loch), hoping to carry on from its summit to the two further, higher tops.
On the col between those two I once snapped fruiting cloudberry - and although I've seen plenty of cloudberry since, none bore fruits; while on the same walk, approaching the summit of Tom Ban Mor, I heard a dotterel. So I was hoping for great things. It started well; the hydro track from the dam to the second gate gave us several birds, starting with a male reed bunting which I didn't manage to snap - and two distant red-breasted mergansers.
On the wettish flank of the hill there were meadow pipits, while a calling red grouse was flushed from the long grass. This was Greger's first visit to this top (and, given the steep, boggy, pathless struggle to get here, possibly his last).
On my two lone ascents, I'd found the top deserted and peaceful; not so this time. Something was running on the skyline near the further top - a male golden plover. It started to alarm-call and came running in little bursts towards us. Oh dear - where was the nest, where were the eggs or the chicks? Two adult birds were now in a panic, circling us at a distance and calling continuously, now and then taking to the air and flying past and back again; and to make things worse, a red grouse erupted noisily from the plateau and disappeared over the edge of the hill - possibly the same bird we'd already disturbed once. Oops.
.....and one of me, my head framed by Ben Wyvis.....
....and we dropped down from the summit, finding a useful ledge for lunch. The male plover did a last (silent) flypast and seemed content that we were no longer any threat, as we saw and heard him no more. As we sat there I heard the lovely call of a curlew and Greger said it must have been the bird he saw flying across the loch towards our hill. I didn't see it, but I said it would go on the list - along with a cuckoo, heard only from the plantations across the road.
