Highland Insider

A wee gang of wigeon have been gathering by the shore of the loch over the past few days. There were about a dozen when the PL first noticed them, increasing to thirty-one last time we were able to count them.

The reason we can’t always count them is that sometimes we walk past that spot in the evening, when we’re taking Nosy Norris for her late walk. Then all that can be seen is the reflection of moonlight or the flashing marker buoys on the dark water, but we can still hear the birds chuntering among themselves. It’s a lovely sound, the more gutteral calls punctuated with what sounds like a mini swanee-whistle, reminiscent of the whooOOo0 of the eider ducks.

I don’t know why I’m always surprised that ducks are so beautiful, but somehow I never expect it. Wigeon certainly are, especially the males with their golden foreheads and rosy breasts. I don’t know whether they’ll stay here for the winter or head somewhere further south. We’ll just watch and see, and that’s the pleasure of living among wild things and learning about them day by day. We got to know our local wildlife in Nairnshire so well, I thought I’d miss that familiarity when we moved. To some extent I do, but it’s quite exciting to have a whole new cast of regulars to become familiar with. Like making new friends.

It’s official – our move west was Worth While. I knew that already, but the PL proved it today by stepping outside at lunch time, sniffing the air and deciding to go kayaking. He was loaded up by ten to one and on the water at Ardmair Bay by ten past. A couple of hours paddling around Rhue and Isle Martin and he’s home again, all glowing and at one with the world.

I was left at home working, of course, but he assures me that he enjoyed it enough for both of us.

He didn’t take the camera but here’s a pic of Isle Martin from a previous visit.

I spent a wonderful day last week with Deborah Benham of Wild at Heart Eco-holidays, who kindly helped me with researching an article on the Bottlenose dolphins of the Moray Firth. I’ll put a reference to the article later, but I want to give a very hearty recommendation here, both to Deborah, who was a relaxed, knowledgeable guide who made the whole day a pleasure; and to Eco-Ventures of Cromarty for the best boat trip I’ve ever been on – and they’re wildlife-friendly too.

Check them out here:

Wild at Heart

Ecoventures

Link to the article in ‘Scottish Memories’ digital archive

I can never decide whether the seals at Findhorn bay are friendly, sinister or just plain nosy. As soon as you put a kayak in the lagoon, one will appear, bobbing up nearby just as you’re getting your spray-deck adjusted. By the time you’ve paddled into the channel that links the lagoon with the Moray Firth, there will be four or five shiny snouts appearing and disappearing all round you, apparently taking it in turns to pop up just behind the kayak with a loud huffing noise. When you whip your head round to see it, all that remains is the ring of water where it’s just dived. You wait, slightly nervous the first few times, for it reappear below you and give your boat a playful wallop, but no … it’s disappeared. For now.

The Findhorn colony has both the big Atlantic grey seals with their long sombre faces, and the smaller, cuter common (harbour) seals. They can all out-stare a dead herring. There’s usually a crowd of a dozen or so hanging out on the sandbanks at low tide, or on the Culbin shore when the water is up. As you get nearer to the group you become aware that there are even more glossy black heads silently accompanying you as you paddle. Every so often one makes a big splash or an extra-loud huff, as if trying to attract your attention, or maybe distract you from the main group.

I reckon they’re acting as bouncers, making sure we don’t get too near the family. They’re big beasties, and amazingly agile in the water. They mean business and I wouldn’t like to annoy them by encroaching too closely. I doubt a novice paddler would perform well against one in a race, and anyway I’ve no wish to disturb them on their home territory. They’ve every right to guard their own.

 But every so often I’m sure I see a gleam in those big dark eyes, just before they duck under and pretend to head for my kayak. They might be seeing us off the premises, but they’re having a laugh while they do it.

Sailors and fishermen may think that God provided the north west coast just for them, with its scattering of tiny islands, shoals of easily-conned mackerel and deep, clear waters. But they’re wrong, of course. This ocean playground of isolated sandy coves, long horizons and close-up wildlife was surely designed just for the kayaker.

No-one else gets so close to the water, whether it’s sparkling blue or khaki-grey; no-one else is quiet enough to get close to the more shy of the birds and mammals that live there, nor slow enough to spot them. Paddling a kayak, you can concentrate on your surroundings; on a calm day you can even go along with your eyes shut for a bit and really tune into the sounds of the sea and how the salty air feels on your skin.

Saturday morning was like that as we eased our way out of Ardmair Bay, just north of Ullapool. It was an easy put-in, even if we hadn’t been staying at the adjacent campsite, with parking for several cars right next to the beach. It only took a few steps over the curiously flat pebbles to reach the water’s edge, where the shoreline is handily steep. We got off to a perfect start, watched from the parking bay by an envious grey-haired motor-biker who’d been unable to resist the view. (more…)