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.

Some days you can sit for hours waiting for some wild furry or feathery thing to grace you with a glimpse of its rear end disappearing over the hill, but now and again they all seem to come out and show off. Maybe just for a minute – a quick ‘Yoohoo, now you see me’ moment – but always welcome for the unexpectedness of the pleasure.

Yesterday I drove a good way across our neighbouring county of Moray, and along the backroads between Forres and Elgin I saw  a whole parade of wild critters just from the car. Here they are in order of performance.

First, early in the morning, was something I thought it was a cat until it bounced across the road with a characteristic Mexican wave motion. Too big and dark for a stoat, I’m pretty sure it was a pine marten. They’re more often seen at night but they will be busy feeding kits just now.

Next up was a brown hare sitting on the edge of some woodland, which watched me pass by with big, calm eyes. Further along was a roe deer in an exquisitely classic pose, standing in a sunny meadow looking back at me over its shoulder. There was another hare sprinting across the same meadow, and all day I dodged the usual dozy pheasants making mad dashes onto the road.

Of course, I didn’t have the camera with me; you never do on these occasions. I’ll remember each little snapshot for a while, especially the deer, then the picture will fade. But that just makes the moment more precious.

Pied wagtail chicks in their nest on the shelf

I write a weekly nature column in the local paper and over the past three summers this has always featured the pied wagtails that have taken to nesting on a shelf in the old stone shed. They always get in there early, make a flattish nest (full of Nosy Norris’s hairs this year, of course), and are usually sitting on eggs by the time the swallows arrive. This has been bad news for the swallows, who still come looking for their old site just outside the shed and are chased off by the wagtails.

Good news for us though; we love having them there. This year, they moved to a shelf in a different corner of the shed and the PL was able to get a photo without disturbing them (this one’s zoomed in). That was last week, and today all four have fledged and are dashing around the shed and the covered walkway that joins it to the house, already wagging away whenever they stop for a rest. The PL had to rescue one that had stopped for a rest in a bucket of rainwater, but its ducking didn’t deter it one bit. That’s wagtails for you, they’re all wee daredevils, wandering about on roads and nosying into things. We once watched a pair attacking a bat that had come out of the roof during the day. They might look comical with their funny bobbing tails, but they’re not to be messed with.

We’ll keep an eye on the nest, as the parents have always got another brood off pretty quickly. All being well, we’ll have wagtails everywhere again in August.

I blame Chris Packham.

The Pack Leader has always been an interesting companion on country walks; he has the gift of noticing things that most people miss. So, over the years I’ve seen countless birds, tracks, squashed down bits of undergrowth where wild things have recently lurked… all things I would have missed on my own. I’ve also had the chance to examine close up an empty adder skin, the carcass of a hare hanging inexplicably from a tree branch, fossils on beaches and prehistoric bones in a cave. The PL always liked to get down and dirty – within limits – and this has been fine with me for years. His own favourite find was always an owl pellet to dissect. What a treat.

But now this is no longer enough. Over the past couple of years he has started to poke about, not only in pellets but in poo. Pass a bit of black pine marten poo on the path and he’s off finding a stick to prod it apart. No pile of otter spraint is passed without being sniffed and the cat-like offering by the forestry track (is it a wildcat?) is pondered over each time it appears. As I say, I blame that arch poo-prodder Chris Packham. It’s only since he joined Springwatch that this has started to be a habit.

Yesterday it was a rounded blob of black, grey and white on the forest floor. It looked very like the bigger of the parcels our old cockerel used to leave around the hen run. But bigger. ‘Definitely a big fowl,’ I diagnosed. ‘Big enough for a penalty,’ agreed the PL. He, of course, found a stick and had a good nosy at it but there was nothing obvious in the contents. We’re hoping it might have been left by a capercaillie. Neighbours tell us they have seen one in these woods, scoffing the bilberries, but so far we’ve never had the privelige. I saw one in Perthshire when I was a wee girl (it looked as big as a pony from my three foot tall vantage point) and I’d love to see another. But somehow I get the feeling that the PL would be just as happy with another bit of poo.

 The PL and I spent a ridiculous amount of time yesterday hanging over the wall that runs along one end of the loch. We were watching tadpoles flitting across a rock that lay in a patch of sunlight; every so often a taddy would wriggle out of the marsh marigold stems, casting its tiny shadow on the rock. It was completely mesmerising and an excellent way to waste a bit of time on a sunny morning.

Once they’ve got their legs, I hope the tadpoles learn a lesson from the gory display left by their parents on the forestry track that runs nearby. We passed ten flat, spreadeagled frogs, blackened with age, all within about a hundred yards. Now, it’s no secret that frogs get run over on roads, but this road must see a vehicle about as often as there are bue moons, so it’s a mystery how ten of the things managed to get so unlucky in such a small space. Better luck to the next generation.

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

The long winter brought an unexpected dilemma for us. All through the weeks of snow we dutifully kept the garden feeders topped up with peanuts, fat balls, even home-made ones when we were snowed in and couldn’t get down the hill for supplies. We watched with great satisfaction as the population of small birds flocked to keep themselves well-fed and watered. The feeders were so well used they looked like living feathery sculpures.

That was when the sparrowhawk moved in. It got its first blackbird in early February, followed by a coal-tit from the beech tree. Not long after that one of the resident buzzards landed in the garden, scattering the chaffies that were hoovering up under the hanging feeder. She didn’t get anything on that occasion, but the sparrowhawk took up a regular watch. One day near the end of the snows, we thought a blizzard was starting again, but when we rushed to the window we found the flurry of white was not snow but tiny feathers…

So, to feed or not to feed, that was the question. But there was no choice, really. The garden birds needed their food and the raptors needed theirs. We carried on stocking the bird table and feeders, keeping the hanging ones tucked away in a thorny rambling rose,  and let Mother Nature take the blame and the credit for the rest.

I watched a huge gang of geese flying over the fields around Castle Stuart near Ardersier this morning. They seemed confused, going off in one direction for a bit then changing and switching back again. They were still mooching around like this by the time I’d gone into Inverness Airport, drunk a coffee, drove through Adersier and back onto the road.

Further on was a field full of another three to four hundred grazing pink-foots, and there’s been a cluster of Whooper swans hanging around on the sunny side of a nearby farm for the past month. We reckon it’s so cold they don’t know whether they’re coming or going. It snowed today and there’s a north wind that would take the face off you, as my mum would say.

I was thinking the Whoopers were getting ready to head up to Iceland but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve arrived from further south and think they’re already there.