Highland Insider

 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.

The weather suddenly warmed at the weekend and Saturday saw the garden and countryside transformed from its winter stillness into a humming, thrumming , buzzing venue for all the bugs that had been tucked up in the cold to come out and party in the sun.

I saw several peacock butterflies including two that appeared to be mating – one sitting still with its wings closed, the other perched on its tail end, using its wings to balance there. This went on for a good fifteen minutes. Is this usual for butterflies, or was this chap a real Casanova? Or maybe he was just not very efficient… Any insect buffs reading this, do enlighten me!

This other Peacock feeding on the heather flowers looked like it had been in the wars with its raggedy wings.

But the big insect event of the weekend was a swarm of beetles that appeared out of nowhere on Saturday afternoon and filled the air. We had to close all the house windows and clear a few dozen out of the kitchen. They appear to have been Heather Beetles (see pic above), which can do a lot of harm to heather moorland in large numbers: bad news for hungry peacock butterflies, honey bees and young grouse. Thanks to the  good folk at Wild About Britain who helped me identify the bugs.

Sometimes I long for more variety in the woodlands around here. Most of the hillside is covered in regular, over-crowded pine plantations which, in their denser parts, seem almost dead with dry earth, little light and an eerie lack of noise.

It’s improving though. Four years ago the Estate sent the foresters in and great swathes have been cleared, letting in the light and opening up possibilities. They left wood to decay on the ground, providing homes and shelter for insects and burrowers. The ground was badly churned up by the lorries and tractors, but the damage was soon covered with new growth. The bigger cleared patches are already well covered in bracken and ferns, and some even had a miraculous flowering of foxgloves after the foresters left; the seeds must have been dormant in the ground, and the clearings were awash with purple the season after the trees were cut.

In the clearing nearest us, which I can see from the window as I write, the Estate replaced the pines with saplings of oak and cherry, which will eventually form a patch of the sort of woodland I crave. If they keep doing that as new patches are cleared, Nairnshire might eventually have some woods to be proud of again. The remnants of the old native flora cling on even now, round the edges of the plantations where bluebells and dog violets appear in spring. Given the right conditions they could re-establish themselves like the foxgloves.

In the meantime, we’re noticing more birdsong when we walk up to the loch, which is at the end of a track that used to go through a particularly dark, dense area. Five years ago you could pass through it and barely hear a squeak; just the occasional wren in the undergrowth or a chaffinch or great-tit right up in the treetops. We were there the other day and the difference was audible as well as visible. A flock of coal-tits, a pair of bull-finches, general chattering from the treetops. A nice bonus was a wee gathering of crossbills, although they always did favour the pinewoods.

So, hope springs. But it takes a long time to grow.