Tactical errors.

On Friday afternoon I decided to take a walk around the hill, wanting to stretch my legs and work off some of the week's cake intake. The forestry path winds its way through the forestry land, and always has good numbers of siskin, coal tit and mistle thrush, along with green and greater spotted woodpecker, deer and red squirrels. It was a warm climb considering the overcast weather, and I stopped often for water. On my third stop, with the ground levelling off, I heard crossbills in the distance. Hurrying on, I broke into a clearing where I could see roughly 10 birds feeding in the surrounding trees. As I watched, another 5 birds joined them, then another 12 went over, and suddenly they were everywhere. Cursing my lack of camera and bins, I tried to pick out the birds in the pine tops. With the young out of the nest the birds were frantically feeding and moved ahead of me through the trees as I ambled onward, never allowing a decent view. 

I  getting used to the sound of so many crossbills around me, when a dark shaped skitted across to my right. A big dark shape. I couldn't believe it, I had walked right up to a pine marten at three in the afternoon. Unbelievable luck, had I not have slowed down for the crossbills I would have flushed it as I approached. I froze, the animal had gone behind a bush. Its path would bring it out onto the road about 5 meters ahead of me. Grabbing my phone from my pocket in the event of its sudden reappearance, I waited. 

I wasn't waiting long, a minute later it appeared 15 meters up the track. I snapped some classic Nessie-quality shots before it loped off into the treeline. Feeling elated I continued the further hour and 15 minutes around the hill, seeing another three large crossbill groups. 

Classic phone camera bluriness

This morning the weather was overcast, uninspiring; but with a flock of crossbills so big moving around and the chance of anther pine marten encounter, I picked up the camera and headed for the hill. I was very aware of the extra weight in my bag as I climbed the forestry track, but was distracted by green woodpecker and cuckoo. As the trees got denser I slowed, listening for the tell tale chirp of feeding crossbills. I had just gotten to the flattest section of path when I heard the first bird off to my left, then two more. Hesitantly I picked my way along a deer path to a clearing. And there were my birds.

There were around thirty five altogether, moving between the tall conifers and lower, less dense scots pines. I snapped happily away at anything that would come close enough, but a second disaster fell. Battery outage. After my session in the pine marten hide I had neglected to recharge the batteries... Cursing inwardly I watched as the birds continued to feed in the trees, youngsters flying up to harass the adults at the cones. As I gave up and turned for home, the weather added insult to my camera-based injury; the sun finally broke through the clouds, bathing the tree tops in a warm glow.

Sat at home I went through the pictures... no sterling shots, but now all of them were stinkers. At least you can tell what these are!

Kingussie Icky (or "can you really call it a record shot if you can barely tell what it is?")

On Saturday morning the summer had already buggered off somewhere else. I was restless, annoyed and more than a little damp after the drizzle. I spent the day mooching around Pitlochry and napping on the sofa. I glanced at RBA, saw the report of the Kingussie Icterine, and ignored it. The weather was rubbish. Then at four, the other half of the blonde birders messaged me his (sunny) views of the West Mids melodious warbler, then - adding insult to injury - told me he was off for the black eared wheatear the following day. Well, no way was I missing out.

The next morning was bright and clear and I threw my stuff into the car and boosted north on the A9, rolling into Kingussie at about 10:00. There was no one around as I got out of the car, had it flitted overnight? Well, I'd hardly walked three feet when I met a man walking from the far end of the path. Two minutes of brief conversation later and he was pointing be down the road to where he had seen a crowd of birders the previous day - result.

Armed with local knowledge I positioned myself opposite the likely looking stand of trees, and within a minute had the bird singing away in front of me. Ten minutes later I was joined by a couple of local lads and a guy from Lancashire. and we moved location to get the light behind us. The second spot was more distant but the light was now behind us, the bird glowed a pale yellow standing out even without bins. 

After 30 minutes we moved back to the cars to set up scopes, through which you could easily pick out the heavy bill and the pale patch on the wing. I just couldn't get a decent shot of the bird to save my life. After about 2 hours observation I said goodbye to my new friends and headed up the road.

The tree favoured was just far enough from both vantage points to make pictures bloody awkward

Is that a bit of a primary projection? 

From Kingussie I went to Craigellachie Nature Reserve on the outskirts of Aviemore with the aim of getting some wood warbler shots, but while I heard the birds, I didn't manage to connect with one. However, I did get some lovely views (although again, awful pictures) of flycatchers, common sand, tree pipit and goldcrest. I called it a day at only two, heading back along the A9 to enjoy the last of the sun at home, you never know when it will go again...

Brief views of pied fly resulted in one usable record

The pied flies were more and confiding numerous

Unlike the KD Trips, the Craigellachie birds have more typical habitat and I got to see some lovely branch-strutting

Summer arrives at Kindrogan

Well in the last month the buds have finally burst and the sun has very occasionally deigned to show its self from behind the perma-cloud. It feels like the local wildlife is enjoying the shift in the weather too, and I've had loads of really good sightings around the centre. 

In owl news, we've had four fledgling tawnies on site - hissing in the woods near the river. They look pretty far along and are flying easily between the trees at the low ropes course. On the hill the birds are in good voice and I had a flock of 15 crossbills near the shelter spot. Plants-wise, the soft needles of larches are now in their fresh acidic green and the spruces show the bright new growth at the ends of their branches. The purple flowered stems of bugle have sprouted everywhere and the sycamore trees hum with bees. I have also managed to add to my list of ladybirds, spotting a cream spot tucked into a fence post up by the rafting site.

Hoolet 1 of 4

We have had a photography course on site for a fortnight, putting out extra feeders and lurking in hides at all the best locations (yes, I was jealous). Their evening reports had given me the urge to ditch work and go and play all week, so when they left I grabbed myself a beer and my camera and headed straight down for an evening in the pine marten hide. It was busy, over the four hours it was visit regularly buy 6 red squirrels, a greater spotted woodpecker feeding a fledgling, bullfinch, black bird, mistle and song thrush, tits, chaffs, tree creepers and - finally - at about half past nine, one very hungry pine marten. The light had lost its quality, but I rattled off a couple of shots anyway, downed the last of my beer and headed across the lawn to bed. Who knows how long it will be summer for here at Kindrogan, but, while it lasts, I'd better make the most of it.

The pine marten logs attract more than one opportunistic squirrel

Loch Ruthven and Loch Garten

After work on Saturday I planned to pitch my tent around the shores of Loch Tummel and spend an early morning looking for wood warblers. Then I was told that I wasn't needed for the evening session. A quick internet scramble and I had changed my plans, sights set distinctly further north.

Loch Ruthven is a small RSPB reserve south of Inverness. It has a wonderful breeding population of slavionian grebes and is frequented by divers, and I hoped to see the grebes in their finery and hopefully get pictures of a black throated diver or two. 

After two hours in the car I pulled into the tiny carpark and unpacked the scope. The valley was steep sided and the loch banded by deciduous wood. A quick scan across the water and I picked up my first bird, a male; in silhouette, his large comb obvious even when backlit. In total I saw 3 pairs of slavonian grebes, 2 little grebes, but sadly no divers. Reed buntings and willow warblers flitted between the branches beside the hide, and the calls of curlew, black headed gull and cuckoos cut through the warm afternoon air.

Slav Pair

I pitched my tent outside the reserve in a nearby field and settled into my sleeping bag with an Innis and Gun and chapter two of Birds in a Cage. The cuckoos called consistently from all angles and through the open tent flap I watched a short eared owl quarter the low heath, occasionally stopping to scan the grass beside to carpark. It's foraging distracted me until the light fell.

Good view

Better view

The next day I had the tent down by 7:30 and was scanning the loch soon after. In addition to the little and slavonian grebes, a male red-breasted merganser sat on the wind ruffled surface. I stared long enough through my scope that I barely noticed when a common sand walked over my backpack, and - despite peering as far as I could along the loch - there was no sign of a diver. I decided to packed scope into the car and start south.  

I had decided to stop in at Loch Garten on the way home (it was more or less on the way), and found myself standing at the gates at 9:50, waiting for the reserve to re-open. Well, I was in luck, for into the mob of coal tits at the feeders flew a wonderful crestie. Most of the shots were rushed and masked by branches and other birds, but for two seconds it alighted on the gate post, allowing two semi-clear shots before vanishing back into the foliage.

Crestie at the Gate

At the visitor centre I set up my scope before dashing to the shop to collect some flapjack for breakfast. The ospreys were visible for a while, before disappearing off to fish. So I spent my time watching the redstarts and siskins until the hide got too full and I headed to Cairngorm to grab a cup of tea and something to eat before starting for home. 

Female Redstart

Patch Updates - Kindrogan and Millport

With a bank holiday morning to kill on Cumbrae, I take a slow wander along the coast. Over the past few months the warblers have returned and hear the calls of sedge warbler, chiffchaff and white throat as I walk. Behind the house a cuckoo is calling, the first I have heard on island in two years. In the bay, eider, red breasted merganser, and black guillemot bob on the gentle swell. Black headed gulls bathe in the shallows, smart in their summer plumage.

Passing through the town there are goldfinches and linnets on the wires and sandwich terns dip into the shallow waters between the seawall and the islands. Exiting the far side of the town I can see shags drying on the eilans, a second cuckoo is calling in the woods on the hillside, and as I enter the fields the cautious mobbing by lapwings begins. One is particularly persistant, following me along the path and past the sewage works as I make my way down to the shingle shore. Here it is replaced by nervous oystercatchers. ringed plover dart from beneath my feet and I can see the heads of greylags observing me from the tall grass. Hungry now I turn back toward the town, heading for the deli, and stroll back to the house with my well-deserved coffee; as I arrive home, I see a female blackcap dive into the undergrowth behind the house and hope for fledgling warblers soon.

At Kindrogan the buds have finally burst and the trees are full of foraging birds. As I started up the hill this morning there was very fresh pine marten scat on the trail, placed high on a rock that obviously marks the edge of two territories. Breaking through into the first felled area I can here at least four tree pipits and pretty soon can make them out, singing as they arch there way between the trees. A song thrush scolds angrily as it lifts from the ground, heading uphill, a cuckoo is calling, but today I do not see him, only the willow warblers moving through the newly opened birch buds. 

The yaffle of green woodpecker cuts down from the hillside and in the stands of pine I can see the siskins moving, wishing I had time to dawdle I move along the forestry track that leads back down to the road. To my left a greater spotter woodpecker flits through to land on a low tree stump and a mistle thrush regards me from the top of a spruce.

Ptarmigeddon - Blonde Birders Return to the Highlands

Tom and I have been mixing up our usual Hopeless in the Highlands tour...

We started the weekend with the Glen Shee/Clunie tour including a morning trekking up Glas Maol for our ptarmigan targets. On the way to the ski centre car park we picked up both back and red grouse, and the climb provided wheatear, meadow pipit, red deer and mountain hare; but, after four hours walking in the blazing sun, we were forced to concede defeat at our first ptarm site.

The low traffic before 7 meant that the deer were still at the roadside

Luckily we didn't have to walk far in Glen Clunie. Within 20 mins of the car we'd picked up grey and pied wagtails, more mipits and wheatear, a dipper, peregrine, curlew, and one very approachable feeding ring ouzel.

The wheatear in Glen Clunie look stunning in the sun

Ring Ouzel were found feeding in the valley bottom

Thoroughly toasted by the sun now, we decided to pick up our stuff and head up to Loch Garten. After checking in at The Boat we headed straight to the reserve for a wander beside the loch, adding tree creeper, goldcrest, willow warbler, chiff chaff, and golden eye to the days list. Exhausted now, we decided to call it a day and slunk back to our rooms with the sun still up.

One of the very visible creepers at LG

The next day saw us freezing our behinds off in the caper-hide by 5.30... But alas no lek. The ospreys had produced their first egg the day before, and EJ was looking uncomfortable on the nest while Odin still brought in the occasional bit of nest material. At 8 we fled back to the hotel for breakfast, lots of breakfast. Over the remnants of our fry ups we checked the reports from yesterday, in particular the king eider that had been spotted on the Ythan, a potential lifer for the pair of us. Throwing out the idea of crested tits, we decided to spend a while on the coast.

Two hours later we were pulling up in the dunes behind Newburgh Golf Club. We met another birder in the car park; he'd been there at six that morning, but with no luck, and was hoping for better chances on the incoming tide. We teamed up and headed for the mouth of the estuary, where most of the eider were out on the bank, heads tucked away. Together started picking our way through the dozing birds, but the bird wasn't there. Weighing the options, we decided to split up again, Tom and I would check further seaward, our new friend would move upriver - we would wave if we saw anything.

After 15 minutes of no eider in the estuary mouth we decided to head back upstream. Another three birders had emerged from the car park. As we passed the first we told them about the absence of bird downstream and scoped our friend upstream - who was waving. Shouldering the scope, we headed off up the beach, taking the new bloke with us.

We set an impressive pace for two unfit twenty-some-things weighed down with optics, and we were soon stood on a bend in the river, following a rapidly disappearing bird as the tide took it upstream to where a knot of cars sat beside a bridge. Hopefully, we hopped back into the cars and went in search of the second car park.

Pulling up we bundled out of our respective cars and took position on the bridge. I got the scope out and there it was, sat on the bank, preening. I moved over for Tom to see, and it promptly put its head under its wing and went to sleep. Luckily we didn't have to wait long. the tide pushed the birds off and they proceeded to swim and display within 50 meters of the bank for a good few hours for eight very chuffed looking twitchers. 

The bird was surprisingly confiding, often drifting to within meters of the few assembled birders

It certainly knew we were around, and was interested in the noise of camera shutters

After a victory doughnut, Tom and I hopped back in the car and headed back for a few hours in Anagach forest, with no joy and even less navigation. Baked by the sun and suffering from two early mornings, we gave up quickly and went in search of food and our beds. 

Monday morning started with another unsuccessful (and very mist) caper-watch, so I talked Tom into one last punt for ptarmigan at Cairngorm car park. As we arrived the cloud was very low on the hill - obscuring the top of the railway, but I set up the scope and hoped. One pass over the scree, two, three, and the, there it was; the most distant, almost fully moulted into summer plumage, bird you could ever wish to vaguely see. I moved out to let Tom used the scope and he ticked his second lifer of the weekend. Job done. Despite missing crossbill, crested tit and caper, we'd racked up 79 species (plus a scraggy hooded/carrion hybrid) over the weekend, time to go. 

I'm safely at home with a brew now, but Tom has another couple of hundred miles to drive and a chance of two common cranes - another lifer for him - en route, maybe we can make 80 species by bed time.

Countdown to Ptarmigeddon!

This morning I've been doing some site scoping ready for Tom (the other, maler half of the blonde birders) to arrive for another weekend of rocketing round the highlands. Having been to a few sites that scream ring ouzel over the past few weeks, I headed to the most promising this morning after hearing a spate of ouzel reports from around the UK. It was a good idea.

The weather was perfect and everything was in full song. Grey and pied wags, around 30 wheatear, meadow pipits everywhere, then - suddenly - the sounds of a blackbird gone wrong. I'd been squinting at the more promising southern slope, but the noise was behind me. 

It took a few minutes to locate the bird, it was very far off, then it took off in alarm, flying a little way down the valley to hurl itself at another male. Below this second rock sat the drabber female, who was joined in a race around the rock, before all three scudded off down the valley. I emptied my camera from my bag and used it to lay out flat and await the birds return.

I wasn't waiting for long, with the female and one of the males soon returning to the scree. The birds were distant, but at one point (after an hour of sitting very still) all three flew low over my head, then back again. After another 20 minutes the male started displaying to the female, dipping his head and cocking his tail. Not wanting to be any source of disturbance, I slunk away down the hill and back to Kindrogan (hoping they'll be in the same spot this weekend).