Sunday, 9 June 2019

Two bays, twa burns, twilight

A pleasantly sunny day, sandwiched between cold and cloudy ones, provided a bit of hope for an odonatological outing. Eagle-eyed M was recce-ing another walk and invited me along as rent-a-crowd. The route was from Inganess Bay, westwards along Wideford Burn, then over into Scapa Bay and along the Crantit Burn. What I hadn't appreciated was that we would be beginning and ending the walk in the centre of Kirkwall, which added a few miles to the distance and we actually clocked up nearly 20000 steps!

A hoverfly. Discussions continue as to its identity, but likely either the Genus Parasyrphus or Syrphus

Large Red and Blue-tailed Damselflies sharing a Dock leaf. Well, I say 'sharing', the LRD is less happy about the arrangement, hence the wing flaring! Oh, and the BTD was the first sighting this year.

Close-up of Large Red

Scapa Bay

A rust fungus on Meadowsweet

Ditto
In the evening, Our Lass and I went out with L and C to the Eviedale Bistro, for pizzas baked with homemade sourdough. We had a table near the clay oven so were toasty warm! After the meal, we had a post-prandial wander around the Broch of Gurness in Evie, before venturing over to the Ring of Brodgar after sunset.



These photos were taken at about 11.45pm, with the only sounds to be heard the calling of wading birds from the shores of Stenness and Harray Lochs and the surrounding wet pasture. As we pootled back to the car, a Common Sandpiper called close by and then the sound of a drumming Snipe filled the sky above our heads. It was all a bit ethereal and other-worldly, but I'm sure that the Neolithic folk who inhabited these shores five thousand years ago would have been as equally at ease with the natural world and the ever-changing light as we are.

Saturday, 8 June 2019

Hoy highlights

Here's a fairly eclectic collection of images from a recent trip to Hoy:

Garden Tiger moth caterpillar on a pine shoot

Birds'-foot Trefoil, Butterwort, Lousewort and Milkwort by the roadside

White-tailed Eagle nest...

as seen from the Dwarfie Stane

Female Stonechat

Male Stonechat

Wind-blown Ivy on a shed roof?!
There was a brief sighting of a damselfly, but it disappeared before I could identify it, which is a poor show, I know. Fortunately, the cafe near the pier was open and a particularly fine Date Slice retrieved the situation.

Sunday, 2 June 2019

Plan B

... other insects are available.

To celebrate Our Lass's recent birthday, I had planned a romantic weekend away. Peaceful surroundings, good food, azure seas, much wildlife, lots of walking and white sand beaches. Mind you, if asked, Our Lass would be equally enthusiastic about the sticky toffee pudding option on offer for the evening meal. Well, all that fresh air and exercise works up an appetite.

OK, I'd booked a room at the bird observatory on North Ronaldsay.

Friday arrived, as did much rain and low cloud. When we booked in at the inter-island desk of Kirkwall Airport, I couldn't help but notice that the previous island flight, to Papa Westray, had been cancelled. Signs weren't great. Whilst instrument landings are possible at Kirkwall, the same isn't true for the small island airfields, where visual flight rules apply. Believe me, descending blind through cloud in a little eight-seater plane is not for this faint-hearted passenger.

As departure time came and went, we began to tentatively discuss alternative plans, just in case. We surmised that seats on the following morning's flight to North Ronaldsay would be quickly filled, and we could see that the other 6 passengers on our flight were all residents of the island (I'm not saying that everybody up here knows everybody else, but...). This meant that when the bad news eventually came, we were ahead of the curve. Five seats were already booked for Saturday so, rather than prevent anyone returning home for the weekend, we removed ourselves from the 'eight into three doesn't go' equation and cancelled our planned trip. As I collected our rucksacks and arranged a refund on flights, Our Lass booked an evening meal at a local hotel, where we could discuss options for her birthday festivities at our leisure and ease.

Over a pleasant meal, we hatched a plan to visit the RSPB Trumland reserve on the island of Rousay. We could park the car at the Tingwall pier in West Mainland, hop on the ferry as foot passengers (no need to book) and walk our chosen route from the pier on Rousay. One small fly in the ointment was that we didn't have much choice for picnic ingredients, as I'd planned on not being at home all weekend. To solve this, we decided to catch the mid-morning boat, rather than the stupid o'clock one (it's someone's birthday, remember!) and so had time to nip into Kirkwall to visit a supermarket for provender.

As a slight aside here, for the last week there has been much cetacean activity around Orkney waters. Several small pods of Orca have been seen in Scapa Flow and around the coastline, a dead Sperm Whale washed up on North Ronaldsay (I know!), another dead whale, a Humpback, washed up in Caithness, across the Pentland Firth, and two pods of Pilot Whales have been close inshore around Stronsay and Sanday. The Stronsay pod caused some concern, as one of the whales looked to be either sick or injured, with the rest of the animals in close attendance, prompting fears that the whole pod might strand on a beach. After a few days, volunteers from the BDMLR (British Divers Marine Life Rescue) organised a small flotilla of kayaks and local boats to move the whales out into open waters. Everyone involved, and those following on various news feeds, were delighted with the result, until the pod then turned up in Kirkwall harbour.

So... with about five minutes to spare before we needed to be heading to Tingwall to catch our ferry, we drove along the harbour front, just in case there was a possibility of a sighting.



Later in the day, we learnt that the pod had again been moved on. Pilot Whales do not feed in shallow waters, and as the sick individual had disappeared (presumed dead), the BDMLR team took the decision to shepherd the whales into deeper, safer water.

The forecast for the day wasn't overly great, we anticipated some wet stuff by early afternoon, so once the ferry reached Rousay, we didn't waste any time before setting off on our walk (I should explain that there's a tearoom at the pier, but not to imply that cake is time wasted, obvs). With cloud overhead and a stiff breeze, we were pleasantly surprised to find plenty of insects in the roadside verges.

Green-veined White butterfly and friend

A hoverfly, Leucozona lucorum
As we reached the RSPB sign which marks the beginning of the path through the reserve, we heard some tantalisingly familiar birdsong. It was a warbler, I remembered that much, but couldn't be sure whether it was a Whitethroat or not. Views were very distant and brief, as the bird performed song flights over a widespread thicket of Gorse, but recourse to the RSPB website confirmed it to be indeed a Whitethroat.

Climbing steadily through the gorse, the path underfoot was awash with water flowing from the hills. The previous day's rain had rewetted the ground and then some. Our route was a loop across the hilltops of Knitchen Hill (227m) and Blotchnie Fiold (250m) and back, giving a wide berth to the Loch of Knitchen, which is a breeding site for a Schedule 1 species, the Red-throated Diver.

Climbing up to Knitchen Hill, we passed several inland cliffs which, slightly bizarrely, have nesting Fulmars. It was just plain weird to see a bird so associated with sea cliffs and wild oceans, so far from the coast.

Atop the hill was a trig point, one of sixty such pillars in Orkney. I'm not a fully paid up member of the trig bagging community, but perhaps predictably, I do love a good trig.

 
But I'm guessing you'd figured that out by now!

We now set about crossing the saddle between the two hills, so a little respite from climbing. The flatter ground had many pools, most of which were probably a result of the recent deluge. However, one or two looked like they may be permanent features, so I tried to commit their locations to memory for future odonatological research.

Our Lass spotted a few orchids, only a few inches high, just beginning to bloom. As we looked closer, there were also several tiny mushrooms visible.




One of the more promising pools showed signs of insect life, with several Pond Skaters jostling to prey upon an unfortunate fly.


After our picnic lunch, eaten in the shelter of a peat bank, we pushed on to the summit of Blotchnie Fiold. Here a view opened up westwards, across Muckle (Big) Water and Peerie (Little) Water, and to the island of Eynhallow, then Costa Head on West Mainland.


Initially retracing our steps to the saddle, we then headed off downhill around the southern side of the Loch of Knitchen, following the marked footpath which still had high hopes of becoming a burn. The sun had finally broken through the cloud, and in small pockets of shelter, insects were rousing themselves to be about their business.

A tiny caterpillar hangs on to a Tormentil flower after chasing off a fly

A bonny wee moth, which I've been advised is Phiaris schulziana
Everywhere was Sphagnum moss, which had soaked up all that rain, and if gravity denied it the chance to hang on to the moisture, then it sure as Hell wasn't going to let it go quickly. A natural flood defence.


Just below the RSPB reserve is Trumland House. The property isn't open to the public yet, as it requires much more work, but the accompanying gardens can be wandered around.

Rhododendrons, eh? The environment pays a price for this beauty.

One upside of the recent rain was this waterfall.

The only dragon I saw all day.

This is what it feels like to be a bumblebee with a sugar rush.
A mental note was made to return to Trumland during the Summer, with reasonable hopes of dragons and damsels on the wing. Then we hightailed it to the tearoom to squeeze in a pot of tea for two and some cake. But you knew that too, huh?

Positive empression


The day after the cathedral tour, I was helping out Eagle-eyed M with a recce of a walking route for her new venture as a wildlife guide. Above, is a scenic shot of Mull Head in Deerness, taken from the promontory of the Brough of Deerness. OK, if you've been paying attention, you may be able to see that Mull Head is composed of red sandstone, whilst the cliffs a little further south are yellow sandstone. I had not previously noticed the two strata located together anywhere in Orkney, but what with the cathedral fresh in my mind and the lovely light of a Spring morning, this view just jumped out at me.

I think this is a Moss Carder Bee feeding on a Dog Violet

The collapsed sea cave known as The Gloup

A Green-veined White butterfly feeding on Thrift flowers

A carpet of clifftop Spring Squill, with another view of Mull Head in the background

A recently-emerged female Emperor moth
Having sorted out my camera gremlins, I was rather chuffed with my first sighting of a stationary adult moth of this species, rather than the ones which hammer past at Mach 3 (presumably male) en route to a date.

Saturday, 1 June 2019

Ex cathedra

Well, I am typing this post whilst sat in the office...

Recently, friends and ourselves booked to go on the high level tour of St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall. Long-suffering and persistently observant readers will recall that I went on this tour many moons ago, but this would be a first for Our Lass.

I won't bore you with all the photos I took this time, not just because they are the same as the ones I took last time, but also due to the fact that I have a new compact camera and neither of my computers are happy opening up the file type which I ingeniously selected on the new device. I am such a muppet.

Mind you, I did have the presence of mind luck to take a few shots with my phone...

These two items fit together to make a Bishop's chair or cathedra, hence the place where the bishop sits is a cathedral.

Photo taken from above the transept, looking west.

Panorama south to north, from Scapa Flow to Kirkwall Bay.
On the far left of the above panorama can be seen Highland Park Distillery, half left is the new Balfour Hospital, centre are Town Hall (nearest) with Orkney Library behind it and the Pickaquoy Centre across the Peedie Sea, then on the right, in the distance, can be seen a cruise ship at Hatston Pier.

The cathedral is built of a mixture of yellow and red sandstone, and I will politely request that you hold that thought.

Friday, 31 May 2019

No internet, too much RAM?

A week and a half ago, I was just leaving Tense Towers to have my van sign-written, when a call came through from a customer who was having trouble with his internet service. Being in a remote location, the customer's home and a self-catering cottage are served by satellite broadband, and both properties were sans internet. The customer enquired as to whether the satellite was ok, to which I could only reply that if it wasn't, then my phone would be red hot, which it was not. As the van was going to be off the road for most of the day, I could only offer to attend as soon as I could later that afternoon.

Whilst waiting, I busied myself with a some shopping tasks in town, had a brief meet-up with Sian from Life on a Small Island (over a pot of tea), and then busied myself with office work through the screen of my mobile phone. I contacted the service provider, who looked at the stats and reckoned that everything had been working normally, until both systems suddenly went off line late on the previous evening. The inference was that there had been a power outage.

I was fairly certain that, if that had been the case, the customer would've mentioned it during our phone call, so lack of electricity was removed as a suspect.

I mulled and mused, pondered and postulated, but all I could think of were two very unlikely scenarios:

1. Dish 1, the older of the two installations, had become detached from its mounting and bludgeoned into Dish 2, rendering them both unserviceable;

2. A windblown sheet of wet silage wrap had become entangled around both dishes, blocking the signal.

But for either of these scenarios to be remotely feasible, there would need to have been much more meteorology experienced on the night in question. So what the heck could be causing two separate properties, with dishes co-located side by side, to have the same fault at the same time?


As you can see, the dishes are mounted low down and sheltered by a wall, to give them some respite from the westerlies which come roaring in off the unforgiving Atlantic Ocean.

By late afternoon, when I finally managed to visit the site, the customer had figured out the cause, just leaving me the simple task of dish re-alignment. The previous day, eight male sheep had escaped from a nearby field, chomped their way through several gardens' worth of Daffodils and blundered by the broadband dishes. What the actual flock?!


How was that not on my list of possibilities?

Sunday, 19 May 2019

Everlasting reprise

Our Lass was keen to catch up with some wildlife highlights from the week, so on a very different morning weatherwise, we headed to Kirkwall and then Yesnaby.

The Woodchat Shrike was still in the same place in some bushes on an industrial estate, still hoovering up invertebrates from the neighbouring paddock.

Over on the west coast, it was a very different day from my previous visit. The sunshine and a brisk easterly wind having been replaced with thick grey cloud, no breeze to speak of and a slight drizzle. Undeterred, we set of south along the clifftop path.



Almost a sea stack!


Mountain Everlasting

Heath (?) Milkwort

Mountain Everlasting

"Stop p*ssing about taking photos of primroses!"

Discarded or predated eggshell from a Great Black-backed Gull, or perhaps a Razorbill

Yesnaby Castle