Seeds of change

It has been a lousy day, weather-wise, with constant rain hammering on our windows, driven hard by a westerly gale. Fresh air and exercise were sorely needed, but not in these conditions. We will wait for tomorrow, when it should be drier, though the wind is set to remain strong.

As the afternoon wore on, Our Lass and I exhibited the early signs of cabin fever, but there was one bright note to accompany the monotonous drumming of rain upon glass.

Shortly after 5pm, I noticed a movement out in the garden (though 'garden' is too grand a term for it as, with this latest deluge, it has returned to mud and puddles). Whilst it was difficult to focus my binoculars on the action, due to the rivers of water cascading down the windows, I initially thought that a small group of Linnets were sheltering in the lee of the dry stone wall. Grabbing my camera and moving to a different viewpoint, I revised that identification to Twite*, four of them, thoroughly bedraggled but obviously glad of the respite afforded by our wall. It looked as though they were finding seeds, probably from the host of dockans that had colonised this plot of land, before the builder had placed a veneer of topsoil over them.

At least one of the flock was sporting an ID ring on its left leg, but it was impossible to read the number on it.

When planning what to do with this area of the garden, I think we will remember these plucky visitors and plant or landscape accordingly.

* Post blog edit... later that same day... After posting a few of these pics on Orkney Wildlife's Facebook site, Martin Gray pointed out that this small flock are in fact Linnets (so much for going with my instincts!). Martin's comments were "They're not an easy pair to separate and even the 4 birds pic shows different degrees of streakiness. The single bird image above has a rosy breast, grey head and dark grey bill; twite would have a yellowish bill, no colour on the breast at this time of year and lack that grey 'hood'. There's also a bit too much white in the wing of all for Twite. Both species have done well in Orkney in recent years, especially with sacrificial bird crops becoming more popular."
Apologies to one and all.

Surely not?

Earlier this week, I had the brief opportunity to visit Caithness in Scotland, for my first trip 'off island' since arriving on Orkney in December. The weather was absolutely peachy, barely a breath of wind and glorious day-long sunshine. As I drove to the ferry, the North Sea and Scapa Flow, on either side of the Churchill Barriers, were flat calm. The low morning sun produced some wonderful lighting on the reed beds at Loch of Graemeshall, but I didn't not have time to tarry and admire the view or look through the flocks of birds assembled on the water. The 60 minute ferry crossing was as smooth as anticipated, so I was able to risk a bacon sarnie, without any fear of consequences.

Once back on the Scottish mainland, the journey to Dunbeath took about an hour. During the drive, I was surprised at how less green the landscape looked compared to the Orcadian fields around our home, just a scant few miles away across the Pentland Firth.

On arrival in Dunbeath, I was startled by a somehow strange, yet oddly familiar, sight... a thronging bird table and feeders. The air was filled with birdsong and the sounds of squabbling over a precious resource. Colourful avian characters jostled one another for nuts and seeds in a continual feeding frenzy of wings and beaks. It occurred to me that I had made a trip from one county to another, a journey of several hours, at no small expense, and was now clocking up new species for the year at an alarming rate. This sounded awfully like the definition of a twitch, that much-maligned and idiosyncratic behaviour beloved of way-too-serious birders. Bloomin' heck, Tense, get a grip of yourself!

So what were these rare and precious creatures that were exercising my eyes and ears?

Er... Blue Tit... Great Tit... Coal Tit... Goldfinch... Dunnock... and Song Thrush. Impressive, huh?

I hadn't seen any of that lot since leaving England three months ago!

A Tale of Two Cities

A good choice of post title? Almost worth writing a book? Ahem, back to reality...

After 3 months of living in Orkney, steeped in its many layers of history, it is probably time to reflect upon the subtle differences between where we used to live and where we currently reside.

Milton Keynes (1990-2013)

Milton Keynes has always called itself a city, though it doesn't have a cathedral, so in the strict, traditional definition of a city, it's a town. However, the original designation, in 1967, used the word 'city' and MK's inhabitants have mostly always seen it as such. Bizarrely, however, there have been several bids to formalise the city status through applications to the reigning monarch, all unsuccessful. It's now a county, apparently.

Kirkwall (2013-present)

Technically, we do not live in Kirkwall, but in the parish of Holm (pronounced 'Ham'). However for the purposes of this blogpost, I will use Kirkwall, as it is the largest settlement in Orkney. It isn't a city either, despite having the wonderful St Magnus Cathedral at its centre. No, Kirkwall is a Royal Burgh.

So, neither town is a city, yet its signage would have you believe otherwise.

Pedantry aside (and it is very difficult to put pedantry aside, believe me), both are fantastic places to live, but in very different ways. MK is not yet 50 years old, whilst Kirkwall has almost a millennium to its name. There are probably more trees in any one Milton Keynes housing estate than in the whole of Orkney. Both have living, breathing farm animals grazing within a stone's throw of the city centre, though MK probably clinches it by several yards (this slightly makes up for the concrete cows... just). Many of the grid roads that allow residents to traverse from one side of Milton Keynes to the other, in fairly short order, are dual carriageways. I haven't found a dual carriageway on Orkney, yet. Kirkwall's centre is full of independent shops, with only the occasion national chain in evidence. 'the centre:mk' (sic) is full of national chains, with barely a mention for local or independent retail outlets. Horses for courses, I guess (though neither has a race course).

If you're wondering why I haven't included a photo from Milton Keynes in this blogpost, it's because I have. That first picture isn't taken from inside a Neolithic burial chamber on Orkney. It's taken from inside the cafe at the Waitrose supermarket in MK. Tea and cake, anyone?

Life's a beach

This morning, we paid a visit to the sand dunes and coast adjacent to Churchill Barrier 4. It had been a few weeks since we were last there, but even in that short space of time the beach had seen some changes.

During this trip, the tide was further out than on previous visits. But there was something else different, which took me a while to figure out. A great deal of sand had been pushed higher up the beach and dumped in uneven mounds above the normal strand line. A most peculiar effect.

The weather forecast was predicting a dry day, a rare commodity at the moment, but this is Orkney, where changeability comes as standard. So, although we set off from the car park in glorious sunshine, it didn't last.

A flock of Starlings were feeding on the masses of seaweed strewn upon the northern end of the beach. At first glance, it wasn't easy to see them, they were surprising well camouflaged amongst the tumbles and tangles of brown stems and fronds. However, seaweed doesn't normally keep up a constant burbling chatter, so the birds were quickly located. As other beach-goers passed by, the Starlings would rise as one, the flock would disperse to some convenient overhead wires, before returning once more when the perceived danger had gone.

As we walked along the tide line, a few Pied Wagtails were also spied amongst the sea-driven detritus and, across in the dunes, a small group of Snow Buntings hopped through the grass, searching for food. In the surf, Long-tailed Ducks bobbed and dived, seemingly unconcerned at our presence.

A few drops of rain heralded the disappearance of the sun and we hurriedly covered our binoculars.

Within minutes, we were engulfed by a shower and sought some respite from the stiff breeze under the low cliffs at the southern end of the beach. As the rain became heavier, we deployed our hoods and almost missed a Sparrowhawk wheeling over our heads, interrupted in its imperious and deathly glide along the cliff edge.

With the rain, the rocks and shells on the beach took on much more vibrant colours and patterns, so we pottered about looking at these for a while until the shower moved on. Our reward for the soaking was a rainbow, arching from Burray Village, over the Ayre of Cara and out into the bay. 

After the deluge, the rain clouds moved off eastwards, out into the North Sea, revealing the blue skies and warming rays of the promised dry day.

Returning to the car, we passed another small flock of birds in the dunes, Ringed Plovers. In the suddenly bright light, their bills and legs were the most vivid yellow, as if they had been dipped in the yolk of the greatest organic, free range egg of all time.

Upon which culinary note, we decided it was lunchtime and headed for the pub, feeling a little less like fair-weather naturalists.

Renaissance

One evening last week, my mobile phone chirped with an incoming text.

'Northern Lights now!' the message read, and as we had not yet experienced this phenomenon, we rushed outside.

Due north of our home, just over the hill, is Kirkwall Airport and then the town of Kirkwall itself. These are probably our only real sources of light pollution, but Northern Lights tend to be in the north, I guess.

As our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we were aware of a pale, slowly changing cloudscape close to the horizon. Hey, those aren't clouds. And they're very faintly green.

The aurora!

But as we watched, the colour intensified and then morphed into red as well.

Wow!

I now rushed back indoors. My camera was not set up for this kind of photography, a shocking lack of respect for the 7 Ps. Shame on me.

Swapping lenses, dialling in a set of best guess parameters and mantling a tripod all at the same time, I stumbled back outside into the dark and experimented with a few shots.

Perhaps focussing would be a good idea?

That's a bit better

 But as the evening progressed, things were to become a bit more lively.

Not sure what was causing the ripple effect in the centre, but it was apparent on many of my shots

Northern Lights and the Light Of My Life

This particular auroral show was visible over much of the UK and much further south into England than normal, possibly the best display for several decades. We were privileged to witness it as our first Northern Lights sighting.

The next morning, the local Facebook page for sky phenomena was aglow with some amazing photographs, all a zillion times better than mine!

Balance

Mid morning, Our Lass hollered from the kitchen, "Come and have a look at this!"
As there were no discernible baking aromas, I was a bit nonplussed.

Making my way to the kitchen door, I saw that my better half was stood gazing out of the window, so presumed that she had spotted some wildlife in the garden.

"Ah, I'll need my specs," I said, turning towards the lounge to collect them.

"You won't need them for this," she replied.

Eh? What animal or bird could this be? It must be large!
Otter? White-tailed Eagle? Velociraptor? 

Rushing to join her, I scanned the view until I spotted a very rare species in these parts. At least, rare of late. A BT van!

The local engineer was scoping out what work was required and politely declined our offer of a hot brew. Over the course of the next few hours, in the teeth of a westerly gale and horizontal driving hail, he proceeded to connect our land line and broadband. Big respect to the guy, it wasn't the weather for working outside. 

So, yes, here is my inaugural blogpost from TT2 (I really must come up with a more imaginative name than that).

Yay!

Ups and downs

Still no news, neither good nor bad, on the landline or broadband. I've been promised an update tomorrow. So, whilst I wait at home for the plumber to arrive to fix a dodgy valve, here's a post from my phone, courtesy of an intermittent 3G signal... Hello? Hello? Are you still there?

However, Mother Nature has been keeping me upbeat. At the weekend, on both Saturday and Sunday evenings, a Hare was grazing in the field across the road. Yesterday saw the first sighting from the lounge of an Oystercatcher (and they were rather vocal at 05.30 this morning). Then, just after lunch today, a ring-tailed Hen Harrier flew over the field, another lounge first.

This latter event prompted the beginning of a garden list, which with the addition of the harrier, sits at 26 species. Admittedly, in previous Winters, we could see that many species in the garden of Tense Towers in a week, but that list wouldn't feature a harrier or a Pink-footed Goose.

At the weekend, whilst on a pleasant stroll, we spotted a Merlin a few hundred yards from the house. This probably explains the furtive nature of our local Robin!