Annual pilgrimage

I began writing this post quite early this morning, certainly pre-dawn, whilst the still air was full of the sounds of cattle lowing and curlews calling.

During the festive period, we usually plan a visit to Graemsay to spend a day with those stars of wonder Sian and Button of Life on a Small Island. This year was no exception.

The Saturday morning boat bound for Hoy and Graemsay leaves the picturesque location of Stromness at 09.30, so as we wandered down to the harbour, the sun was just rising. Several squally showers were pulsing through, which lent a Turner-esque feel to the scene.

As you can see, there wasn't a breath of wind, so the ferry crossing was relatively smooth, only the tidal race into Scapa Flow causing any gentle rocking action (for a topical musical note, think more the Rocking Carol, rather than the Queen stadium anthem).

Once ensconced at Chez Sian, there were a few DIY tasks with which to be helpful, as I feel it's only right and proper to earn one's keep if accepting the hospitality of a small island community.

Then it was down to Sian's beach, a stretch of rocky foreshore fringed with the most amazing shell sand. Whilst Sian and Our Lass pottered to and fro looking for Groatie Buckies (the shell of the Northern Cowrie sea snail, Trivia arctica), Button and I frolicked about, one of us taking photos, the other pouncing on the occasional bit of unruly shell.

Clouds over mainland Orkney

We no longer have to fear the reaper

The white bits are broken pieces of maerl, the hard remains of a cold water coral

As we returned along the main island road, I managed to capture this shot of Button, which almost seems to show her returning from the Community Hall after a night of carousing.

Then it was a contemplative circumnavigation of the walled garden, before settling down to a late lunch. There may have been cake.

After sunset, and as we ventured out for the return boat, the just-past-full Moon was rising behind Hoy High lighthouse.

Big Red down

Whilst it is quite difficult to avoid all the rampant consumerism at this time of year, there's one sure fire way to pause and take a moment away from worrying about the materialistic problems caused by our species.

So, instead of dashing to the shops for a last-minute present, the latest must-have gadget or never-to-be-repeated bargain, I downed tools and just stopped.

It was mid-afternoon on the midwinter solstice, a turning point in Nature's calendar, and a reminder that before we became obsessed with 'stuff', for millennia we had been content with the simple pleasure of marking the 'shortest' day of the year. Admittedly, since we're humans, we've had to dress it up in all manner of ritual and custom (and not all of them were healthy for all participants).

How and ever, yesterday afternoon saw me stood by the front door, gazing southwestwards with a slightly furrowed brow. There was a band of cloud on the horizon, which was going to make it impossible to detect the actual moment of sunset, and I was also fiddling about with my camera and tripod (a combination which rarely sees the light of any day).

A weather app informed when sunset should be for my location, but at the appointed time of 15.15, for all I knew, the sun could've been sticking its thumbs in its ears and waggling its fingers at me.

The local Starling flock were busy going through their pre-roosting ritual over the barn roofs next door, another thing which happens with regularity but which I rarely take the time to observe.

Now that I thought about it, the cloud would probably add a little something to the occasion, so I relaxed and just savoured the still air, the sounds around me and the unfolding spectacle of the solsticial sunset.

Happy sigh.

All the best for the festive season, folks.

See Harrier

In the two hours since my previous post, I've been frantically writing Christmas cards and have also risked a trip to the Post Office (not because it would be busy, but because the waves are close to crashing over the road). So now I'm treating myself to a reasonably well-earned break and blogging again.

Really, Tense? On a school day?!

Well, there's another gale going through and I don't fancy being up a ladder, or having a van door ripped out of my hand. All work for today is postponed until tomorrow, which will now be rather busy.

Yesterday was a pleasant day, mind, especially after the weekend's weather, and as I was prepping the van, after breakfast, I had a fortuitous moment.

Back in the Autumn, the remarkably-energetic Countryside Tales offered up a challenge. Luckily, this didn't involve me having to run an ultra marathon or wearing Little Miss Happy leggings, but did require me to up my game in the context of photographing Hen Harriers. See the comments to this I&T post.

So, the fortuitous moment...

There I was, delving about in the back of the van, making sure I had everything on board for a busy day of sorting out satellite and internet woes, when I heard the alarm call of a Snipe. Odd, I thought, because if our wadery neighbours are spooked by us, it's normally as we step out of the front door. Swinging around, and looking skywards, I did indeed spot a couple of Snipe, climbing and wheeling away, so the question was, from what?

Scanning about, I saw a shape at the far side of the field over the road. It was low and mainly grey, so could've just been yet another gull, but I wasn't completely sure. With a sudden flick, the bird flashed black wing tips and a white rump, identifying it as a male Hen Harrier. And as it quartered the field, it did seem to be coming closer.

Yay! and Dang! in equal measure! Harrier flybys are always special, always incredibly brief and never when I'm holding a camera. The low morning light from a Winter sun was perfectly placed, if said optics had been in my grasp. Conscious of CT's wager, I threw caution, and a box of connectors, to the wind, dashed inside for my camera and hurriedly returned, shedding lens cap, expletives and hope.

Rounding the van, the harrier was nowhere to be seen. Gah! But I continued looking and spotted it in the next field south, low over the furrows and heading away from me.

All that lovely light and this photo catches the bird in the shadow of the farm.

Umpteen out of focus shots later, the Hen Harrier soared up and turned around, making back for where I'd first seen it. So, sadly, not any closer.

I wasn't sure whether it had prey in its talons or not, but looking back at my images, now heavily-cropped, it would seem that the bird was flying with its legs down. At this point, I wondered whether it was injured. It wouldn't be unusual for a bird which skims field edges and vegetation boundaries to come to grief against a wire fence, especially with the wind speed we have been experiencing recently.

The harrier wheeled around once more, hunting along the fence line at the far side of the neighbouring field. The light was absolutely peachy, but the distance was too great for my 300mm lens (whose brilliant idea was it to remove the 1.4x converter recently?).

After a gale, the fence lines are often home to bits of silage wrap and feed bags, which have made a break for it. Perhaps after today's meteorology, I'll have a surreptitious womble across the field.

Eventually, the Hen Harrier settled on a fence post, and it seemed that it was perching quite happily on both legs. Phew.

I don't think the challenge has yet been met, CT, so you can keep your Dunnocks on standby, as it were. To be continued, at some point...

Cabin fever

After 24 hours of gales, by Sunday afternoon I needed to be out of doors. Seems like I wasn't the only one, as nine folk turned up for an Orkney Field Club walk in Orphir. This was the fourth, and final, nature jaunt in a series of 'Through the Seasons' outings, and this was my only opportunity to attend one. Must try harder in 2019!

We met at the Orkneyinga Saga Centre, by the Round Church and the ruins of a Viking earl's Bu (a large hall), before a bracing walk along the low cliffs at the north end of Scapa Flow, then heading inland to the wood at Gyre, before returning along a track to the bu.

Out in the Flow, there were a few Red-throated and Great Northern Divers, Slavonian Grebes and Long-tailed Ducks, as well as the more usual Eiders, Red-breasted Mergansers, Black Guillemots (in their white and grey Winter plumage) and Shags. Fulmars were back patrolling the clifftops, as were a large family group of Ravens and a couple of Great Black-backed Gulls. We found what looked like Otter spraint, by a likely-looking trail through the grass, so I'm guessing low cliffs are not a barrier to this charismatic mammal.

It was still quite bracing!

Once in the woodland (yes, really!), it was much calmer and peaceable. Wrens and Blackbirds called, we looked at tree buds and tried to identify the leaves of next year's wild flowers. There were even a few clumps of Snowdrops just sprouting above ground.

Walking between hedges, we startled a Woodcock, the first I've seen in many a year, and there were several Hares out in the fields, making the most of the last rays of the day's sunshine.

Many thanks to the eagle-eyed M for organising the walk and the weather.

With my fresh air fix satiated, I returned to a cosy Tense Towers and a hot beverage.

Well, ain't that swell

Saturday was a day for being indoors, due to the fifty to sixty miles per hour winds gusting outside. I opted for cosy and warm, rather than chilled and exhilarated.

At least I was able to catch up on emails and unearth the festive faux fir from the darker recesses of the garage.

This morning, with the south easterly wind backing off to gentler, if not totally benign, thirty miles per hour gusts, I risked a peek out of the front door. Sporadic showers are still racing through, so visibility isn't great, but I could see that the garden had taken a beating. Vegetation is uniformly canted over to the north west, whilst patches of grass show signs of wind and salt burn, as well as a few vortex marks where the wind has swirled around against an obstacle.

And one other lingering sign was noticeable, as the memory of the wind howl faded from my ears. In the channel between mainland and Lamb Holm, the waves, driven on by 24 hours of gale, were still dissipating, producing an incongruous image with the local post box.

Stuff On My Phone (21)

Tomorrow sees the latest Classic Album Sunday being held in the Sound Archive in Kirkwall. This month it's Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, so anticipation is rising, adrenalin levels are high and excitement is off the scale.

Released in 1977, the album has been around all my adult life and ever-present in my music collection in various formats. The tales of its recording are legendary, with much conflict within the personal relationships of the band. It is quite incredible to think of two couples breaking up within the pressure cooker environment of a recording studio. But the emotion and creativity this strife unleashed, fed directly into the blossoming of the tracks on the album.

Arguably, the most well known and popular track on the album is The Chain, which may be rather familiar to readers in the UK, as the instrumental section was used for years as the theme tune to Formula One coverage on the BBC and Channel 4.

Meanwhile, on Planet Tense, contrary as ever, the stand out song is Gold Dust Woman, Stevie Nicks' dark exploration of cocaine addiction. Here's a video of Fleetwood Mac performing the song live in 1997, twenty years after the album was released (and twenty one years ago!!).

Have I mentioned I'm looking forward to listening to this tomorrow?

I see you, baby, shakin' that ass

As we enter the festive period, would this make a top tune for an alternative Nativity play? Probably not.

It being December, Our Lass and I went into town yesterday morning, to stock up on provender (her - specific Christmas stuff; me - the weekly shop). However, before we'd even left the house, there was an early morning wildlife moment to savour. The field across the road is usually empty of animals at this time of year, the cattle having been moved into sheds to overwinter. At the moment, though, there are four sheep making the best of the slim pickings as grass growth slows down to zero.

A quick scan of the field with my bins revealed a group of two dozen Golden Plover, hunkered down in the sward, prompting a photo opportunity and a Facebook post highlighting the need for a woolly plover in this weather.

This morning, the plovers were there again (so I'm wondering if they roost there overnight), and with a bit more sunlight, I was hopeful of a better shot. Or at least a better crop of an image that is the result of sticking my camera out of the lounge window.

The plovers were several steps ahead of me. As the sun's liquid honey poured over the landscape, the birds congregated in the shadow cast by Tense Towers. I kid you not, they moved into the 'shade' to, I guess, improve their camouflage. It's likely that they would be a target for a Sparrowhawk, a Peregrine or a Hen Harrier.

So, although the field was lit up left, right and behind them, I had to make do with the murk.

The sun, the absence of any breeze and the hope of more photography lured us outside for a wander around our usual circuit. It was a lovely morning, but the only excitement was a Sparrowhawk being mobbed by a corvid down by the shore. The sprawk, completely unperturbed by the attention, even took time out to swoop down and spook a flock of waders off the beach, before resuming its serene way eastwards.

Back home, and once more staring out of the window, I spotted a pipit sat on the top wire of the fence of the field over the road. As the light was still peachy, I grabbed my bins to inspect the bird's side-lit features. Typically, at this point, it flew to the ground out of sight, so I waited patiently for it to resume its perch. When it flew back up, it wasn't alone, so when my lenses settled upon what I thought was the pipit, I had a bit of a shock.

As did the pipit, if this photo is anything to go by!

The Meadow Pipit is on the top bar of the gate, whilst lower down is a bird of similar size, but which had a beguiling shimmering effect going on with its tail. This characteristic, I knew, meant that it was a species of Redstart (and I wasn't expecting to see one of those at this time of year!).

I managed a few more blurry photos before the bird flew along a dry stone wall and disappeared among the buildings of the neighbouring farm.

You can just make out the red colour on its tail, but it is the smoky brown chest which allowed those who know these things to ID the bird as a Black Redstart. Very unexpected, very pleasing!