Manna from heaven or Mannie from hell?

The view from our rented cottage was ever-changing, with the ebb and flow of the tide, with the sun's arc across the sky and with the vagaries of the weather. From the southern shore of Loch Fleet, we looked north, across the estuary, to Littleferry. Beyond that lay the various woods of the Fleet National Nature Reserve, which blended in to the forested slopes of Ben Bhraggie. Near the summit of the hill, and often dominating the view, stands 'the Mannie', as it is known locally, a monument to the memory of 1st Duke of Sutherland, George Granville Leveson-Gower.

The 100' tall monument is shrouded in controversy, as the Duke was involved in one of the more notorious episodes of the Highland Clearances in the early 19th Century. Not all of his tenants were keen to leave their way of life in the hills, and the Duke's men met this opposition with violence and brutality, forcibly evicting families and burning whole villages.

Opinion is still divided, 200 years later, as to whether the Duke's legacy is as an economic and social reformer or as a cruel chancer, profiting from large scale sheep farming.

On a lighter note, our final day at the cottage saw us pottering about locally in Dornoch and then Skelbo Wood. The warmer weather encouraged a few more dragonflies and damselflies to take to the wing, making them a bit more noticeable.

Golden-ringed Dragonfly

Common Blue Damselfly with lunch

Common Blue Damselflies mating

Four-spotted Chaser

Big day at Migdale

On our antepenultimate day of the holiday, we finally discovered some hot weather. Apparently it had been hiding near Loch Migdale all along.

However, even before we set off to explore this potentially-ode-filled haven, there was a wildlife moment at the cottage, with a Longhorn Beetle of some sort, wandering up and down the window frames and soffits

A leisurely drive along the southern shore of the Dornoch Firth brought us to Bonar Bridge and elevenses. Much to the chagrin of the couple who followed us in to the tearoom, we bagged the window seat and the last two fruit scones. A salient lesson in NOT going to view the bridge first, I think. Just saying.

After a quick look at the bridge (the third iteration in a troubled history), we drove back along the north shore of Dornoch Firth to Spinningdale, then turned north up a single track road for Migdale. Parking safely off the road and not in a Passing Place, we alighted into the only baking heat of the holiday and some supercharged biting insects, so were glad to seek the shade of the Woodland Trust reserve.

We spotted a single Large Red Damselfly quite early in the walk, but the anticipated abundance never materialised, despite the nearness of Spinningdale Bog, a valley mire perfect for odes.

As we climbed higher and higher through the woods and away from the bog, we did occasionally see a dragon whizz by, but these were difficult to ID as they disappeared over the treetops at a rate of knots. We reckoned that they were possibly a couple of Common Hawkers and Four-spotted Chasers.

At the top of the hill was our first view of Loch Migdale, in the distance. Despite the heat and the biters, my enthusiasm was being kept aloft by continued occasional sightings of Large Red damsels, never more than a couple at a time, whenever the track crossed a burn.

Just as I was beginning to ponder where we would have our picnic lunch, Our Lass spotted a large dragon hawking to and fro across the heather and along the track. We watched it entranced, caught between the two equal desires of appreciating its mastery of the air and willing it to land for a photograph. Eventually it did settle, but out of sight, so I had to decide whether I was worried about going off piste and encountering ticks. Nah!

When I managed to locate it, I could see that it was a Golden-ringed Dragonfly, a male, who had caught a fly and was busy chomping away. We needed no further encouragement to head to the loch shore for our lunch too.

The afternoon saunter back to the car was less arduous, the terrain not so steep and the shade that bit deeper. For the umpteenth time that week, we stopped to listen at the first hint of a soft, mournful call, which is often a good indication that there are Bullfinches around.

This time, however, it was a Scarlet Smiley Face...

Nope, just kidding, it was a Bullfinch.

Our Lass became engrossed with photographing trees hence, in the image below, I am shown for purposes of scale only.

On our drive back to the cottage, we discovered a little-used road, y'know, one of those which has grass growing through the tarmac, which led alongside a small loch tucked away in the hills. We noticed that there were large raptors flying about, so stopped to investigate.

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Going by plumage colour and markings, and whether a fish was being carried, we reckoned that there were three Ospreys feeding at this one site. Wow!

An absolutely gorges day

Jings, it's taking me some time to plough through the tales of our holiday, hence my furrowed brow.

Today's episode features the forests of Achany and Rosehall as a pine-scented backdrop to the rush of water tumbling through several rocky gorges. Apologies, that sentence veered dangerously close to toilet-based humour.

We began the day at a Forestry Commission Scotland site in Achany Forest, complete with visitor centre and cafe. Yes, yes, I know, we're lightweights when it comes to the Big Outdoors, but the tag line above does state 'wildlife and cake', so... duh!

A walk through the Spruce forest provided surprisingly good views of a pair of Bullfinches, but the pond shown on the trail guide wasn't offering up any Odonata. Another path led the way down into a ravine on the River Shin, complete with viewing platform above the Falls of Shin. Here, to our absolute delight, we spotted a Dipper feeding its young in a precariously-placed nest, just above the torrent.

Falls of Shin

Spot the beak!

We then drove alongside the Kyle of Sutherland to another forest car park at Rosehall, near Achness. Here, we at least managed a few damselfly sightings at a woodland pool, but we were still bereft of dragons.

Another path led across the road through the glen and down to the River Cassley. No visitor centre, no facilities, no cake, no viewing platform, but plenty of wonderful scenery.

The return path took us back into the forest, and we were delighted to stumble across a Red Squirrel (not on a peanut feeder, not in someone's garden), which was busy foraging, and initially not apparently aware of our presence. Eventually, some squirrely sixth sense made it look up and we were rumbled.

As we regained the main track through the forest, we put up a dragonfly from the verge. It took off flying away from us, quickly disappearing between the trees, so we only had a very brief view of its back end. An ID was impossible, but overall size and colour suggested one of the Emerald dragonflies. Later, after a browse through data on the NBN Scotland Atlas, I conclude that it was most likely to be a Northern Emerald, as this species was by far the most common species of the three (the other two being Brilliant and Downy) for the area.

Just before reaching our car, we happened upon a very fresh Red Admiral butterfly, sunning itself and venturing out into the world in its new clothes.

Not quite Dunrobin

Just a few miles up the road from our holiday accommodation was Dunrobin Castle, so it was somewhat inevitable that we would end up there at some point. Inevitable, perhaps, but not without my stubborn refusal to allow myself to enjoy the landed-gentry-fest.

Yup, pedantic AND obdurate.

The was a minor flurry of activity before we set off.  During breakfast, eaten al fresco, we saw an Osprey hunting over the loch. Aw crumbs, there was muesli everywhere. For the avoidance of doubt, we were eating muesli, the Osprey wasn't.

We arrived at Dunrobin just before the doors opened, but not before two coach loads of German tourists. We wandered up and down staircases, along corridors, through rooms and learnt about all manner of family history, but very little about the fabric of the building.

In fact, it was only this view, through a round window looking into an inner courtyard, which hinted at the multiple layers of history contained within the stonework.

The contents of each room were proudly labelled for our delectation. One particular glass cabinet caught my attention. It contained one of a pair of ornate slippers, apparently left behind, centuries ago, by a guest from the Vatican. What the actual?! Couldn't they have stuck it in the post and re-united it with its owner? Jeez, if this is what we've come to, there must be hotels and guest houses up and down the land, all treasuring the hot water bottles which Our Lass leaves behind. ["What, pet? Again? Surely not?!"]

The formal garden were a bit more informal due to the presence of a recently-mown hay meadow, the work appearing to be done by hand rather than machine. One begrudgingly bestowed brownie point to Dunrobin.

I went Full Quirk with my camera, a task made much easier by this weird tree/bush/plant thing. Please note the exquisitely out of focus step ladders, bottom left.

Another Dunrobin attraction that I was assiduously ignoring was the Falconry display. However, this did have the added benefit of being a tourist magnet, so every other part of the garden was quieter. I noticed a Grey Heron, flapping slowly and earnestly from the shore, across the estate and making a bee line for the garden, right up to the point where it discovered that the air space beneath it was full of raptors. With an undignified squawk and an ungainly volte-face, it lumbered away in high dudgeon.

Meanwhile, a familiar sound, which I had been hearing for a few minutes, finally made it to my brain. Why was I listening to Fulmars?! Of course, to the birds, the castle was just another rocky cliff face. Balcony display, anyone?

As the sun put in an appearance, plenty of insects were making good use of all the nectar and pollen on tap. This year seems to have been a bumper one for Painted Lady butterflies in the UK (and elsewhere) and there were umpteen of them busily slurping away.

Eschewing the gift shop and lunch in the cafe, we headed into Golspie like good little proles, and had a peasantly light lunch. I even stirred my tea with revolutionary fervour.

Then it was onto Golspie's other attraction, the Big Burn Walk, a gentle saunter along paths lush with Summer's bounty and through leafy glades between towering cliffs. 

It occurred to me that if we were walking along the Big Burn, then this must be a sideburn, perhaps even one of a pair.

Proofreading this post, I realise I should point out that when I say 'Big Burn', that is with an R and an N, not an M.

A home from home

As I alluded to in the previous post, the cottage we were renting for the second week of our holiday was quite quickly described as a 'home from home'. However, some of the reasons for this weren't simply the obvious ones, and I thought I'd take a moment to share my wonder and astonishment with you.

The cottage had been chosen for its location (on the shore of Loch Fleet), access to instant walks (from the door) and with the opportunity for lots of wildlife watching (Loch Fleet is a National Nature Reserve). We tend to reason that we will be spending most of our holidays outdoors so, whilst 5 star luxury is all very well (and Our Lass leans more towards this point of view), it is not the be all and end all.

I must also admit to a shocking lapse in my research of the area. The dune system to the east of the cottage is, as I eventually realised after I had booked the place, Coul Links. Yup, the one where an American businessman wants to build a golf course and rip up a Ramsar site, a Special Protection Area and a Site of Special Scientific Interest. So, whatever the outcome of the public enquiry (and I sincerely hope that nature triumphs over financial greed), we were able to visit the place in all its untainted glory. Chillingly, whilst at the property, it was revealed that another coastal dune system in Scotland which had been developed into a golf course (owned by that well-known American businessman Donald Trump) had lost its SSSI designation due to habitat degradation. Maybe we will learn something from that experience? 

In the above photo (cropped from Google Maps), the Loch Fleet tidal mudflats and the adjacent pine woodland can be seen. The cottage is located just above the word 'Landsat' in the legend at the bottom. Coul Links are located to the south of the estuary on the North Sea coast.

The cottage is called 'Oystercatchers', birds which are no strangers to the garden of Tense Towers. As we unpacked our luggage, the calls of Skylark and Curlew rang out over the nearby fields and seals drifted by in the distant loch. At this point, you would be forgiven for wondering why we needed to fork out to stay somewhere that seemed so very like home!

As I mentioned earlier in the blog sequence, the area is one which we normally whizz by on our way elsewhere, the A9 between Inverness and Wick hugging the western shore of the loch. We are of the opinion that it doesn't take very long, or the need to go very far from the beaten track, to find stuff to capture our interest.

The bathroom of the cottage was another reminder of times past. The tiling and the cupboard design were oddly familiar, and it took me ages to realise that they were very similar to the styles we chose for our first family home, way back when. No photos, I'm afraid. Cameras and bathrooms, I don't think so.

Browsing through the fulsome tourist information and local guides of the area kindly provided by the owner, we discovered this wee gem. The significance of its presence only being realised when read in conjunction with the cottage information.

So, for a while, this had been a railway cottage, a fact which resonated so deeply with me as I grew up in a disused station house by an old branch line in County Durham.

The Dornoch Light Railway booklet went on...

But sadly concluded, like so many other railway stories, with...

There were a couple of photos in the book which, although they didn't show the cottage, were taken in the immediate vicinity:

Nipping outside, I was able to bring a couple of those views up to date:

And a few minutes on the internet unearthed an old map from the time when the railway was still in existence.

As a child, I do remember the sound of goods trains rumbling by in the night, as by the time I was aware of such things, passenger services had been withdrawn. I was able to visit the signal box whilst it was 'live', before the track was finally dismantled and all that was left was a wide ribbon of impoverished ground, disappearing to the north (to Durham) and the south (to Bishop Auckland). Little did I realise at the time, but all the wild flowers I subsequently found were only there because 'waste' ground doesn't attract herbicides and fertilisers. I grew up watching the slow wilding of the area, as Nature reclaimed the land from industry. Not to mention all the insects and birds which this unkempt carpet supported. Bearing in mind where I have ended up and the urge to protect wild places that burns so passionately within me, I am welling up just typing this.

In case you fear that I am being a tad melodramatic here, let me just say that in May, when our friends Helen and Jeff visited from New Zealand, Jeff mentioned a news report he'd seen which featured my childhood home. Quite how this had come to his attention on the other side of the world, I do not know, but I had been blithely unaware of it, so was very grateful for the opportunity to view it.

Here are a couple of photos from the report, the first pre-Tenselet, and the second post-Tenselet. I will have to ferret about in the back of a dusty cupboard to find an in-situ Tenselet one, so bear with me.

Isn't life strange?