A rosy evening

What is it 'they' say about best laid plans...?

During a walk the previous day, we had noticed many Hares gathered in the fields beside the Cornquoy Road. As they boxed and chased, one particular group of five were more concerned about each other, rather than two interested bipedal observers. The setting sun lit the scene rather nicely and I reprimanded myself for not having the presence of mind to bring a camera. So a plan was hatched to return the following evening, when the weather was forecast to be dry and bright, if a little breezier, and the first item on the packing list would be the camera.

The forecast did indeed prove correct, so after Our Lass returned from work and we'd eaten a simple meal, we drove down to St Nicholas' Kirk and parked alongside the cemetery wall. A pool in the fields by the church held several Redshank and Snipe, as well as a pair of Shelduck. The tide was out in Howes Wick, so the sea ducks, divers and waders were well beyond reasonable binocular range.

Mr and Mrs Shelduck

As we walked along the single track road to Cornquoy, it was obvious that, although there was plenty of bird life around, of Hares there were precious few. This was obviously a bit of a disappointment, but that's nature watching for you, where wild equals unpredictable.

Rather than miss out on a grand evening in the fresh air, on a whim, we turned up the lane towards Upper Cornquoy. After about 500 yards, we discovered a sign for a footpath, heading towards the coast, so we pottered along that to another sign that offered clifftop walking to Stembister to the east and Rose Ness to the west.

No further invitation necessary, Our Lass was off, exploring the path overlooking the Bay of Semolie. 

Bay of Semolie

View back to Upper Cornquoy and Warthill beyond

A sentinel stands guard

Life anew beyond the wire

Then we carefully passed the Hole of the Ness, which I guess is a large blowhole at the end of an unseen sea cave. Though we didn't approach close enough to see the bottom (it was wisely fenced off), we could hear the sea as the waves hit the back of the cave. The near horizon beckoned us with two intriguing structures, but first we passed a mound, the North Cairn, which looked more like a Neolithic burial site than a 20th Century wartime fixture. There's no mention on the OS Explorer map of any other cairn, so perhaps the sea has claimed it. 

I was trying to photograph this Shag, and although the results were poor, I was happy with the Starling because the base of his bill is blue. It's a boy!

Beckoning beacons

As the path crossed some rough ground towards the beacons, Meadow Pipits and Skylarks were visiting some of the ephemeral pools that line the cliff top. Overhead, a 'drumming' Snipe laced the evening air with the unmistakeable sound of its courtship display.

The tail feathers responsible for the sound can just about be seen in the above photo.

The first beacon we came to was built in 1867 to mark the entrance to Holm Sound.

Beyond that was a more recent lighthouse, constructed in 1905 and now fully automatic, its light flashing white once every six seconds.

Light of My Life shown for scale

We continued around the Ness, dropping down to sea level at the Bay of Cornquoy. Fortunately, the tide was still well out, as it was necessary to use the top of the beach as the path to gain access to the track that leads back to Cornquoy Road.

We weren't the only visitors to the beach enjoying the evening. As we returned to the car, a few Grey Seals were lolling about in the shallows, making the most of the last rays of the sun.

Well, my Hare-aimed scheme may have come to naught, but it was a serendipitous end to a fine day.

Fogday Sunday

Back on Orkney, the fog was still making its presence felt when we woke up this morning.

Our Lass opened the curtains onto another dull day, slightly brightened by the sight of an Oystercatcher just outside the window. There's a pair of these striking waders which have taken up residence in the small field between our house and the big farm. I think that they were using the cover of the fog and a quiet Sunday morning to explore the neighbourhood.

Before lunch, we drove down to Burray, as Our Lass wanted to buy some plants for the garden. We purchased 50 or so tiny lumps of green shoots that may or may not survive to turn into vigorous, healthy, Orcadian weather-proof flowers.

Then we had an amble along the beach at Barrier 4, to check out some new defences that are being constructed at the southern end, before spotting a pale phase Arctic Skua heading north.

After lunch, we journeyed to St Margaret's Hope for another horticultural retail opportunity, becoming the proud owners of 3 Hebe and 3 Escallonia shrubs and 1 (and here I quote my garden expert wife) "fuzzy-leaved daisy thing".

The remainder of the afternoon was spent sieving compost, potting up, planting and watering.

Towards evening, as the sun had put in an appearance, I suggested a walk for a bit of relaxation. We have been meaning to explore more of our local area, so drove down to St Nicholas Kirk, where we would normally walk to, but parked there so that we could wander further along the peninsula towards Rose Ness.

The route took us past the Old Manse and down to the Bay of Cornquoy. The tide was a long way out, so we explored the beach, watching a small group of waders feeding on the mudflats and a party of Grey Seals lolling on the rocks at the water's edge.

Returning by the same route, we hit one of those sweet spots that occur from time to time in nature watching. As the track veered away from the beach, a male Redstart was flitting from a wooden post to a pile of seaweed. A few hundred yards further on, there was a flock of small birds in the hedge alongside the drive to the Old Manse. Most were Linnets, but one was a Whitethroat. Back on the tarmac road, we passed field after field with numerous Hares, one particular group of five still intent on 'box and chase'. A flurry of activity in the sky resolved itself into a male Hen Harrier carrying a kill, but being mobbed by a pair of wagtails and a gull. At a farm turning, a smart male Wheatear flew from a stone wall, his white rump showing well before he disappeared from view. A pair of Shelducks flew overhead and a Swallow zipped past our noses.

It was a bit of a mad half hour!

On reaching home, as we parked the car at the front of the house, we interrupted the Oystercatchers in a moment of ungainly wader intimacy. Hmmm, pornithology virtually on our doorstep, it looks like the neighbouring field and possibly our garden will be hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet in a month or so. Not to mention lots of loud and agitated parental piping from their mum and dad. Pass the ear defenders, please.

Pirt daor

Yep, that’s ‘Road trip’ backwards, as this is the tale of the return journey to Orkney after my brief visit to England.

With a ferry to catch at Gill’s Bay on the north coast of Scotland, there was a bit more urgency to the proceedings, as any potential hold-up might have undesirable consequences. I chose a slightly different route initially, travelling west to the A1 and skirting around the opposite side of Newcastle compared to the trip down. This meant that I drove passed Anthony Gormley’s Angel of theNorth, which is either a monumental (literally) piece of recycling or a tribute to iron oxide.

The remainder of the drive up across the border into Scotland and around Edinburgh was uneventful. However, after Perth, things became a little more interesting from a wildlife point of view. At several places, the grassy verges of the A9 were carpeted with large swathes of Lady’s Smock (Cuckooflower), though there was nary a sign of a butterfly taking advantage of the abundance. Shortly after a stop at Ralia Café, a Stoat ran across the road in front of me, the black tip of its tail struggling to keep up as its owner shot from one side of the busy road to the other. After crossing the Moray Firth, I was delighted to spot a Red Kite gliding overhead by the junction for Culbokie. So there’s at least one left!

Despite heading north, I was listening to the soundtrack compilation from the TV programme Due South, a particular favourite for long journeys and now delightfully directionally ironic.

So imagine my surprise when I stopped for a rest break in Helmsdale at the Timespan Museum and discovered a flyer advertising an event in May which featured the word ‘Diefenbaker’. I assumed that this referred to the Prime Minister of Canada (a chat with the museum staff confirmed this) as opposed to Fraser’s pet wolfdog in Due South! It was a bit of a coincidence though.

As I settled down to a large pot of tea, I realised that the staff were also playing a cd that I had listened to on the trip, Shooglenifty’s Murmichan album. As I was the only customer in the tea shop, I felt rather privileged and donated probably more than I would’ve done to their fund raising appeal. If it was targeted marketing, it succeeded a damned sight better than all those infuriating internet companies that bombard our online experiences with complete dross for something you have either already bought or have no interest in whatsoever. Well done, Timespan, I will most certainly be back.

(To be honest, ever since we have been journeying to Orkney, we have visited the tea shop at Timespan whenever the opportunity has arisen. It has an outdoor seating area that overlooks the River Helmsdale and a sensory garden full of interesting herbs. No, not that kind of ‘interesting’!)

By now, the sunny weather that I had been experiencing between Middlesbrough and Inverness, had given way to thick fog. My average speed tumbled dramatically and a bit of mental arithmetic was required to reassure myself that I would reach the ferry port on time. This wasn't helped by encountering a car pottering along at 20mph, veering from the verge to the white line and occasionally over it, which it was impossible to pass safely in the conditions. Fortunately, after what seemed like an age and collecting other vehicles in the slow-moving convoy, it turned off and I made it to Gill's Bay in time to relax with yet another cup of tea (there may have been cake, too).

This post has been written on the ferry crossing. The often turbulent waters of the Pentland Firth were smooth and calm, though the fog meant that nature watching for sea birds or cetaceans was a pointless task. Eventually, however, the vague shape of Hoxa Head appeared through the gloom and I knew I was nearly home.

Road trip

It’s been 6 months since I visited my family in the North East of England, so a trip south was long overdue. This would be my first trek from Orkney down to the old country (on St George’s Day!) and had the added novelty of an arrival in County Durham from the north, rather than the previously more customary south. If that wasn’t messing with my head enough, Our Lass and I discussed vehicle/fuel options, deciding that it would be kinder on our pockets if I took her Nissan Micra, as opposed to my hoofing great 4x4. The extra miles per gallon (mpg) of her wee roller skate, as well as the use of cheaper petrol compared to diesel, would make a significant saving. This was somewhat nullified by the fact that my mpm (miles per mug) would be an uneconomically low value in either vehicle, requiring frequent tea stops throughout the 500 miles from Orkney down to Middlesbrough.

This was going to be a long day in the saddle, but I was encouraged by the prospect of perhaps seeing a few species of bird that wouldn’t necessarily make it to Orkney. A short journey on the Orcadian side saw me on board the Pentalina ferry for the early sailing and, after a reasonably smooth crossing, I set off from the north of Scotland at 09.00.

In thick fog.

It was greyer than the combined greyness of a plover, a phalarope, a heron, a wagtail and a big shrike, so I saw very little until I reached Helmsdale and the road dropped down to sea level and below the clouds. Soon, however, the sun came out and the stint (unintentional pun) down towards the Black Isle produced half a dozen Common Buzzards, a possible Long-tailed Tit and a possible Comma butterfly. Butterflies are tricky to ID when driving at 60mph.  Sadly, there wasn’t a single Red Kite to be seen, but what with the current issue of wildlife crime in the area, this wasn’t a surprise. After Inverness, another possible butterfly (Small or Green-veined White) was the only highlight until I arrived at Ralia Café for lunch, to be greeted by an overture of Willow Warbler song. Ah, bliss.

South of Inverness, I assumed that I would begin to see Magpies, but no, they were noticeably absent, along with any other Buzzard sightings. Normally, I would expect both of these species to thrive alongside a busy main road, with numerous road kills as a source of food. Pushing on down through Scotland, I did spot an ‘ironically’ dead Magpie at the side of the road, but that doesn’t really count. Even after I had passed Edinburgh, then Berwick, and crossed the border into England, there were no raptors or scavengers about. Somewhere in the middle of Northumberland, there was a possible Red Kite, but an annoyingly tall hedge (and a frustratingly low Micra) prevented me from making a definite ID.

Despite the lack of birdlife, the journey south did have a theme. It was the colour yellow. The wildness of Scotland was typified by Gorse, its zingy flowers even managing to look bright in the fog. And when the sun came out, oh boy! Then the focus shifted to ground level, with masses of Dandelions along the roadside verges. By the time I reached the lowlands of Scotland and then the north of England, a more subdued yellow clouded my vision from countless fields of Oil Seed, its cloying scent also drifting into the car.

And so to Newcastle and through the Tyne Tunnel, surely there would be a Magpie in the city whose football team plays in black and white stripes and who are known as the Magpies?

Nope.

In a sudden switch of interest, I realised that I was driving passed the Nissan factory in Washington, where our car had been built about 4 years and 28000 miles previously. Immediately following this revelation, I then saw the sign for the Stadium of Light, which is the Sunderland football ground. Now, dear reader, the Sunderland and Newcastle football teams are arch rivals, so as a nearby Middlesbrough supporter, I had to chuckle when it was here, not far from Sunderland’s ground, that I saw my first Magpies of the trip!

Then Penshaw Monument came into view, atop the hill around which the Lambton Worm was reputed to have wound itself seven times (I think), but before I could remember any of the numerous verses to the famous local song, I was distracted by the sign that said ‘Welcome to County Durham, Land of the Prince Bishops’. Yay!

Reaching the county of my birth brought a change in birding fortune, as a Sparrowhawk flap, flap, glided across the dual carriageway in front of me. And then in short order, the landmarks of Teesside came into view. Chemical plants and industrial buildings, the Transporter Bridge, countless trading estates and, in the distance, the North York Moors with the iconic silhouette of Roseberry Topping.

I parked outside my brother’s house and gingerly unfolded myself from the car. If I’d had a peedie dog, I would’ve said “Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Orkney anymore.” Blossom-heavy and leafy trees decorated gardens and hedgerows, their branches motionless in the breathless evening. The liquid and flutey songs of numerous Blackbirds drifted through the air, a tonic for a tired traveller. With an almost audible click, I could finally relax.

There was one surprise still to come. As my brother showed me to my room, I was delighted to discover that the bed linen had a dragonfly motif.

Sports bulletin

Here's an update on progress in the garden, first mentioned in this post.

In an Easter weekend where there has been any number of sporting fixtures, I can report that the score is...

Docks 14, Willows 44

On the face of it, this is a great result. Although, as with most things, the devil is in the detail.

Today's planting pattern

In team news, a third row of Willow, with the addition of a few scallops, took up the last 44 of our cuttings. So more sticks will be at the top of our next shopping list.

To add a little gloss to the performance, some of the first two rows are beginning to sprout, which is most pleasing. Quite whether all of the previous 160 will burst into bud is as yet unknown.

Excuse the rubbish photos, the sun was so bright, I couldn't see the phone screen properly. Add to that dock-digging fatigue and it was a miracle they are the right way up at all. Where's the physio?!

Ready...

steady...

grow!

So far, so rosy, eh?

Hmmmm, the '14' referred to the number of bags of Dock roots dug up and ready to be shipped off to the recycling facility. I just hope that the council's industrial composting procedure can cope with perennial weeds.

Even a close friend, who is even more passionate about environmentally-friendly and wildlife gardening than we are, has quietly taken me to one side and whispered in my ear, "You do know these are Docks, don't you? You will have to resort to Captain Chemical to shift them."

I admitted that I did know this, but was not yet ready to accept the ultimate truth. For if I keep digging them up, season after season, I will eventually win the battle. But only if I live long enough to see the game through!

Very good Friday

Good Friday was the last full day of my brother and his wife's week long visit to Orkney. They had arrived the previous Saturday on the ferry from Scrabster to Stromness, which was forced to sail up through Scapa Flow due to strong winds and heavy seas. Their first night involved gale force winds (nothing to do with my cooking) and the next day was sunshine and intermittent hail showers. As they say, Welcome to Orkney!

They were able to do touristy things during the next few days: Tomb of the Eagles; Burwick cliff walk; Skara Brae; Stromness street amble. But Wednesday was a return to wet and windy weather, so we all explored the sights of Kirkwall: St Magnus' Cathedral; umpteen shops; and there may have been tea and cake at a cafe. That evening's entertainment was the power outage that affected the whole of the north of Scotland, including the Western and Northern Isles, always a fun-filled hullabaloo, what with all the candles and torches!

The following day, with electricity restored, life returned to its meteorological windy normal. We visited the Orkney Brewery and partook of their tour (this will be a separate blogpost), followed by a quick trip to the Harray Potter and then Betty's Reading Room over by Tingwall.

Yesterday dawned both bright and reasonably calm. so we all piled into the car for a West Coast adventure (erase from your mind any images of a VW Camper decorated with a primary colours flower motif, with its occupants sporting long hair and garish clothing, not that West Coast). As we trundled through Finstown, I recalled that Our Lass and I had had a conversation the previous week about whether to visit Happy Valley, so as it was virtually en route, we made a small detour to take in this little gem of a place.

I will apologise right now, as there aren't any habitat shots here. I was carrying Very Wrong Len, so all the below photos are close-ups of one form or another.

The little wooded valley was teeming with Spring flowers: Bluebells, Primroses, Wood Anemones, Purslane, Lesser Celandine, and several shrubs were in flower too, notably Redcurrant and the invasive Salmonberry.

I heard, but did not see, a Willow Warbler, which is always a treat and more so this far north. It really did finally feel like Spring. Numerous species of bee were buzzing from bloom to bloom and we flitted about the place in similar fashion, drinking deep of the spirit-lifting sweet nectar of life bursting anew.

Suitably invigorated, we bimbled up to Birsay for lunch, before heading across to Marwick to explore the bay, cliffs and Kitchener Memorial.

In keeping with some deeper Easter tradition, a Hare ran across our path, at some point in the day (our local farmer has banned the shooting of Hares on his land, so we are doubly lucky).

Good Friday? Pretty much perfect.

Never a truer word

Last night, there was a power cut in the north of Scotland, the Western and the Northern Isles, with about 200,000 homes affected.

Sadly, there were traumatic scenes, as folk were unable to watch the closing moments of this week's edition of Masterchef, and worse still, even less fortunate people had to sup their beverage of choice by candlelight.

Which neatly brings us to the true meaning of a ...