Crossing the sea to Walberswick

Anyway will do

Sunday morning picked up where Saturday night left of, with the ominous din of gunfire spoiling the peace of the Suffolk countryside. That we’d night we’d stood in a darkened field on our way back from the pub, amazed and fearful of the sounds we could hear in the distance and even more so by the flashes of light on the horizon. We decided it must be a military training exercise but felt unsure that we could fully separate it from what are often described as ‘traditional’ countryside pursuits.

The next day the sounds continued and grated on my nerves as we met a footpath that would take us a few miles to Walberswick on the coast. The countryside shouldn't sound like this; at first, no amount of trees could mask it, but gradually the further we went, the further we got from it and the balance of things returned.

Marking the start of our path was a small carved stone, nestling in the grass. Despite being a little weathered, the shape of a nightjar was visible on it, cool, grey and unseasonal - a marker that indicated the heathland we could see through the thin, silvery lines of birch around us. This birch, the graceful pioneer of such places, soon gave way to a mixed woodland patched together from birch, beech, oak and hornbeam. Underneath this canopy, now receding with the season, dark, musty pools gathered throughout; tackled on tiptoe (and via an ageing boardwalk) pale, decaying leaves could be seen glinting up from their depths like pennies in a well. But soon the oaks won out and the ground became drier, offering up a selection of interesting fungi.

The woods were quiet and still save for the occasional whistles of passing tit flocks. A short way further along the scene changed again and from the wooded path we reached a broad ocean of reeds lapping at the sides of the extensive Westwood Marshes. Like opening a door from one room to another, it was the noise that reached me first, of the wind and the bristling, slender heads of phragmites. A marsh harrier appeared in the distance effortlessly caressing the reeds, a buzzard dropped out of the blue sky and several bearded tits pinged nearby. We followed the snaking path through and continued until we reached a grassy bank in the middle that propped up a crumbling, redbrick windmill submerged and adrift like an old wreck. Once upon a time, such a structure would have played a key role in this landscape, pumping the water out and allowing people in. Now though, it’s little more than a grand perch for keen-eyed predators and for us, a point at which to marvel in our surroundings.

Westwood Marshes/Walberswick National Nature Reserve, 19/10/14

The Cairngorms, March 2014

It's hard to describe what a stunning place the Cairngorms are, a simply magnificent wilderness of mountains, forests and lochs stretching as far as the eye can see. I've wanted to go for some time and last week I finally made it, taking the sleeper train after work on Wednesday and returning on Sunday night. Despite sore knees and blisters, it was a superb few days with some great walks and memorable birding.

The birds were hard won (mostly) with cold winds and frequent snow showers making it hard going at times, but I managed to see 4/5 of my trip ‘targets’. On the way down from Inverness I stopped for that most Scottish of specialities - American Coot at Loch Flemington, which I found after a bit of trial and error navigating. And there’s not much more to add really, a Lifer but whatever way you look at it, a Coot is a Coot is a...

American Coot (Fulica americana) Loch Flemington, Invernesshire 20/3/14

A scenic drive down to Grantown via Nairn bought the first of many Red Grouse as well as Curlews over the moors. Stopping in Abernethy Forest on the first afternoon I also picked up my one (and only) Crested Tit high in a pine along a track near Loch Mallachie. After finding my hostel for the night in Aviemore, I took a walk up to the peak overlooking the town through Craigellachie NR. A steep climb here through a bare woodland of twisted trees, heavy with bushy lichens, brought a large flock of 90+ siskins and redpolls, before my arrival at the top was greeted with the first of many snow flurries. However, a Peregrine calling above me on the descent, capped a good day.

Staying at the bunkhouse in Aviemore, the next morning I was up at 4.45am and back in Abernethy just after 6 to look for Capercaille. Finding my way to Forest Lodge in the dawn gloom was interesting, but the walk that morning was immense as I watched the sun rise and the snow fall over the forest. After several hours I had no luck with capers, despite following some good looking paths on my OS. But revelling in my surroundings, I continued walking on a track for about 90 minutes out to the mountain bothy at Ryvoan Pass. I waited here a while and it wasn't long before grouse began making their presence known. I was soon able to pick out three Black grouse amongst a dozen or more Red grouse. Against stony skies it was trickier to separate them in flight than I imagined but there was no doubting when I flushed a gorgeous male bird near the path on my way back and it arced beautifully past me in the warm morning light.

The circular route I took back towards Abernethy was largely quiet save for a single crossbill flying over and a Dipper that flashed past me on a stream, but it was livened up by the odd bit of improvisation required, including some agile shimmying across a fallen tree to cross a deep ford!

After the glorious start I decided to head up to Cairn Gorm to see what conditions were like. With a strong, icy wind across the base car park and the distant top station largely shrouded in cloud, a walk up didn't seem too promising but I headed up anyway picking a trail from the back of the visitor centre that took me closest to the most immediate, eastern ridge. It looked like the most obvious place any birds on the mountain would try and shelter out of the way of the westerlies blasting through. It wasn't long before I realised how tough the wind was when I spotted something swirling way out to my left. At first glance I cursed the fool who had let a plastic bag go here but getting my bins on it I could see it was an OS map disappearing into the distance, worse still, it was my OS map ripped right out of my rucksack pocket! Stumbling on, I pondered heading back and waiting a bit, but with the wind behind me decided against facing it. It proved to be a good decision as just a few steps further I spotted more movement out of the corner of my eye. I think already knew what it was before I turned completely and yep, I did so in time to see a Ptarmigan fly in land about 30ft away (see yesterday's post)! I fumbled briefly for my soaked bins but didn’t really need them as it paused for a moment and looked at me. Moments later it pitched up and flew further downhill past me, another bird appearing with it too. It was an awesome moment! This had been the bird I probably wanted to see here most of all and the weather and surroundings added up to an exhilarating birding experience. After that the walk wasn't so bad (!) and I even managed to find a flock of 20-odd Snow buntings a bit further up. It’s simply amazing how birds like these adapt to their conditions and it was a privilege to be a fleeting visitor in their domain.

Abernethy sunrise

Farmstead at Rynettin, Abernethy

Cairn Gorm

The toughest postal route in Britain

Snow buntings (Plectrophenax nivalis) (centre)

As for the rest of the trip, I was pleased to find three Whooper swans in a flooded roadside field south of Aviemore, the same day I found a flock of 20+ Bewick’s swans at dusk on a loch. Loch Garten gave up Goosander as I looked for an early Osprey (with no luck) but another highlight came early on Saturday as I walked by one of the large lochs. Scanning the water I picked out two distant shapes which turned out to be Red-throated Divers. As I watched, the birds began displaying and calling with bewitching groans and wails filling the air. It was really something, the first time I've experienced divers on their breeding grounds. I went back the next morning and they were there again, that haunting sound filling the valley behind me.

On Saturday, my planned walk up into the Lahrig Guhru pass was aborted by the weather, although I managed to get as far as the Chalamain Gap and the knee-busting walk through the boulders that fill it. But after that I decided to stick to low ground and, starting near Tullochogruhe, walked the six mile track out to the Loch Einich through Glen Einach (Gleann Einich). It turned out to be an amazing afternoon and while I could count the birds I saw on one hand, the landscape was breathtaking. The path followed a river winding its way along the edge of Rothiemurcus Forest and into the moorland where it left the trees behind. Here, the land opened out into a vast, wide glen and the path mirrored the river meandering across its floodplain. I expected the loch would eventually slither into view ahead but it never did and it seemed like it was not going to give itself away so easily. I ploughed on and eventually, after two and half hours, reached Loch Einich. It’s a spectacular place. Surrounded on three sides by sheer, grey, snow-capped crags, it sits in a perfect glacial valley that could have been carved by a giant ice cream scoop. The remoteness was striking and the silence so utterly pure, pierced only by whistling wind, water on stone and the sudden alarm call from a pair of dippers. The walk back didn't feel any shorter and I winced through the last mile, but it was undoubtedly an afternoon to cherish and one of the most memorable walks I've ever done. Unfortunately reality was fractured somewhat by hearing the Arsenal result later that evening, with that in mind; a remote mountain was a good place to be.

Feeling pretty tired on Sunday, I decided to visit Insh Marshes RSPB before heading back to Inverness via the Findhorn Valley and hopefully, some Slavonian grebes at Loch Ruthven. It feels like I've already used the word ‘spectacular’ too many times, but needless to say it could easily extend to all these. Findhorn produced Kestrel, Raven, Common Buzzard and best of all, a ringtail Hen Harrier that patrolled the ancient floodplain margins. The RPSB reserve at Loch Ruthven failed to turn up any Slavonian grebes but was a beautiful spot to end the day. The final action of the trip went to a skein of Pink-footed geese flying over, westwards, probably thinking it was time to head home.

Loch Einich

Loch Ruthven

Curlew in the Findhorn Valley

A wilderness

With thanks to Dan, Eleanor, Tony and Cory Jones for the tips!

Starlings and St Mary's Bay

In the photos below it looks like I've accidentally smudged fingers on my camera lens, but there's no mistake here - this is the brief view I had of a fantastic Starling murmuration over St Mary's marsh on Saturday:

Walking along the track from Swigshole mid-morning, the marshes on either side bristled with the hopeful energy of the season. The early buds of Blackthorn lined the path in places and old sounds, silenced by winter, were once again audible: a Skylark, a Dunnock and, most strikingly, a Lapwing. The bird was displaying over the wet grassland, a tumble in the sky and a low, graceful swoop, but fast like an invisible rollercoaster, and all the time uttering a sound that can't help but amaze.

I stood and watched a fine adult male Marsh Harrier over Decoy for a bit while several more birds appeared in the distance. Beneath it somewhere, hidden in the reeds, a Little Grebe tittered at an unheard joke. Several times I inadvertently flushed a female Sparrowhawk who eventually gave up her stealthy watch from the copse and took off past me, scattering a flock of nearby fieldfares. From the ditch a Cetti's warbler sang, but otherwise there was little that could match the large flocks of rooks for noisy conversation. For a visual spectacle however, there was no doubt...

Glancing over the marsh towards the river, I could see movement on the horizon. At first, a thin wisp appeared like a tentacle from some fantastic creature reaching over the sea wall, but in a second it had leapt skywards to form the remarkable cloud-like shapes above. From a mile away, it was hard to estimate a figure but I would say that 5000 starlings would be a low guess. After several minutes, it was gone, and the birds settled back into the grass, out of sight. I wonder if this restless daylight congregation is a sign of 'foreign' birds feeding up before dispersing back to the continent - another sign of the changing seasons and a hint of the riches, and wonders, to come.

Mute swans (Cygnus olor) 

Oystercatchers (Haematopus ostralegus) conspicuous on the marshes

High tide at St Mary's Bay

View across St Mary's marsh. The combination of standing water and muddy,
poached tracks of crazing cattle attracted a huge number of starlings and
 Black-headed gulls - Mediterranean gulls cannot be far away now

Looking back on St Mary's Bay, the river and Southend in the distance

The Brecks to the Broads

Hockham Fen, Norfolk, 16/1/14

January birthdays are not a hugely popular time of year for outdoor revelry but it never dampens my enthusiasm for this time of year. With mine falling square in the month, I had a couple of days off last week and headed up to Norfolk with a plan hastily traced from a range of Ordnance Survey maps. All that un-folding and folding, it was an origami massacre.

But it was lovely to discover new areas of a county I always enjoy visiting. We ate well and slept well and strangely, pleasingly, my phone barely ever had any reception. A simple glitch that only reinforced our sense of place, even if it was only just passed Thetford! I suppose it was a fitting modern solitude for a clear day spent following the Peddars Way, a Roman (or pre-Roman) track that cuts through the western side of Norfolk from Holme down to Suffolk. Although underfoot it may have changed, with gravel and traffic-less lanes in  places, its landscape and story remains. Our circular route from Thompson took us on a narrow path that weaved through slender carr woodlands of the gloriously named Cranberry Rough before opening up to reveal the wild expanse of Hockham Fen. Places like this make me feel like a time traveller, and that is a wonderful thing.

Along this way it was nice to see a number of Marsh tits, a relative scarcity where I live. We also encountered a couple of Brambling drinking from a puddle in a woodland clearing with chaffinches and enjoyed a buzzing flock of siskins by a stream. At one point we came to a lane, the lane in your dreams - narrow, rutted and flanked with hedgerows. I thought it looked like the kind of place you should see Yellowhammers. We saw Yellowhammers.

Having joined the Peddars Way, we then veered off to explore some 'Pingos', or rare local geological features that formed at the end of the last ice age. Here, large underground pockets of ice expanded upwards and thawed, leaving odd, delicately formed pools. Apparently many were lost to ploughing and drainage during the last century but those that have remained form valuable ecological microhabitats for many species, particularly aquatic invertebrates.

The final stop on the Norfolk mini-tour was Hickling broad and coast, by way of the lush Yare Valley and the large numbers of Bean and White-fronted geese at Cantley marshes. In Hickling, the famed Stubb's Mill raptor roost kept one of us warm at least, as the sun dropped and the Marsh harriers swept in from all directions. I'm not sure how many appeared in total but forty birds wouldn't be unreasonable, with 15+ visible at one time. As these majestic shapes hung choosily over the extensive reedbeds that fill vast pockets of this rich and varied landscape, a couple of Hen Harriers appeared, fast and low in that way of theirs; a silvery male was the pick of the day.

Saturday started fair and grey as we went to see the Grey seals at Horsey Gap. Climbing up to a viewpoint on the dunes, I got a nice surprise as two Snow buntings flew out from under my feet and proceeded to pick at the grass heads strewn on the path. On the beach the seals and their pups lolled about while a few frisky ones jumped around in the surf. From the top of the dunes we had good views of the surrounding marshes and farmland and it was only a moment before I spotted several Cranes grazing in muddy, waterlogged field near Horsey Wind Pump. It's fantastic that this is no longer greeted with surprise. Some way along the dunes, peering through a fenced off part of the beach, I spotted a number of large gulls gathered. As I moved closer they revealed a fresh seal carcass on the sand - perhaps a victim of the recent storms? Interestingly the skitterish gulls were immediately replaced around it by some Turnstones and a Sanderling, the two small and surprisingly opportunist waders tucking into the flesh. While watching this, I noticed a crow land on the beach nearby. I nearly paid it no attention but was glad of a double take as it revealed it was a Hooded Crow, the furthest south I've seen one in Britain.

For the rest of the day we drifted on our own path, avoiding civilisation for as long we could, until we blinked and were somehow home again. A great birthday trip.

The Peddar's Way near Thompson

Thompson Water NWT

Stonechat (Saxicola torquatus) at Horsey dunes

Lunch at Horsey Gap

Grey seals (Halichoerus grypus) on the beach

A short walk

I took a short walk today. A lap of Cliffe, then home for the rugby, that was the plan.

The trouble is it was just one of those autumn days you never want to end. It was both crisp and mild, with barely more than jet trails to spoil the blue sky. It sucked me in hopelessly 'til I lost track of time. It was gone dusk when I got back home.

Cliffe was heaving with birds. On Radar I found my first Goldeneyes of the winter, a handful of handsome males with a couple of females. Wigeon, shoveler, teal and grebes were all present in high numbers. Checking the causeways with the recent Glossy Ibis in mind turned up a Greenshank in with the reds. Along the Saxon Shore Way, a Brambling flew over and a male Blackcap caught the morning sun perched among some rosehips. As I was walking along to Flamingo I spotted a couple of swans out on the pool that I'd seen sleeping way back from Radar. Closer in I could see they were awake now and sporting nice 'stiff' necks with yellow around their bills. Finding a better view of the birds, I could see the small extent of yellow did not reach the nostrils which confirmed I had a cracking pair of Bewick's Swans. It was an unexpected treat and a new site tick for me.

Bewick's Swans (Cygnus columbianus), Cliffe Pools, 16/11/13

The shifting shapes of thousands of waders

Coots (Fulica atra): always overlooked, never outnumbered

From being pretty quiet a couple of weeks ago, Flamingo pool was full to the brim this morning. Not only has the current dredging campaign pushed water levels right up, seemingly attracting more wildfowl in the process but it has increased the bank of mud on the far side. I only needed one look at the thousands of Dunlin spiralling and twisting over the pools to see it was high tide on the river. The birds put on a stunning show and I spent quite a bit of time just watching them jostle about on the mud before taking off again. Their restlessness seemed to distract the Bewick's who pitched up and flew off high to the east. Everything was restless it seemed, fleeting appearances from a young Marsh Harrier hardly helped but a Peregrine coursing the skies was the more likely culprit.

I'm not sure why I decided to follow the seawall out to the 'coffins', but I'm glad I did. Some way along, past Lower Hope Point, a single Snow Bunting popped up without calling and landed no more than ten metres from me. It even had the decency to allow me to take some crap photos before darting off.  

Snow Bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis), adult male on rocks at Lower Hope Point, Hoo Pen.

The changing horizon at Cliffe Pools

One of the dredging tugs on the river at Cliffe, not sinking apparently.

I love this stretch of the river but it struck me how quickly its landscape is changing. As I walked another few miles east without seeing another person, the only sound I heard the whole time, aside from the calls of birds, was a distant, endless clanging and whirring from the vast Thames Gateway port on the other side of the river. I ended up missing the Richard's Pipit at Egypt Bay (a great find by Paul Hawkins - here) although I gave it a quick go. A noisy Water Rail, a Bearded Tit and two Green Sandpipers were present but the light was disappearing rapidly as it does these afternoons and I didn't fancy walking those miles back in the dark. So I re-traced my steps along the wall as the light went from orange to pink, ending with a greyness that smudged the marshes and the velvety ooze of the river.

Some way along a small flock of Redwing flew over tseep-ing in the dusk and a bolting Pheasant nearly gave me a heart attack. But a great day out was sealed by a small raptor coming off the sea wall ahead, although only a silhouette, its size suggested a Merlin that was heading back to roost.

Egypt Bay to St Mary's

Jet streams over the marsh: looking back from Egypt Bay, 2/11/13 

Yesterday I took one of my favourite walks out to Egypt Bay and along to St Mary's. There's nowhere else near home I know that comes close to matching to the sense of space there; in a corner of the country rapidly being filled in and topped up with bad ideas, it's remoteness is priceless.

It was bright and calm as I walked down the lane at Clinch Street, the far side of the river was obscured, all except Southend sea front which caught the light and appeared like an island in the estuary haze. I had owls in mind mostly, a Short-eared perhaps or something nice tucked into the sea wall, like a previously undiscovered flock of Hermit thrushes. Not too much to ask for. As it was, I saw no owls and the tide was way up on the sea wall, nothing stirring amongst the heroic, wind-battered weeds and transient strands of litter there. Well almost nothing, a Small Tortoiseshell butterfly briefly spluttered into flight, making a mockery of a November morning in the process.

Along the track past Swigshole cottage, the usual mix of tits and finches flitted about, a few linnets too. A Great Spotted Woodpecker bolted from a willow at my presence before deciding I was little threat and returning. I noticed the RSPB fields behind Swigshole copse have had heavy plants in recently, digging shallow rills by the look of it; hopefully this will improve an area of grassland that was otherwise pretty poor for wading birds. Further along the track, a pair of Marsh harriers, an adult male and female, grappled together in the air momentarily before drifting apart. Overhead a Rook called oddly, a guttural, Raven-esque croak that, scanning around, revealed a third, much darker harrier moving high to the west.

From the old sea wall at the back of Decoy fleet I heard the distinct ping ping ping sound of Bearded tits in the reeds. I spotted a single bird darting for cover in Decoy until a much nearer series of calls took me to the smaller fleet adjacent to the wall. A flurry of movement low in the reeds revealed a roving flock of five birds, 2 males and 3 females, busy stripping seeds from the spongy reed heads as they went. I watched them for a bit and took some footage that probably won't make it on to 'Autumnwatch' (but listen hard and you might hear them calling):

From the same spot I looked over the marshes. In the field behind Egypt Bay I scanned the bramble clumps as I always do, for shrikes, but as always there were none. Three Stonechats turned up though, one being given a hard time by a slightly out of place Robin - an odd bird to see this far out on the marsh so presumably a hungry migrant fresh in. Along the sea wall a mighty roost of Curlews could be seen between the fleet and St Mary's Bay - a sign that the tide was high. I counted 310 birds, no doubt missing a few unseen. On the river was a raft of three hundred Wigeon while a single Little Egret and several Meadow pipits flushed from the thin lip of salt marsh squeezed against the wall. From the wall I picked out a single Kestrel and a hundred or so Lapwing in the fields but the highlight was undoubtedly two winter-plumaged Red-throated divers which flew slowly up river close in.

The Eagle Isle

As an island, Mull is largely defined by the presence of water, and water was a recurring theme on my first visit there last weekend. It smeared glasses, closed roads and seeped into socks, but it never once dampened an amazing trip. The plan was to spend a couple of days walking, cycling and visiting some of the islands but it was quickly apparent that the latter two at least would be foolhardy. But after pouring over the maps and hiring a car, we were soon able to explore the island and its stunning wildlife.

It started off fair and easy, with a millpond crossing of the Lorn on a CalMac ferry that was heaving with Iona daytrippers. From a spot on the side deck I was soon able to pick out the distant shape of a Black Guillemot in streaky-white winter plumage in the outer reaches of Oban's sheltered harbour. A flash of its wings lending a hand. Gulls loafed here and there, Herring mostly with a few commons, while further out some juvenile Kittiwakes appeared. The highlight of the crossing were two Harbour Porpoises that surfaced briefly alongside us before disappearing beneath the bow waves.

The journey north from Craignure was via the unlikely form of a an open-topped double decker that took us headlong into a cool mist, past Salen where Grey seals were hauled out on the rocks. And so we arrived in the pretty village of Tobermory, with its picture postcard harbour front and smell of whisky on the breeze - just as it should be in places like this. 

Using the excellent Cicerone walking guide to Mull, a path out beyond the last building on the far side of Tobermory harbour led along a wooded hillside to the Rubha nan Gall lighthouse. Coal Tit and Goldcrest foraged along the way while numerous Rock pipits poked about on the grass covered rocks. Offshore a lone Guillemot croaked its call and the odd Gannet soared past. North of Rubha nan Gall is 'Bloody Bay' - so called from a clan battle in 1480 which it is said saw the sea turn red. Apparently, it this event that the author Jim Crumley describes gave the Oystercatcher its red legs and bill, on account of those that waded along the shore that day. There's no blood now that I can see but I wondered if the Raven tumbling about a distant cliff edge knew something else.

Following a night of rain, on Sunday morning the streams were crashing down, including the Tobermory River which shot a spectacular torrent of white water into the harbour. Watching from the side, the gulls were nae bothered but I was in the right place at the right time to see two Dippers darting about on the rocks, at one point landing just a few metres away.

Setting off  for Calgary Bay, the weather changed every 20 minutes or so. During a sunny respite alongside Loch na Keal, a female Red-breasted Merganser drifted close to the shore and, following a tip-off, we spotted an Otter on the rocks right in front us - something we nearly missed! It was brief but great to see. Scoping the loch, a flock of four more mergansers flew past in the distance and ten+ Greylag geese were perhaps the real deal arriving for winter, unlike the zombie geese I see in London. The winding road to Calgary was interrupted by diversions caused by flooding so it was no surprise that the white sandy bay we eventually arrived at resembled a war zone. Still, wildly beautiful, the beach was strewn with seaweed and scattered stones with a single Redshank making the best of it all. Tucked behind a clump of marram grass was a dead Gannet, washed up sometime ago. In a flooded field across the road, oystercatchers probed and pottered along with several Curlew; despite the drizzle, swallows constantly swooped about.

Rubha nan Gall, near Tobermory, 14/9/13

Dippers (Cinclus cinclus) in Tobermory harbour, 15/9/13

Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix)

Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo) hanging out, Loch na Keal, Mull

Later that afternoon, as the winds dropped and the sun shone meekly, we stopped for a walk through the pines at a Forestry Commission site just off the main road. From the rutted track coal tits were ever-present while a flock of 7-8 Crossbill overhead was nice to see. Our arrival back at the car was well-timed as the next front swept in and decided the sun had its day. But as the sky darkened to breaking I caught a pale jolt in the glooming periphery of the hillside below; slowly jinking it's way across the field was a male Hen Harrier, pearly grey with ink-dipped wings. Then the rain became hail and it disappeared from view. I always love to see this bird, a supreme bird of this land. In fact, over the course of the weekend, I saw more hen harriers (seven) than I did chaffinches (four); maybe this says a lot about the kind of place Mull is and the kind of place others are sadly not. 

Although the hills and mountains remained shrouded in mist, Monday was calmer and we went for a walk on Loch Ba. Being less exposed I thought it might provide some shelter and also be the kind of place eagles might be forced down to in poor weather. Thankfully, most of that proved to be true. 

Loch Ba is a beautiful spot, surrounded by steep mountain sides with streams and waterfalls flowing from the summits like jagged veins down to the loch at its heart. Following the gravel track along the water, we passed through thin strands of Oak, Willow and Ash, pale bushy lichens clinging to their twisted trunks and branches. Somewhere near the middle of the loch, we walked across a soft, grassy area guarded by a fly fisherman in the distance. Crossing here, we flushed a flock of small birds into the air nearby. They called incessantly and Linnet crossed my mind, but straight away I felt the calls were subtly different from what I expected. As I moved closer to the birds low in the grass by an old cattle feeding station I was as sure as can be that I was looking at my first flock of Twite. I hadn't been sure I would see them here so that was a real bonus.

The form continued as a short way further along the track I picked out a large raptor coming off the mountainside to our right. Getting on it there was no doubt that it was a Golden Eagle and coming head on towards us too! We watched as it descended into a low copse ahead of us for a few minutes, presumably for shelter, before it took off again, banking high to the right. As it did so, it succeeded in flushing a Hen Harrier from a lower slope and for a few moments I was able to enjoy both majestic birds in the same binocular view.

I guess anyone visiting Mull hopes for a glimpse of possibly their most famous residents and I was no different. Further on up the track, near where the loch tapered to a thin beach, I saw movement over the water to the left. My first thought was that it was probably a Grey Heron crossing the loch but when I raised my bins I realised I was looking at my first White-tailed Sea Eagle - an adult and an immense beast of a bird! It moved past us, perhaps a hundred metres off over the loch, battling the headwind with all the power of the feathery doors strapped to its back. A minute or so later it was lost to the murk but what a privilege it was to see.

Before heading back we left the loch for a while and followed the path up the glen. A victory lunch of Irn Bru and Skips was had in a ruined farmstead where the tall crags of Glen Cachaig peered over the crumbling walls at us.

The track from Knock to Loch Ba, Mull

The mists rolling in

Bam...

Bam...

Boom. White-tailed Sea Eagle (Haliaeetus albicilla) Loch Ba, Mull, 16/9/13.

What a fantastic few days. Leaving the next afternoon after a tour of the distillery and a complimentary dram, we could only laugh as the sun came out as soon as we bordered the ferry home. 

Mull Trip List, 14th-17th Sept 2013:

Herring Gull, Black Guillemot, Kittiwake, Shag, Cormorant, Common Gull, Pied Wagtail, Hooded Crow, Black-headed Gull, Great Black-backed Gull, Grey Heron, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Blue Tit, Coal Tit, Feral Pigeon, Robin, Wren, Goldcrest, Rock Pipit, Raven, Gannet, Guillemot, Treecreeper, Chaffinch, House Sparrow, Dipper, Common Buzzard, Greylag Goose, Mute Swan, Mistle Thrush, Red-breasted Merganser, Curlew, Stonechat, Dunnock, Common Whitethroat, Kestrel, Oystercatcher, Redshank, Swallow, Meadow Pipit, Grey Wagtail, Common Crossbill, Hen Harrier, Mallard, Twite, Golden Eagle, White-tailed Sea Eagle, Lapwing, Skylark, Goldfinch, Starling.

Thanks to everyone who gave me tips on Mull beforehand - the good folk of twitter and particularly Kev Parr (and Martin S) Cheers!

Recommended Links:

Mull Birds

Sunart B&B

Cafe Fish