Lost to the Mists of Glen Esk

Misty Glen - pastel sketch on paper

My efforts today were encouraged by the forecast of a temperature inversion over the hills where a layer of misty cloud sits below clear skies on the higher tops. It was not to be and my chosen high top was just not high enough, even although there was a brightening of the mist above that tantalisingly reminded me of how close the inversion level had come. So instead of skimming over the clouds, I was swimming through them with every inhaled gulp saturated with condensing droplets of high humidity mist. Eyebrows dripped with water as manic blinking tried to clear away the cataract of grey glooming in front of me. Every sound was heightened with the calm mist and that sense eventually became my guide when I inevitably got lost.   

Sketching today

The ghostly beat of a Teuchat's wing left waves of sound through the greyness and as the black feathered tips thrust their deviating course over the moor that wheezing, air swept flap lazily vanished, then was completely absorbed in the mists. The harsh 'curring' call from the Whaup reached a crescendo until the instrumental body fell to earth to skulk and peer over the heather steam. Somewhere in the distant out-there, a Blackcock bubbled and warbled at a lek but the sound was placeless with no direction. The thin 'tzee' call from a triangle of Meadow Pipits cut through the mists as they danced for space in the grasses beneath the heather. Even the Red Grouse flew short, up and down in seconds, landing in a guttural flurry of churring 'cabeks' so they wouldn't lose the place in this volume of opaque haar. A big, unseen Corbie mixes the moorland tune with a penetrating bass 'pruk-prowk' as it flies behind me in a spin of black deceit. The air is full of sound and fury but artistic vision is frustrated to an arm's length away and I am a conductor without a baton on these high moors.

Whaup in the mist

The rank flavour of burnt peat singed the misty air and the post-apocalyptic heather burn had blackly scalded much of the hill top to reveal its essential elements of peat and rock. In the midst of the recent cinder blackness a smashed clutch of Red Grouse egg-shell lies abandoned. Dating from last year one would presume, but the sac membrane is still evident. Grouse are nesting earlier due to climate warming effect but this is just too early for this season's nesting times....or is it, because I found a similar scene in Glen Ogil last week and just have my doubts that thin egg-shell would last a whole year up on the moors. After all, up here, every antler and bone is consumed as a mineral source by a variety of creatures over time as part of the natural recycling process.

Red Grouse egg shell

When you know an area fairly well the chance of getting lost is low because there are so many habituated visual landmarks to reference against. Take these references away and the possibility of getting lost multiply into scary inevitability and, hey-ho, that is what happened. The deer path leading away from the estate track usually takes me down to the head of the glen near a steep crag but somehow that path ended in a fog engulfed quagmire and scenes from 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' rushed into my disorientation. The wee phrase of, 'That's new' was constantly added to my dictionary of unfamiliar topography. I wandered in a dither back and forth over the hill-side looking for some familiar features but nothing felt right. A heather-clad hummock became the back of a stag that moved as it grazed and the camera was rushed into disillusioned focus. My invented path took me into new territory and in my foggy blindness discovered the terraced course of a burn and a well used deer path, 'That's new' and so it continued and like a babe's first blinks at the world, every shrouded feature was a revelation. 

Heather burnt moor

Fortunately, a dot of rationale was never far away and the familiar sound of a waterfall, that could only be in one place, percolated through my lost brain cells and a smug sense of being in control, all the time really, was issued by the brain team - delusional bunch and never to be trusted. Foot by foot, 'That's new', became 'I know that boulder', until the panic waned and I realised that I had gone too far along the estate track and overshot the usual deer path. The next day's headline of,  'A fifty-seven year old man was rescued from his stupidity last night in Glen Esk and despite having a map and compass failed to use them in atrocious conditions', became, 'Let's go home, I've had enough'. 

Fox Moth caterpillar with parasitic maggot

This tiny yellow maggot had had enough too and was escaping from inside a Fox Moth caterpillar's body and, by the way, the caterpillar was acting as if it may have a few more wriggling maggots inside it devouring its innards. This maggot is typical of Apanteles glomeratus, a parasitic Ichneumon Wasp that lays its eggs within the caterpillar by inserting a long ovipositor into the body. As the caterpillar hibernates these maggots consume the innards yet leave vital organs intact so that the caterpillar is still alive and fresh to eat. The wasp maggots cluster around the dead caterpillar husk and eventually create a silky structure of chrysalis cocoons before hatching as adult wasps. No need to say 'yuck'.

Misty Red Deer

Nearly always, there are some Woodcock in the glen and my ambition today was to photograph them, fat chance. These superbly camouflaged birds rise from your feet silently and usually fly directly away from you, with a rear view showing curved wings only. I missed a great chance when I put up a pair and one came back on itself to join the other but instead of using the camera which I had left switched on, I turned it off again through dozened fumbling. Another chance came when one of the flushed birds returned to land on a hillock nearby and by carefully creeping towards this rounded temple of Woodcock temptation - I found nothing and nothing had flown in escape, they are indeed the brown ghosts of the glen. 

Woodcock 12/4/14

I did finally get a distant photo of blurred excellence which I will not deem to bore you with, but as a bonus, a dead Common Snipe was found. The bird had been predated and lay on the deer path, maybe a Stoat had nabbed it as the neck was well chewed and the breast meat consumed with one wing torn off. The bill is amazingly structured with fine reinforced buttresses running from the head and on the lower mandible tip, fine indentations knurl the surface. These indentations are nerve sensory structures that allow the bird to feel what the bill is in contact with when it is probing mud for food.

Common Snipe bill

Earlier on, I had found a freshly killed Red Grouse with its head and wings ripped off, a pile of neatly excised intestines and a trail of feathers that led me back to a strike patch where a plucking of feathers had pillow fought with the heather. Now my bets would be on a Golden Eagle striking a showy bird on the ground, then processing the kill before flying off with the ready meal, but there are other predators in the area that might mete out the same result and I am always amazed at how effectively this dissection is carried out without rupturing the prey's gut.

And from the towering crags above laced through with clinging mists, the yelping Earns cower o'er a nest of boney kows, those bugle calls from distant past now lost in rock embowered falls. Rising before me two eggs to be, of oval white I see, an illusion hatched by the Adder's silvered gloom, yet no, my fancy will not reveal at all, that which you desire to be. That which you desire to be will come in time, but in its own hour, and then on wings of gold shall soar to haloed heights, and never seen again. So spoke the Kelpie from the burbling gush below, with a hundred hurried revelations rushing, listening. Listening to whispers upon whispers pouring voice over voice, trapped and lost to the mists of time.

Predated Red Grouse 

Well, starting a walk in the afternoon is part of the added luxury hour that has come forward and means that wandering can run into the gloaming hours, the best part of the day in Scotland. This late start was met with a drab curtain of hill fog skirting the foot of the hills and ended the same way, but there was a glowing equine star to brighten the dreichness. Fergus, the stalker's garron, had been competing in horse trials near Aberdeen and had been shampooed into a bright white for the event. He strode from the trailer and trotted with determination up the hill-side, chin held to his neck and mane flowing he was transformed into a white charger but not for long, he headed straight for the mist swirled mire and rolled in it - best claes aff an' auld eens on, braw.

Red Kites near Edzell

I recently attended the Angus Council meeting about the massive Nathro Hill wind-farm application, where 17 turbines each 135 metres high would stretch across the Angus hills near Glen Lethnot. This area is regularly used by eagles and other raptors such as the Red Kites in the area, for foraging and is close to the Special Protected Area for Golden Eagles. I wrote a representation (listed under links) about the landscape visual amenity and, more importantly, the devastating effect these turbine blades could have on raptors. This representation was submitted to the Scottish Government and to Angus Council and I am glad that in the latter's case they mentioned this subject in their consultative report; the council as a consultee objected to the wind-farm. To my surprise, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds ultimately had no objections to the wind-farm, even although the company behind the project predicted rotor strike deaths to these Golden Eagles during the life of the wind-farm. Hey, but that's OK it's renewable energy. 

Speaking of Red Kites, which were re-introduced to Scotland, twelve of these birds and four Common Buzzards have been mass poisoned at one location in the highlands during the past week. They are beautiful to watch, do little harm to game birds and feed mainly on insects, worms, small rodents and carrion scraps. Again, in my opinion these recent raptor poisonings are related to sheep farming to control predators, including raptors such as Raven and White-tailed Eagle, before the lambing season. One hill shepherd that we spoke to recently cited the Raven as a big problem, attacking the weaker new born lambs by pecking out their eyes and tongues seemingly.

Red Kite

The Ranting Soap-box;

In my opinion, petty people with divisive obsessions are the bane of existence, having suffered a few examples of this in the recent past. Their obsession with divisiveness becomes overpowering in their quest to justify their feelings or to achieve or protect their aims. It can be one person against another or it can be a group of people against another and usually in these petty cases there is always 'another' who sings to a different tune and is declared renegade. 

A divisive obsession is not the same as someone trying to reveal the truth by argument or give a contradictory opinion, it is an act that jealously destroys, is unconciliatory, frequently slanderous or libellous and never aims to resolve by listening to facts. Petty people often seek to involve neutral parties in their quest to achieve their divisive obsession against another. 

Personally, I have never been fond of joining clubs, they all seem to share a mind where mine will not go, therefore I do not readily expose myself to their nonsense. Once an outsider, always an outsider and because of that character pedestal, one is subject to all sorts of criticism. For me, direct criticism is good, it is who I am as an artist and I have to self-criticise or fade away into artistic hypocrisy. I seek criticism that moulds, creates, enlightens but when that criticism is fashioned erroneously and falsely against me, my hackles justifiably rise and they rise even more when that criticism is used to defile a bond with something that I preciously treasure and care for passionately. Not a good thing to suffer especially when it is done behind one's back without a word in defence being uttered. If that pedestal was unreachable then one could understand the scratchings at its base, but it is not out of reach at all.

End of Rant.  

Notes;

All sketches and photos done on the day and are copyright.

Please be aware that it is illegal to disturb nesting eagles or other raptors and you may do so inadvertently in your journeys into the highlands. I do not recommend searching for any of the species mentioned in this blog because this may cause undue disturbance to them. With my knowledge of the areas described in this blog I can locate and observe protected species at a respectful distance usually from about 1000 metres for short periods of time only.

Whaup - Scots for Curlew.

Teuchat - Scots for Lapwing.

Corbie - Scots for Raven.

Earn or Erne - Scots for eagle but more specifically an old name for the White-tailed Eagle.

kows, coos - heather stalks.

Kelpie - Celtic myth creature that lived in water. Roseina would say when we were young and playing near the river, 'Watch out, or the Water Kelpie will get you'.  That reverence is still there!

haar - har, mist especially thick sea mist.

heather burn - heather is burnt to encourage new growth for grouse feeding.

dozened - thick minded, pronounced locally as doze-int.

David Adam web-site

Black Grouse Lek, Glen Ogil

Fighting Flurry, Blackcock at Lek - studio pastel sketch on paper 

The reeling warble and throaty squelch call emanating from a Black Grouse lek is very distinctive and usually this is the first sign of an ongoing display by the male grouse, or Blackcock, that you will find. Today we headed for the conjoined Angus glens of Moy and Ogil to track down a small colony of these increasingly rare grouse and to witness a spring spectacle of glistening indigo, curved black, erect white and wattled red. One of their traditional leking places in a field proved fruitless, so we trekked on through the chill breeze that had delivered a fresh dichting of snow overnight to the higher hills. That colder weather was keeping a flock of Golden Plover from moving up to their breeding grounds on the high moors and according to the local shepherd there were fifty of the birds in one of his hill fields and nearby, thirty-five Black Grouse were counted by him earlier, so the local colony is quite good.

Blackcock lek, bowing posture when calling on left

Our first sighting of a Blackcock was only a mile away down the track and it erupted from the heather with gusto in a whirr of black and white that eventually landed with a flush of indigo blue across the glen at Bogancur. They are big birds, weighing in at twice the bulk of a Red Grouse and if any bird could wear a medal it would be the Blackcock with its pomp and ceremony plumage. That unique feather arrangement and bubbling call make it one of the world's most unusual birds and we have them here in Scotland, how braw. In a steep gully lined with grass and rush, a burn runs its twisty course and just heard above the sound of its tinkling water there came that peculiar noise of Blackcock at lek where they fight for individual supremacy. Success, we had found this isolated leking site and we quietly watch the lek for twenty minutes. Blackcock have traditional leking sites, but they also seem to gather for a lek in sheltered places with suitable vegetation, preferably areas of rough grass with rush or heather tussocks that provide cover. Before any lek fighting occurs, the birds bow down with their necks outstretched and puffed up to act as bellows to create that fascinating reeling warble and the threatening, squelch call usually precedes the combat.

Dominant males facing up

Feet are the main weapons employed to box an opponent down and a brief, but intense, fight is the climax to many minutes of posturing and calling while in the bowing position. During that fight every feather is held in its display mode where the black, lyre shaped tail feathers are fanned out over the erect white under-tail covert feathers and the iridescent, indigo-black breast is puffed out during the kick-boxing challenge. Wisely, the head is kept back and upright, in classic boxing style, as the blows are delivered. The wings are used in very short bursts to aid the kicking height and during breaks the Blackcock cowers down to the ground with the lyre shaped tail held over its head creating a weird and aggressive shape. At this lek, eight birds are replete with the busy feeling of spring that percolates over the moor. Some content themselves to participate from the side-lines, whilst the three main contenders hold centre stage, but the all important Greyhen audience is nowhere to be seen, maybe it is a little too early in the season for the ticketed performance.

The Challenge

The hills of Ogil and Moy form into a huge amphitheatre of heather, rush and grass with none of the dramatic features that might be associated with its neighbouring glens, the only feature that is prominent is the huge hill top cairn that is St. Arnold's Seat. This area is intensively managed for Red Grouse and in 'model' grouse moor terms Glen Ogil estate must be equally placed with the likes of Millden estate in Glen Esk with prolific investment in new roads, shooter's picnic lodges, game-keepers and management equipment. The estate, which now tenants the neighbouring lands of Moy and Nathro, has recently changed hands from Dodds to Baumbach, millionaire to millionaire. 

The Defeat

Let us hope that the Doddsian policy is not carried forward on their balance sheet of raptor persecution and under that policy many raptors were allegedly poisoned, including two White-tailed Eagles and evidence of baiting with the poison Carbofuran was found. These ignorantly extreme and fanatical owners of grouse moors go to the ends of the world to 'improve' their shoot and another classic example of this is the aforementioned Millden estate where a Hansonian policy has led to several alleged raptor persecution crimes where there are no prosecutions pending. 

Common Buzzards in aerial combat over Glen Ogil

To me the function, and raptor persecution history of the place is an anathema to my feelings about the hills of Angus yet, and it is a big yet, the place is hotching with life. Let me list what we saw today; Golden Eagle, Red Kite, Peregrine, Kestrels, Common Buzzards, Black Grouse, Red Grouse, Meadow Pipits, Skylarks, Dippers, Ravens, Pink-footed Geese, Mallard, Teal, Lapwings, Redshanks, Oystercatchers, Curlews, Mountain Hare and possible evidence of a Wildcat or Pine Marten. 

Golden Eagle immature

The other item on the agenda was the current status of White-tailed Eagles in Angus but nothing was seen. The only white-tail flying was that of a young Golden Eagle quartering the hill-side. She was inspected by one unusually, narrow winged Common Buzzard and then two Ravens hounded her over the heather until the poor bird was out of sight. Not only does a young eagle exhibit a white band on its tail but it has two pale moth spots on the wings which are visible on both top and bottom. By the way, early records regarding eagles include the recording of the immature Golden Eagle with its white banded tail as a separate species called the Ring-tailed Eagle, so modern population statistics that rely on comparisons with some old records can be inaccurate and similarly the immature White-tailed Eagle was recorded as a different bird, the Sea Eagle.

Eagle and Ravens, note the moth spot

I have not seen the pair of adult White-tailed Eagles for a while now, so hopefully they will have tucked themselves away for the spring to nest in some undisturbed quarters, free from persecution. Now, would it not surprise you all if the first nesting White-tailed Eagles in Angus were ensconced in the darkest woods of Ogil - ironic fantasy, don't you just love the twist in justice!

Oystercatcher pair 

All the birds of the moor are pairing up at the moment in an effort to make an earlier start to their breeding cycle and to squeeze as much life from the longer daylight hours as possible. Common Frogs have already spawned their eggs into the deeper slacks of the burn and while some of it is fresh and floating, much of the early spawn has sunk to the bottom with a covering of dirty silt. The much criticised hill-track construction that many estates are carrying out has a, grudgingly, good side to it, the drainage pools create a new habitat for amphibians, insects and plants. Aside from the copious amounts of frog-spawn, the pools have Bogbean, Water Horse-tail, Pondweed and Water Starwort. 

Bogbean and frogspawn

Mountain Hares are keeping up with the rapidly approaching spring by changing pelage yet again, because it didn't seem that long ago when they were pure white and the beasts must be in a constant state of confusion as to what coat to wear. One unfortunate hare has lost its head over it and lies decapitated at the track-side, but this is unusual, there are three neatly deposited scats alongside the bodiless head. In my opinion they are too thinly extruded for a fox, have pointed ends and are very tarry. Of course my thoughts jump to Wildcat and even Mike thinks that a fox is unlikely, but would a cat leave a head uneaten - have my doubts but, as I have said before, territory marking at this time of year is practised by the tom Wildcat. Wondering now if it might be Pine Marten as a large conifer forest is nearby, the scat has hair and bone through it and the long strands would have connected the pieces.

Mountain Hare changing into summer pelage

Hare head and mysterious scat

Emperor Moth cocoon

Anyway, times change second by second and year by year and life is over before it has begun. I had a stark reminder of that when I pulled out one of my old maps in front of the younger 'accomplice'. A question had arisen about where Dog Hillock was and to solve it I had unfurled a Sheet 42 Ballater map dating back to 1970 with its red cover that sported the price of eight shillings on it. Well it was the wrong map for the area in the first place but it did provide much amusement, aimed at my aching pre-decimalisation age, for Mike.

While I am on the subject of long ago, you would never have seen an excavator on the hills of Angus back then but now it is hard to avoid bumping into them on your travels and many a glen rattles and crunches to the orange beaked tune of its metal toothed bucket.

Symbol of an Era; Glen Ogil estate

Notes;

All sketches and photos done on the day and are copyright.

Please be aware that it is illegal to disturb nesting eagles or other raptors and you may do so inadvertently in your journeys into the highlands. I do not recommend searching for any of the species mentioned in this blog because this may cause undue disturbance to them. With my knowledge of the areas described in this blog I can locate and observe protected species at a respectful distance usually from about 1000 metres for short periods of time only. 

Greyhen - female Black Grouse

dichting - Scots for light covering, brushing or dusting.

braw - Scots for good, splendid.

rush - Juncus Effusus or Soft Rush, commonly found in boggy areas growing in lush, tall tussocks and seen in the hare photo.

Video of Blackcock leking

Map of the area

David Adam web-site

The Ptarmigan Trail on Driesh and Mayar, Glen Clova

Winter Corrie - pastel sketch on paper

Winter Corrie of Driesh is favoured by climbers for snow and ice routes that are more accessible than some isolated cliffs in the Southern Cairngorms. The corrie is gouged from the rounded slopes of the Driesh above and is a dramatic place where waterfalls turn to ice and gullies create a white intaglio on grey rock. It is a place that holds many memories for me because I learned the skills of mountaineering here some forty years ago. Ash handled ice-axes, strap-on crampons and an old, pudding bowl of a motor-bike helmet were the 'de rigeur' back then. On one occasion my brother and I were climbing below the main rock buttress when a whistling sound came from directly above. Thinking that it was a falling rock we both dived for cover, hugging into the rock face. Whoosh, the thing rocketed past our heads and we both turned in dizzied amazement to see the rock had wings, it was a Peregrine Falcon. Today, as I climb up the very alpine looking Scorrie of Driesh by following the north-east ridge, the corrie is bathed in glorious sunshine. Finding a spot overlooking the cliff and out of the biting wind I sit and sketch to let memories flood in with the rays.

  

Sketching today

The progeny of that 'angel of rock' must have recognised me, for the protracted 'kee-kee' screeching of a Peregrine came from the deep corrie confines and echoed over the violet-blue shadowed snows. Verbal abuse was all that came, for the bird did not fly to entertain. A survival story indeed, because this place is very popular with climbers who might disturb such a bird through all their clamberings and the place is often avalanched by the great cornices that teeter over the corrie lips. Presently the corrie sports a massive blackened scar caused by a rock slide which in turn had been triggered by a falling snow cornice and you can see it in my sketch. Talking of the past, I had the miscalculated idea of using my vintage strap-on crampons today just to try a bedevilled notion that they might be lighter for walking with than the modern step-in variety. Accursed notion true enough, as one threatened to fall off and the other broke at the hinge on the steepest part of the Scorrie snow ascent. I was left with the vertiginous downwards view of half a crampon in lonely isolation six metres below me and the other half dangling under my boot, bravo Dave! A very cautious, one footed down-climb allowed me to pick up the bootless crampon and reattach the hinge to try again. A few wallops with the ice-axe did little to improve the metallurgical structure of the steel crampon frame but made me feel better that some life saving intervention had been effected. The top of the ridge was reached where my sketch is taken from, but the crampons flopped around on my boots for the rest of the slog up to the rounded summit of Driesh and eventually at the end of the day, during the midst of the awkward descent on icy snow plastered to the head-wall of Corrie Fee, they broke again. Fun and games followed thereafter but, by following the bucket sized footsteps left by someone else, managed to get down. 

Ptarmigan hen (note the feathered feet and sharp claw)

The Ptarmigan trail led me to one white feather near the top of Little Driesh and further on, an old igloo cavity was found in the snow with droppings lining the bottom where one bird had bivouacked in the recent blizzards. The trail was hot in this cold, Arctic landscape and the distant summit of Mayar would hold the final secret as to the whereabouts of the snow white Ptarmigan. From Driesh to Mayar is about two miles along the watershed col between the neighbouring glens of Clova and Prosen and most of the high moor is covered in thick snow with the occasional island of rocky vegetation melting through the crystals of white. One wee scrape of green tundra gave a returning Golden Plover refuge from the sea of white all around and, before it was seen, it was heard  with a thin piping call that flooded the landscape in that familiar sound of the summertime highlands. The outline of fast, curved wings drifts with vagrant destiny towards the Shank of Drumfollow and vanishes like its ghostly call. My thoughts of association dream towards the other Cairngorm visitor due to arrive in May, the Dotterel and some of these summer breeders rest here before travelling on to the higher plateaux.

Ptarmigan cock

Ptarmigan are very elusive creatures in both summer and winter plumage when feathers and background merge perfectly. The wings nevertheless remain white and the tail black, while the body plumage changes into the cock's grey granite and the hen's mottled tan colouration. The corniced snow near the very top of Mayar had nine portholes and the titanic struggle to find the actual occupants of this strange icy tenement was started by scanning with binoculars over the snow and rocks, but nothing. Then a white feather with its secondary down feather attached at the quill point, characteristic of any grouse species, was found and then another on the terraces of vegetation laid bare by the solar thaw and yet more dropping clusters but no birds. I had to search that wee bit more fastidiously and eventually the glint in its stock still eye was all that I caught, but there she was cowering in a crevice betwixt snow and granite, totally motionless. Unblinking she is five metres away and tame to my approach, not even a feather fluttered. As my eye got accustomed to the shape and scale of the bird, the cock bird was espied lying down on the other side of the snow bank, his granite grey summer plumage is just beginning to appear through the winter whites. I note that he can cover his red wattles by frowning a wisp of feathers from the eyebrow over them. Another adaptation they use for visual anonymity is to creep in a slow motion walk avoiding rapid moves and this can be a bit funny to watch when the bird is concentrating on you, while it guesses where to place its feet.

Ptarmigan snow holes

As I wander quietly between the rocks and snow, both cock and hen begin to feed on the scarce vegetation by plucking at the shoots of Mountain Crowberry, Cross-leaved Heath, Bilberry and Three-leaved Rush that form, in effect, tended beds of sustenance for the birds. Their snowy bivouacs are just below the east facing cornice in a steep drift. This would indicate that the birds have allowed the snow to bury them over as it drifted on the westerly wind to settle in the lee of the cornice. Laid out, in a similar fashion to some French nouvelle cuisine, are the vegetarian, pelleted droppings of the Ptarmigan at the bottom of the hole and some have a delightful garnish of downy feather. In reality, their droppings insulate the bird's feathered feet from the ice and with habitual residence collect into a compost heap which might give off some warmth. I love the way that the snow holes are all in a perfectly horizontal orientation. 

  

Ptarmigan snow holes

Whiter than white, Ptarmigan and Mountain Hare 

Another Ptarmigan, only the third one seen in this small colony, shadows a Mountain Hare and skulks behind the boulders to keep an eye on me and, curiously enough, the hare. The larger colony in the Broad Cairn area has about twenty birds and because they are territorial I suspect that little inter-mingling between colonies occurs. After donning crampons to inspect the snow holes I venture to the top of Mayar where the chill breeze has veered into a blustery gale force and visually wander over the view towards the mountains of Glas Maol, An Socach, Cairn Toul, Ben Lawers, Lochnagar and Mount Keen. From here the snow stretches for miles like a white, linen tablecloth to Glen Shee and in mock Arctic explorer mode I cannot resist setting off towards Dun Hillocks and to the middle of a snow encrusted nowhere to sketch. Snow is never really white until the sun glares its light in pure reflection from its crystallised surface, so tinting violets, blues, creams and greys create form and carve order into a wash of marble white. Snow can be black with morbid memories too and one is red with the stains of tragedy when I remember climbing over blood in Raeburn's Gully on Lochnagar after two climbers had fallen, and they fell from where I succeeded, but only just with some luck.

Driesh and Mayar from Dun Hillocks - pastel sketch on paper

Sketching today in sunny nowhere

A determined Raven flies into the strong wind and is truly struggling as he increases his wing stroke rate and eventually is forced to dive down to skim over the snowfield where the wind speed is slightly less. Its jet wing tips scrape the icy surface and leave a violet trailing shadow on the snow. Earlier on, another fast moving shadow on the Ptarmigan snow slope had me calculating sun zeniths and relative positions. At first I thought optimistically of eagle but as my head and eye twisted like a rear gunner into the sky's glare, a Raven was there darting around like a beach kite in the wind and soon there were three black shapes released onto this stark white and vivid blue landscape. 

Raven and Dun Hillocks

A tiny, dark island of heath gives a focus on this white sea and, as explorer of icy wastes now, set my bearing towards it. One mile further on and it is what I expected, an unremarkable, half frozen, soggy mound of moss strangled Crowberry heath, but I did discover something. Like me, it had attracted the attention of other beasts by just being there. A Red Fox faeces scat is plopped on top of a Sphagnum moss cushion and like a display of crown jewels is there for all to savour and dribbled over a drape of Cladonia lichen tangled moss are more stinky poops, thin and black with wispy ends like a Stoat's and a rear foot of hare is torn from an absent owner with nothing more to give. In effect this bare oasis is acting as a mountain message centre or, in fashionable parlance, a community hub.

Glen Clova 

So the day ends, as it had started, with the low Sun bejewelling the colours of the glen from a void of brilliant ultramarine blue and in its passage to a space cold night the Moon rises in a silent counterpoint. As darkness prevails, the Ptarmigan will scrape into the cosy snow to watch the Red Fox scurry past in frosty haste and then listen to the Stoat in ermine as it rubs its black tipped tail against the crackling ice, but both pursue that cosy 'nest' and does the white Croaker ever sleep in peace under starry skies - the black Corbie surely knows and that is no. 

The Scorrie of Dreish

Raven, wing tips touching icy snow (detail from a previous photo)

Stoat tracks bounding up a snow slope

Northern Cairngorms of Cairn Toul, Braeriach, Ben Macdui, and Cairngorm.

Notes;

My new book 'Wildsketch' is available from Blurb Bookshop 

All sketches and photos done on the day and are copyright.

Croaker - Gaelic derivation from the Ptarmigan's call.

Corbie - local and traditional Scots for Raven.

Video;

Ptarmigan feeding

Map of the area

David Adam web-site

The Return of Things to Come, Glen Esk

Loch Lee and Mount Keen - pastel sketch on paper

This time last year the whole highland landscape was steeped in an icy coldness that lasted for months, so the search for signs that Spring is knocking on the door is on the agenda today. A smattering of diffuse sunshine illuminated the glen for a while and this was enough of a hopeful justification for me to carry on into a mellow westerly wind which was atomised with the finest of rain-drops and not snow, that's a positive start. The lower part of the glen was astir with action. The song of the Mistle Thrush broke through the gushing crash of the river in spate and Lapwings dive bombed each other over the wet rushes and two Mallard drakes chased the single, romantically challenged duck. My ears were full of bird song as I slowly walked beneath the Scots Pine trees and then, like a last request, slowed again to soak up the busy pleasure that pervaded the air. 

Sketching today

Early morning greetings to Fergus and Scruffy were bid and both stood to slumped attention in their equine designer jackets waiting for the one thing that is always on their mind. Me and my rucksack squeeze and push past, neigh horse handle, the beasts from the gate and much to their disappointment all of my bits are not made of carrot. Tweed was in his kennel and at least managed to wag his tail without barking when he recognised me and I really wanted to collie-nap him for a walk. Leaving the haughs to climb the hill-side delivered a measured respite to the song of the glen and then that vacant aria was filled with the plaintive call of the Lapwing and the alarm call of the shyly escaping Snipe. Both of these waders have then concurred that the tender roots of regrowth have arrived and that they are claiming territory.

Pheasant wing feathers

A pair of Woodcock are always poking around the same boggy, flush of rushes and usually they wait until you are a few paces away from them before taking flight. From under my feet, one rises and flies across the glen in a direct flight, its plumage is in perfect harmony with the background of tawny sedges and olive heather. Just a wee bit further on, the clumped primary wing feathers of a hen Pheasant are lying on the flattened bed of rushes and they are torn off in a straight line across the quills. At first, I thought that they might belong to one of the Woodcock pair because of the similar pattern colouration and the fact that this is their home habitat. After consulting my friend Mike and on a closer inspection, the tan bars have small specks of dark brown which indicates a hen Pheasant, even although they are scarce in this part of the glen. I have seen grouse wings processed in the same way by the Golden Eagle but a Stoat will also nip the tops of feathers off at the quill.

Did he mention eagle, where?  Red Grouse romance (cock on the right)

One cock Red Grouse had certainly claimed his prize on the very summit of the hill and he pursues her relentlessly on the ground and in the air. His eyebrow wattles have fully developed into scarlet beacons of desire and his plumage is richly dark when compared to the hen's mottled tan used for camouflage when sitting on eggs in the heather. They chase and then fly fast in a big arc over the moor using me as a hub to return and land not far away on what is obviously another example of claiming territory. They are truly a wild and unique bird found only in Britain, notice I did not say game bird because it is often overlooked as a species in its own right, deserving an appreciation for their highland survival skills, second only to the higher altitude Ptarmigan. The winter congregations of grouse found in the deepest times of winter have broken up because most of the grouse that I put up in my wanderings today seem to be paired and incidentally find very few signs of  predated grouse but more evidence of Mountain Hare kills. 

Mountain Hare remains

A hare carcass is interesting in the fact that the remaining skin is spirally stretched out from the shoulders to the head leaving the ears sticking out in a very precise dissection. The brain and skull have been consumed leaving the skeleton bare and placed precisely on the bones is one faeces scat which is quite dark in colour. Now, whether a Red Fox would leave a carcass in this way I am not certain and the probability is high this is the case. Most fox scats found on the hills here contain lots of hare fur which makes the colour fairly light but this scat is rather raw looking and dark. Anyone who has read my previous stories will know where I am going with this, so here goes. Wildcats mark out their territory marches with unburied scat, the skin has been rolled back from the skeleton and a cats favourite part of any kill, the brain, has been eaten so is it possible that a wildcat has feasted here - maybe. Reports from a local man seem to suggest that there are wildcats in the glen but the uncertainty of them being the pure and very rare Scottish Wildcat does exist, although one description given matches well to that of a big Scottish Wildcat tom. I live in hope!

Red Deer hind and yearling

A sure sign of things returning to normal is the arrival of the Meadow Pipit, a classic summertime breeder in these parts. One solitary bird in fresh tawny plumage leads me on a merry dance through the heather tussocks and boulders to photograph it but, as you can see, no results. Another very early migrant arrival that tested my hearing was a Ring Ouzel singing from the crags and its unharmonious song, which is slightly different to that of the Mistle Thrush, could just be heard over the noise from the burn that gushed in spate with melt from the north facing snow fields and cornices. Strangely enough a couple of sapphire iridescent Dung Beetles were giving each other the once over, admittedly very slowly in the chill air and a post hibernation Fox Moth caterpillar had curled up in defeat to its false dawn of Spring with minute drops of rain settling on the long, charcoal-violet coloured guard hairs that encase its body.

Dung Beetle romance

Fox Moth caterpillar

From the horizon of a plateau iced with snow there appears a small, straggling and struggling skein of Pink-footed Geese flying overhead in the vague, swithering direction towards a homely north. Two of the geese split off in a contrary direction and seem to panic back to the skein, after all crossing these southern Cairngorm hills is a risky business. Last year I found a goose, not far from here, which had been predated by an eagle and by coincidence a Golden Eagle flaps heavily against the wind as it flies with determination over the snow in the distance and it seems to be following the scent of a solitary Raven that passed by that spot a few minutes ago. Ravens and Golden Eagles have a reliant yet adversarial relationship because a busy gathering of Ravens indicates that something is dead, whilst a hunting Golden Eagle means something is about to die. Similarly, Ravens will follow a deer stalk for the resulting grallochs and, ironically, Raven is often on the eagle's menu but understandably not by gourmet choice!   

Deer gralloching site

Fly pupal cases in sheep carcass wool from last winter

The worrying part of observing eagles in Scotland is not seeing them during a visit to their known territories and my heart is always full of woe when there is no sign of them after being in their territory all day. There have been a few persecution crimes recently and this area is surrounded by historical persecution hot-spots so every visit is overshadowed by the thought of their well being. As I look at the huge heather burn on Millden estate and the spaghetti junction of newly excavated hill tracks networking the hills into a manageable grouse yielding asset, my fears for the future of the Golden Eagle in this area grows in time with the relentless pursuit for grouse shooting supremacy. 

The reason behind some persecution of Golden Eagles on grouse moors is more opaque than you would expect. When an eagle is hunting over a heather moor, the grouse instinctively take to the air because an eagle usually takes its prey on the ground not in mid-air. The grouse know that they have a much better chance of escape whilst in flight and that is the reason why certain game-keepers dislike eagles overflying their moors during a shoot, they can spoil a very expensive day's sport and ruin the reputation of that estate in terms of its grouse prestige. Well, obviously eagles do kill grouse and that does not increase their popularity either. Peregrine Falcons have the opposite effect on grouse, they know that falcons take prey in the air so grouse will not fly if a falcon is overhead. It seems our grouse are not that daft after all and I will not make the obvious statement about the folk who find pleasure in shooting them! 

Heather burn on Millden estate

In conclusion there are a few signs that Spring is on its way, the singing mavis, the arrival of the shy pipit to the moor, the insects just beginning to crawl, a shoot of fresh green growth, the stag's grand antlers breaking into shards, waders piping their familiar calls, the eagle and corbie on solitary patrol, the hare casting tufts of rubbed white fur on the heather, the grouse bubbling in tune, the tradition of heather burning has begun and, maybe, a strange feeling of slithery movement from the bracken serpent's hibernaculum deep underground.

Solitary Raven

Notes;

All sketches and photos done on the day and are copyright.

Please be aware that it is illegal to disturb nesting eagles or other raptors and you may do so inadvertently in your journeys into the highlands. I do not recommend searching for any of the species mentioned in this blog because this may cause undue disturbance to them. With my knowledge of the areas described in this blog I can locate and observe protected species at a respectful distance usually from about 1000 metres for short periods of time only.

gralloch - removal of a deer's internal organs to render a carcass more manageable.

corbie - Raven.

mavis - thrush.

waders - Lapwing, Curlew, Snipe, Woodcock and Redshank are present on the moor.

hibernaculum - underground hibernation area.

daft - stupid and silly.

David Adam web-site