Hawk Owls

An adult Hawk Owl Surnia ulula watches over its shoulder

There is an abundance of voles, Grey-sided Voles Myodes rufocanus in northern Norway this spring, so there are lots of raptors and owls breeding. Two species I have been seeing are Rough-legged Buzzards Buteo lagopus and Hawk Owls, both well-known specialist feeders on small rodents. The buzzards hunt mostly over the high open tundra and the owls in and around the woodland, but this family of owls were hunting around the edge of a small hamlet set in birch forest.

The owl brood were perched around this building; in the trees, scrub and wooden structures 

The adult female owl was perched high above her brood. She was up on wires, while her chicks were perched in birch scrub, one on the roof of a hut and one on the frame of a lavvu. These owls hunt by daylight, which in such a place above the arctic circle is no problem. There is abundant food and 24 hours of daylight to hunt. So the owls have large broods. There were four chicks at least in this brood, but there could have been perhaps seven or more.

An adult owl sits atop the frame of a lavvu, a Sami tent-type temporary dwelling

While the female was guarding the chicks, the male was away hunting, returning frequently with voles for the chicks. I have been seeing a few voles per day while walking through the local forests, but these owls were catching several per day, how many did they see per day. They are such efficient hunters, they probably saw many more than they caught, looking down from their high hunting perches.

A close up of the same bird

I have seen hawk owls before, mostly at a distance and in thick extensive forest, so it was a special experience to stand amongst them as they carried on their business regardless of my presence. And they really are such wonderful birds.

An adult bird brings a vole to feed a chick

Hawk owls can be aggressive in defense of their chicks, but fortunately these birds were not. They can attack humans around the head and draw blood with their very, very sharp talons. Another reason to admire them. And respect them.

One of the fledgling owl chicks

While watching them, I thought how easy it was to approach the chicks without causing them to fly away. Meanwhile, I stayed constantly aware that the adults were vigilant and could swoop at me if they wanted to. To them, I was easy to approach and cause to flee. And I would have done so if they had.

A wink that only owls can do so well

Grouse family

A hen Red Grouse and a chick up above, crouch low in the heather 

The Red Grouse Lagopus lagopus scotica, a race of the Willow Grouse, are quiet on the moors just now as they have chicks. They spend the day walking slowly through the heather and wet flushes of grasses and sedge. That is where the chicks, which feed themselves from hatch, can find more adult insects and caterpillars, important sources of nutrients for them in their first two weeks of life.

The hen watches me closely as I pass by

I was walking up a hill towards the higher ptarmigan habitat when I noticed this family hiding in the heather. They were spread over several square metres, crouched and frozen exactly where they were feeding when the adults must have given the alarm and they all crouched down to hide from, a potential predator - me.

The cock bird peeps through the cover of a sprig of blaeberry

I have studied grouse and ptarmigan for many years and recognised the behaviour of the adult male, whom I saw first. So I stopped in my tracks until I could see that my feet were clear of stepping on any chicks. Then I slowly crept round them, counting six chicks altogether.

The chicks are well camouflaged in the heather, blaeberry and moss

If I had stepped too close to any of the birds they would have jumped up and flown downhill away from me, cheeping if they were a chick and croaking if an adult. All would then have erupted from the heather in explosive flight. Each was crouched ready to jump at the first call. Even at only a week old, the chicks are strong enough to fly for about a hundred metres to safety. In such circumstances, the adults then quickly round them up once any threat of danger has passed. A great strategy to ensure that even if one chick were caught, the others should survive.

Crouching ready to spring at the first alarm call 

Lesser Twayblade

A typical single plant of Lesser Twayblade, growing within a scattered group (out of shot)

On the long walk out from the eagle eyrie in the previous post, Adam Ritchie spotted a group of Lesser Twayblade Listera cordata plants growing right in the middle of the path we followed. These plants are not too uncommon on the wet peaty moorlands like the one we were on, but they are very easily overlooked and hence probably very under-recorded. Well done Adam for noticing them. Simon and I had already walked right over them.

The flower spikes were a pale pink/brown colour and faded into the background heather
they looked rather like dead stems of some other moorland plant

This was an added bonus to an already great day out, but the light was poor by then as it was evening, with clouds gathering for big rain on the ensuing days. Nevertheless, Simon and I pulled our cameras out of our rucksacks and grabbed a few shots.

The twin leaves growing at the base of the stem, opposite and enfolding one another - the distinctive leaf pattern of Twayblades 

These plants tend to grow in loose groups because they are more commonly spread by runners. If they are successfully pollinated, that is usually by fungus gnats. There were probably more plants growing in the moor beside the track as the habitat was similar, but these plants were perhaps as noticeable as they ever can be - growing in the middle strip of heather, blaeberry and moss between the ruts of the path.

Simon gets down low for a macro shot of the twayblade

Eagle nests are large

A typical Golden Eagle eyrie site in Scotland
set on a broad vegetated ledge behind an old Rowan tree 

The golden eagle Aquila chrysaetos chicks are now large enough to ring and I visited this nest a few days ago with Adam Ritchie, a fellow eagle researcher. Simon Cherriman, a friend and another eagle researcher - mostly of wedge-tailed eagles in Australia - helped and gained experience of how things are done in Scotland.

The chick is about 30 cm long and 20 cm broad, so this is a deep wide eyrie 

It was good that Simon came to this eyrie, for as the two of us roped down to the nest I was reminded of the size of these nests. I don't always appreciate that when alone. But with another person on the nest the scale became clear. The nest was huge.

Simon measures the length of the chick's head and bill
there is room for two people and the chick on the nest 

The chick was ringed and measured within minutes, a minimal intrusion when the adult birds are often away from the nest for hours when the chicks are this age or older - this chick was about four weeks old. Although I am sure the adult birds would have been watching us from a distance all the time.

The trailing edge on the foreground of the nest is the birds' landing platform, they don't flop down
 onto the nest but glide and stall onto the lower edge, then walk up onto the platform.
It also shows how easily the birds can launch themselves out onto the air straight from the eyrie
- there is a lot of space below

Misty Cotton

There has been an east coast fog recently under the continuous cool north-east wind. In north east Scotland, this mist is known as the haar. In the evenings it creeps in over the land and one evening this week it was lying low on the moors. Meanwhile, it is the season for the cotton grass Eriophorum vaginatum to set seed, and this year there has been a splendid crop of the white cotton heads. The two features together make a soft delicate landscape. A transient tapestry.

The individual plants of the cotton grass grow in tight tussocks on the wet moorland, bog really, known as mosses in the north-east. These cotton buds shine bright white in the sunshine, but in the diffuse evening light, the details of their silky tufts are the showpiece. Whether in close up detail or en masse.

When looked through from ground level,the sea of white rolled on and on, one snowflake after another, forming a fluffy bogland blanket.

The hedgerows are full of white blossom at the moment, but the cotton grass even up-staged them. This was a truly spectacular sight, a soft but spectacular sight.

Late season - Ptarmigan just laying up

A cock rock ptarmigan Lagopus muta sits on top of a rock watching over his mate as she feeds below

Although the weather has been clear, dry, sunny and warm in the Scottish Highlands over the past week, the ptarmigan are late in laying their eggs this year. A sign of how cold the weather had been before the current warm spell.

Ptarmigan habitat of short, wind-swept heath on the high ridge of Ben Klibreck

I was up Ben Klibreck in northern Scotland a few days ago, and other hills since, recording the food plants that ptarmigan were feeding on. The females should have been incubating their eggs by now as they often hatch in the first week of June, but this year they seem to be about two-three weeks behind their normal schedule. Ben Klibreck is 961m high and the ptarmigan habitat extends down to about 650m. So, any effects of a cold spring will be especially evident at that altitude, and the leaf buds of their main spring food plant in Scotland, bilberry Vaccinium myrtillus were only just opening.

A pair of ptarmigan in their mountain habitat - the cock is grey, suiting the colour of the rocks that he spends most his time amongst, as he watches over his hen. She is a dappled brown colour, suiting that of the short heath she is feeding in. 

At this time of year, the cock ptarmigan stay close to their hens, guarding them from competitors and keeping a watch for predators, mostly golden eagles in this area.

A hen ptarmigan in full breeding plumage

This hen seemed to be heavy at the rear end, she probably had an egg well formed in her egg duct which would soon be ready for her to lay. Compare the profile of her body beneath her tail with that of the cock bird's slimmer line.

A cock ptarmigan his full breeding plumage

Part of the reason for the bird's lateness in laying is probably due to the late development of the birds' food-plants. These are sparse in the north-west Highlands, and although the ptarmigan do live there successfully on what seems to us seems a scant food supply, to form a clutch of eggs, the hens might need the extra nutrients that the developing new growth brings.

Sparse food plants for ptarmigan amongst a carpet of woolly fringe moss

The bilberry was growing in short, thinly scattered sprigs, and there was a similar scattering of stiff sedge Carex bigelowii. I watched one hen picking out the flower spikes from the sedges, delicately and precisely nipping off only the most nutritious parts and avoiding eating much of the stems which are less nutritious. Another food-plant there was alpine lady's mantle Alchemilla alpina, of which they eat the flower buds as they form, but few had formed by last week.  All three food-plants were growing in a carpet of woolly fringe moss Racomitrium lanuginosum, which made up about 90% of the ground cover in places. By living there on such meagre food supplies, the ptarmigan were showing once again how well they are adapted to life on the high tops.

Flower spikes of Stiff Sedge and opening leaves of Bilberry - the two main foods that the ptarmigan were eating that day. 

Windy sea cliffs

A small section of a colony of Kittiwakes Rissa tridactyla 

A few days ago the weather was forecast to turn windy and wet, so I took a day out to visit the seabird colonies on the north-east Scottish coast, where the rain would reach last. I timed it right and I had a great time watching the birds flying in the wind, the clifftop giving me an eye-to-eye view of them in flight. So different from standing low on land or a boat looking up and only seeing their bellies.

A Kittiwake cruises past me at cliff top height, feathers ruffled by the wind

Windy days are also best for watching and photographing them as they often stall and hold themselves stationery in the wind, without any need to flap their wings. From my high perch, I could see how the wind ruffled and tugged at their feathers, flight is obviously not always smooth.

A Kittiwake flying with its feet down - controlling its speed with them|?

Most of the birds were holding their feet down, using them as extra aids to flight in strong wind.

A Fulmar similarly flying with its feet down

The truly specialist fliers on these cliffs are the Fulmars Fulmarus glacialis. One minute, they would cut through the wind at high speed, the next they would float up on an updraft, holding themselves in one spot by the slightest of flicks of wing, tail or feet. They seemed to be inquisitive and deliberately approached me as I sat on the cliff top, watching me eye to eye before slipping off on the breeze.

A Fulmar on wide-spread wings tilts to steer, but holds its head level all the time

The dull grey skies gave low light for photography, limiting the speed I could shoot at, but the positive aspect of the low light was the colour saturation I could capture. Photographing seabirds on sunny days can be very tricky as most of them are black and white. Under bright light it difficult to capture the details of their plumage due to the sharp contrast. The light was growing darker as the clouds thickened, but I managed to grab some shots that showed the feather details; how they lie when in flight, the different shades and colours of the fresh and old feathers, the smudges of dirt and guano on their breasts, and the fine lines on their faces, bills and feet.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

It's not easy for seabirds to keep clean when they are nesting on dirty ledges

Montane moths

The twin peaks of Spidean Coinich on the southern ridge of Quinag

After a long cold spell, last week the weather turned bright and warm, although still with a brisk northerly wind. The tops of the hills in the Scottish Highlands cleared and walking there became relaxing and warm compared with the previous week. So I headed up Quinag in Assynt, in the north-west Highlands for a short day on that magnificent little mountain.

Lochan Bealach Cornaidh in the eastern corrie of Quinag

I began my walk started from a car park set on a high pass at about 250 m, then meandered through the main corrie, past Lochan Bealach Cornaidh and up the last short steep slope to the summit ridge. The ridge splits into three, leading to the triple peaks. The shortest ridge rises gently up to Sail Gharbh, the highest top at 808 m, which is nice and convenient for a short day.

The view south from near the summit of Sail Gharbh, the highest peak in the Quinag massif. Canisp, Cul Mor and Suilven rise up behind Spidean Coinich

Down in the corrie, the heather is tall and mixed with purple moor grass Molinia caerulea, the dominant grass in these wet heaths. Higher up, the heather becomes shorter as it becomes more exposed to wind. The result is a short sward of mixed heather, grasses and mosses. A soft carpet covers the ground between the scattered boulders making the walking easy for us but living hard for all except the best adapted plants and animals. Ptarmigan are there, although scarce as their preferred food plants of bilberry, and crowberry are sparse, and other foods such as alpine lady's mantle and heath bedstraw are similarly thin on the ground. There were a few wheatears and meadow pipits, hunting for insects and those insects were hiding, such as the Broad-bordered White Underwing moth Anarta melanopa.

A well camouflaged moth sits on the prostrate heather high on the ridge, the grey mottled forewings match the colours of the mosses and the pale border of wings matches the twists of white grasses, 

The main range in Britain for this species is withiin the more central Highlands, such as the Cairngorms, so it was especially pleasing to find several individuals out basking in the May sunshine on this north-west hill. They were mostly keeping still, but when any flew they were distinctive in their low tumbling flight, being buffeted by the wind.

A Broad-bordered White Underwing moth, a true mountain moth that only lives on montane heaths

Like all animals that live on the high ground these moths have adaptations that give them the ability to survive there. Camouflage is one, and insulation from cold is another. The adults sip nectar from the flowers of the heath plants; bilberry, crowberry and bearberry, which are also the foodplants for their caterpillars. These heaths thrive better on the slopes and lower hilltops, rather than the highest summits in the Highlands, so the smaller hills in the north-west probably suit them and they might be more abundant there than what has been recorded. I'll take notes on other places I find them in future.

The moths' bodies are clad in a 'fur' of modified scales, even the scales on their wings seem to have a furry texture. All adaptations for life in a cold environment on the mountain tops.

My day was short on the tops, I had to go back to the valley and the warmer environment. Even with the best of waterproof and windproof clothing I would become cold if I stayed there overnight, and I would become hungry. I like being up on the tops, but I am not adapted to living there. That takes a special type of animal or plant, and I admire them.

One pair of moths were mating.The warm weather had encouraged them to emerge from their over-wintering state and the main purpose of any adult insect is to breed. The warm period can be short and unpredictable in the hilltops, so they must take the first chance to breed that have. It might be their only chance if a period of cool wet weather settles in before their short life ends.

Wild days on the tops

The famous outline of  Stob Dearg, Buachaille Etive Mor

While surveying for ptarmigan over the past week, I was reminded how hardy and well adapted these birds are to their mountain habitat. They endure sun, wind, rain and snow on the high tops of the Scottish Highlands, and as I wandered over the hills I thought I should write a post, not on the birds but on the wild place they live in. This blog is about wildplaces as much as wildlife after all.

Footprints on the snow-lined ridge, looking over to Na Gruagaichean in theMamores

The past winter left vast amounts of late-lying snow on the high ground in the Highlands, more than I have seen lying so late into May for a many years. Long wreaths of snow cornices lined the tops and the north faces of the high hills were deep in snow, lying as low as 600 m and rising in continuous snowfields to the summits. Yet on the windward, south and western faces there was very little snow. Some of the snow was safe to walk on, but other sections were soft and wet. I avoided any sections of cornice where I could see that there was a risk of avalanche, where there were hundreds of tons of snow teetering on the skyline, wet and heavy, ready to fall as it thawed. I would be walking in sunshine, then a few minutes later I would be enveloped by wild winds and stinging rain/snow, with poor visibility. Safety was the priority.

Ben Nevis on the skyline from the summit ridge of Binnein Mor 

The walking was very tiring for three days as the winds were so strong, then on the fourth day, there was calm and bright sunshine all day. The peaks were glistening and it was a joy to be out. That day I was up on the eastern end of the Mamores, a massif south of Ben Nevis.

The climb started from near sea-level, next to an old church in the village of Kinlochleven. The leaves were just opening on the birch trees and the summer migrants had arrived. I heard my first cuckoo the day before and there was another one calling here. Wood and willow warblers were singing and tree pipits were doing their parachute song-flight. Meanwhile the usual car-park robin and chaffinches were coming in close for the chance of a few crumbs.

It was a long climb to the ptarmigan habitat of short alpine heath; passing through birch, then oak woodland, heather moor and wet heath. All the while a series of seemingly endless panoramas opened up as I gained height. It was such a brilliant day that after walking across the hillsides looking for ptarmigan, I had to go up onto the ridge for fun, pure fun and the exhilaration of being high on a mountain on a perfect day.

Snow cornices rim the eastern corrie of  Binnein Mor. The snowy peaks of  Glencoe are in the distance, on the far side of the moors of Blackmount

 All things must end though, and after strolling along a few kilometres of high narrow-way I had to head back down, Oooh, the descent was so tiring, and sore on the legs. The route I took fell straight down a very steep ridge. Although the good thing was that I was losing height fast and I was back down by the edge of the woods before I knew it. A cuckoo was first, then I was walking past warblers and chaffinches again. And as I pulled off my boots the carpark robin came back up to me, looking for crumbs.

I gave it some.

Looking down 1000 m from the summit of  Na Gruagaihcean to  Kinlochleven.

 

Spring ptarmigan

Snow-laden clouds lie heavily over the Cairngorms

It's Spring in Scotland and there have been some late snow falls in the hills. Yesterday, I was up counting Rock Ptarmigan Lagopus muta in a long-term study area up on the high summits. The wind was cold, the light was a little grey, ice stung my face, there was a tremendous feeling of being out in a truly wild place - alone in the high hills with the birds and mountain hares. I felt at home in my favourite habitat.

A cock ptarmigan looks out over his territory from a rocky vantage point

The ptarmigan were busy displaying over their territories. They made a wonderful sight as they strutted with their red combs held up high, and as they launched out down over the slopes in long parachute song flights. Their loud croaking calls rattled across the hillside, the only other sound being that of the wind rushing over the icy ground, whipping up spindrift. Then the next minute everything would stop and the air sparkled in sunshine.

Another cock ptarmigan floats down over the snowy hillside on a song flight

As I walked up the hill I left a small group of Sand Martins hawking low over the snow-free ground in the valley. They would have just arrived from, or rather been on passage north from their winter quarters, along with the single male Wheatear and several Meadow Pipits that I saw farther up the hill. There were a few Common Gulls flying around, they would be setting up their nesting territories down by some wet hollows in the peat. The only other local birds which spend the whole year in the area, like the ptarmigan, were the Red Grouse. Good numbers of cock grouse were calling to one another and chasing neighbours in defence of their territories. Meanwhile, the hen birds were busy feeding up to gather nutrients, all to make eggs soon. They seemed to ignore all the fuss made by the cock birds, keeping their heads down as they pecked away at the expanding buds of heather.

A bird descending slowly while calling

The ptarmigan live on the highest ground, up where there is not much vegetation and what there is, is short, prostrate in form on the wind-scoured slopes. The birds were mostly moulted out of their winter plumage and into their spring colours. Grey for the boys and mottled brown for the girls. The males are grey as they mostly sit beside grey lichen-covered rocks, the hens need to resemble the colours of the heath where they feed and nest. They will have to sit on their nests for about three weeks while they incubate the eggs alone. Seldom coming off the nest, lest the eggs become chilled and the embryos die.

A partially moulted hen ptarmigan keeps to the partially snow-free ground, well matched to both types of ground cover

I walked quietly past the birds and they stayed still, not moving any more than they needed to, all part of their strategy to rely on their camouflage to conceal them and to not move to save energy and warmth. I sat beside a pair and when settled down low at ground level, I was out of the wind, tucked into a hollow like the birds. They know to keep out of the wind to preserve body heat, and they have adopted all the best tricks for survival on the high tops. That's one reason I like them. Another is that we share a favourite habitat.

She holds herself in a tight round form, fluffed up and head tucked down into her shoulders - all to keep warm