While Shetland offers opportunities to photograph wildlife rarely seen elsewhere in the UK, it's not a place to head to if you love raptors, which of course I do. Back home, after sorting through the thousands of images from that trip, I was keen not to miss out on anything that might turn up.
Cue a red-footed falcon, which was spotted near an old colliery in Staffordshire. The first day it was reported, I had decided to visit the long-staying melodious warbler near Marsh Lane, which had also decided to depart the night before I got there. After all the comments about it being one for constantly singing, the absence of anything other than linnets singing, was a bit of a clue, so I ended up photographing the numerous swallows skimming the crop fields for flying insects. Challenging with a tripod-mounted lens.
I waited for confirmation via news on Twitter that the falcon was still around, and drove up the M6 to find initially the pin on the Bird Guides app was nowhere near the bird. Thankfully the postcode mentioned was bang on, and the crowds reassured me that I was at the right spot. Sat on a concrete post by some sort of outbuilding in a horses' paddock, was the red-footed falcon. A new one for me (in the UK). I'd say tick, but I've had to deal with them in Uist, and I'd rather avoid such things, even verbally.
The light wasn't great but at least the falcon was active, and flew between a variety of perching posts, as well as swooping down on to anything moving in the grass below.
Occasionally it would leave the area and vanish into the nature reserve behind us all, and despite looking none of us would find it, only to hear that it had returned to the paddock again shortly after.
It also gave me a good chance to catch up with friends who had also turned up to see the falcon, and it wasn't long before the usual amusing banter started, keeping us all giggling while the falcon was off on one of its absent spells. And we'd all fall silent again on its return, taking shots aplenty of this lovely rarity.
When Dave (Hutton) who had been to see the melodious warbler over twenty times, also failed to find it, I knew it had gone, so turned my attentions elsewhere. Initially I took leisurely drives down to the Cotswolds, which had been the destination to head to earlier in the year with the short-eared owls, but was now a lot busier with tourists, and the wildlife much harder to find. The fields where hares had been scampering across in February, were now waist-high with crops or wild flowers, so almost impossible to see anything in, though one roe deer decided to take a look around, lifting his head above the crops before slowly, almost comically dropping back down and out of sight.
There were hares around, though none close. I did see more deer though, with a pair of roe deer fawns enjoying what the meadow had to offer their taste buds.
And on another trip, yet another roe deer watching me from an overgrown track. Also watching me, from a couple of feet away was a stoat, but was gone the moment I turned my head to look at it. Too close for a photo with the gear I had out of the bag though.
Something now often seen over the hills of the Cotswolds are red kites, and while they can be a bit hit and miss in that area, I chose to head to an area where they are plentiful, to maximise my chances of a shot. The Chilterns.
Didn't take long to see them, but I was hoping to get some shots of them perched up for a change. Taking as many narrow winding country lanes as I could find, I eventually arrived at a common, being mowed by several tractors and, following behind were maybe twenty or so red kites.
Mostly, as they do at Gigrin, they were swooping down at speed, and snatching anything left behind the mowers from the ground, before devouring it on the wing.
But occasionally, one would land to eat, and that was what I hoped to see. Eventually one did just that, and not far from where I was watching. It seemed to have spotted something larger than the usual grubs, and initially seemed to mantle it after landing.
Whatever it was, didn't last long and with a flick of its neck, the kite wolfed it down. However, instead of flying off, this one decided to take a stroll, perhaps enjoying the scent of the freshly mown grass? This of course was fantastic for me to watch, and I grabbed a few shots as it moved around at ground level.
After the kites dispersed, I continued my tour and struck gold or should I say red, when I noticed a kite sat on a telegraph pole in a small hamlet. I was able to park up and without spooking the kite, get some very close shots.
I have to admit to being somewhat envious of the residents, to be able to look out of a window and see one of these majestic raptors sat at eye-level nearby. Certainly beats the wood pigeons that occupy most of the perches around my road.
Then, just as I was following signs back to the M40, I saw another land up in a tree, and it didn't immediately fly off when I opened the car door to take the shot.
Keeping the red kite theme going, my next excursion was to the Elan Valley, though I didn't plan to take in the spectacle that is Gigrin Farm. No, I was more interested in tootling around the lakes and cascading streams, to see what I could find.
First to grab my attention were some barn swallows. They had perched up on a fence beside the road, and unlike the redstarts and whinchats that had zipped away as I rolled up, these sat still. Perhaps enjoying some warmer sunshine after the unusually cold spell of weather lately.
Rounding a corner, a flicker of red caught my eye and I spotted a male redstart sat on a post. The light wasn't brilliant, slightly harsh, but he didn't fly away.
On the same corner, were masses of house martins and were too tempting, with the glorious blue skies behind, not to linger for. Too fast for the big lens, it was out with the 100-400mm and even then it was a challenge to get them.
Another lens change was required shortly after, to take in the fabulous views across the lake, with the calm conditions, the water turned into a mirror.
Seeing yet another flash of a red tail near the road, prompted me to park yet again, and I was just about to get out to creep up on the juvenile redstart hopping along the roadside posts, when a much larger character swooped in. A common buzzard, and it landed only a few dozen yards from me across the road.
It didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Better still, for once, no cars seemed to be around, so it wasn't scared off. It was however, very interested in something moving below the fence, out of sight of the road.
Suddenly it dropped down from the post, and seconds later returned, albeit slightly further away, with something held firmly in one talon.
A lizard, and unfortunately for it, the buzzard proceeded to take ahold of it by the head. Had it been the other end, I'm sure the lizard might have shed its tail to escape.
But not this time, and after a few wriggly seconds, the lizard had been devoured.
And moments later, a car approached and the buzzard departed. I spent the remainder of the day exploring, but the area was now awash with sightseers and the wildlife all but departed. Walking down to one of the streams, I hoped to maybe see a dipper, but in fact found a family of grey wagtails, the fledglings dotted around on the rocks. The parents were busily fluttering up and down the water, grabbing insects, and then delivering them to the demanding youngsters.
Fun to watch but less so with all the biting insects nearby, and after grabbing some shots of the feeding process, I fleed to the safety of my car.
Back out on the road again, I eventually caught up with a whinchat, but it wasn't close and soon flew off when a noisy Harley Davidson thundered by.
Time to head east and see what August might bring...
After the sun-filled Thursday, Friday was back to what Paula had assumed the weather might be for the week, with rain falling and rather gloomy as a result. We eventually headed out to look around the isle, in case anything interesting showed itself, but I think the wildlife had also decided to shelter from the rain and we ended up in a pub of all places, with Kate requesting a cup of tea!
It was a day for getting things ready for the flights back home alas, though I found myself trying to drink in the view from the windows of the cottage as much as I could, knowing I'd miss it terribly.
And so came the last day. Kate and I were to catch a flight off Shetland late afternoon, but as we'd done most of the packing already, we had time to enjoy the morning. There were a lot of gulls around the headland in front of the cottage, so Andy took a stroll down to the water's edge and worked out where the local otter was vanishing to, each time we caught a glimpse of it. There seemed to be a small holt just above the rocks beside the water, with tracks leading to it. And, nearby was a discarded dead black guillemot; perhaps not to the otter's taste after all.
To provide us all with some entertainment, Andy relocated the guillemot to the grassy area above, stood back and we watched. Didn't take long for the local bonxies to notice it, and after circling for a few moments, they descended and began to peck at it.
I had expected them to be rather ferocious, tearing up the carrion, but they were rather hesitant, taking it in turns to pluck bits away, keeping a watchful eye on anything approaching them.
One of the bonxies then flew off, leaving its partner to feast alone. Though that didn't last long as an Arctic tern took offence to it, and started to repeatedly divebomb it.
Whilst this action was going on, and I was trying to photo it from the Games room of the cottage, the others were busy chatting to a young birder called Logan (Johnson) who had kindly come over to tell us about what species he'd seen on Shetland, and I think also to meet with a certain WildlifeKate too.
He's seen so many different species on the Isles, and has many photos of them too. His Blog is well worth checking out. It might have been wiser to have met him earlier in the break in case he had any additional recommended sites we should visit. But as it was, it was our last day and Magnus also arrived to wave us off.
Or did he? By now the mists had properly rolled in and Magnus quipped as we said farewell to the cottage and the others, that he'd see us later. Hmm.
The airport was chaotic when we arrived, with a long queue to the check-in desks, and some flights on the screens already cancelled. Fog here causes major disruption. There was no information on our flight either, with just a white-board behind the desks with some additional notes scribbled hastily on to it.
With only about an hour to make our connection in Aberdeen, it was starting to look like Magnus (and Logan has said similar) was going to be on the money!
Hugh and The Urban Birder were also in the airport, with the former doing his utmost to ensure members of his tour were aware of things and were being looked after. One flight managed to land during a clear spell, but the mists soon returned, and by the time we were due to be boarding, there was still no information other than "on hold" (whatever that means!) for our flight.
On reaching the check-in desk we asked if they could rearrange our flights as there was no way we'd make the connection, and with there being only one flight back to Birmingham from Aberdeen that day, we didn't fancy being put up in some box of a hotel room for the night. Instead, we could remain on Shetland, as the cottage was still available...
Shortly after, I was rather comically running into the arms of Andy on the top of Sumburgh Head, which is where he, Lyndsey and Logan had headed for the day. Kate was happy to head off with Paula who already had plans for the remainder of the day, leaving me to photo the puffins with the others.
The mist around the headland made for interesting conditions to photograph the birds. Initially I used the only lens I had with me, the 500mm to get some more intimate images of the puffins as they greeted each other.
Such quirky little birds, they make great subjects to photo whatever they are doing, especially when performing their beak-tapping rituals.
Unlike other days we'd been, the puffins were constantly taking off, vanishing into the mist and then fluttering back in soon after, landing back on the cliffs next to us.
However, with the fog, it made it very difficult to pick them up as they approached, and even harder to focus on. Initially, I tried a few with the 500mm lens, but it's simply too heavy to hand-hold for any length of time, and in order to get them in shot, it was a case of trying to focus as they just appeared from the mists.
Fortunately, Andy and Lyndsey had a 70-200mm lens not being used, so I tried that instead. And, at about 200mm, it gave me enough time and room in the viewfinder to start to get some shots.
Then it was a case of tracking the puffins in, and hoping to get shots as they zipped past, or landed. Great fun.
One puffin even landed on the wall, just down from us, so we had to creep round for a closer look. The puffin seemed intrigued of what we were doing, and shuffled over to have a look over the stones. This gave me a chance to play with the depth of field with the f2.8 lens in hand, opening it right up for some shots...
And using my usual aperture of f6.3 for others.
Then it was back to the in-flight shots again, until it was time for Logan to depart, and us, after a brief detour to see a sea cabbage (!!), to return to the cottage again. I wasn't too unhappy about it, to be honest. I adore Shetland, so another unexpected night on it, and more time to soak up the atmosphere and the views, was most welcome.
I awoke early in the morning, and peered out the window. Thick fog. Worse than the day before. Shutting out the light with the curtains, I went back to sleep. When it was time to get up, it was raining, but most of the fog had gone. We considered going to Sumburgh Head again, but after saying our goodbyes to all for the second time, we abandoned such plans due to the weather, and returned to the hotel at Sumburgh for another of those steak baguettes. Took a while to come, but it was a Sunday, in foul weather and we weren't in a rush.
Final farewells to Paula and Hugh (and his family) at the airport, and we were soon flying home, via Edinburgh instead.
As I sit here now typing this in, I can close my eyes (and make many typos) and see the fabulous view we had from Cheyne House, remember the sounds of the birds all around and then smile as I recall the banter we enjoyed with the others, in particular with Paula who, like last time, was an absolute angel the whole trip.
Oh to be still up there...
Thursday was forecast to be sunny and almost warm, which given the temperatures during the trip so far would be a pleasant change. While it hadn't been cold as such, for me, after my week in Menorca days before flying up to Shetland, it was quite a change to the system!
None of us had any plans for the day, so Paula said she'd drive us to some of the prettier areas of the isle to make the most of the sunshine. After a quick detour to see if any long-tailed skuas were around (they weren't), we headed to St Ninian's Bay. Before we even reached the parking area, we'd persuaded Paula to park up so we could jump out to grab the view from above natural tombolo, which is a sand causeway, with sea on either side.
In the bright sunshine, the beach and surrounding sea looked gorgeous and had it been located down south, no doubt would have been littered with families of sun-worshippers. Thankfully up here, it was almost deserted and begged to be photographed.
I had spotted some divers on the water, so hoofed off across the strip of sand for a closer look. More red-throated individuals, and slightly annoyingly on the side of the bay that was backlit. But it was sunny and warm, and I was stood, slightly overdressed, in the most glorious and tranquil scenery one could ever hope to see. With barely a breath of wind, the water was calm, with small waves rolling on the one shore, and merely lapping on the other side. Heavenly.
I had expected Kate to have followed me, but she'd vanished from sight. I wondered if she'd found something interesting to photograph, so headed back to where we'd first scrambled down to the beach. She had. The cliffs were inhabited by fulmars, and they weren't in the least bit bothered by us being so close.
Though Kate was more interested in a ringed plover scurrying around on the shore, amongst the rather foul smelling seaweed, attracting numerous flying insects for the plover to catch.
Lying on the sand, I started to get some low-level shots myself, until the plover walked right past me, well within the limit of my lens. I had to simply smile and watch it potter past me.
Also nearby, very well hidden on the rocks near the shore, were several families of eider ducks, with about a dozen ducklings in tow. The female eiders blended in so well with the rocks, they were almost invisible when they stopped moving. They seemed to be spending their time either soaking up the sunshine or taking to the water, for a quick paddle around, before drying off again. Somewhat human-like traits, when beside the seaside on a sunny day!
The fulmars divided their time between being sat on the nest, flying up and down the headland slopes, or flying out on to the bay, to bob about on the water. It was fun trying to photo them as they flew along the hillsides though.
Arctic terns danced along the shoreline, targeting any fish along the way, dropping down like darts into the water to take them.
Such a fabulous spot, it was difficult to drag ourselves away from it, but Paula was keen for us to head to higher ground, to get even better views. Well worth it too!
Driving onwards, Paula pulled over above a small bay, as she said there may be common seals below. Not in the numbers she had thought, but there were about twenty either chilling out on the beach, or playing in the sea.
Given our lofty viewing position and the clarity of the water, we could see them gliding along underwater, surfacing and also coming ashore, rolling around together as they did.
We were slowly heading south, with the intention of revisiting Sumburgh Head. Along the way though, we stopped to admire a family of whooper swans drifting serenely across a loch. I'd never seen whooper swan cygnets before.
And after bumping into Hugh's tour group again, and some more amusing banter, we made a beeline to Sumburgh, where we found Andy and Lyndsey already there, enjoying the antics of the puffins on the slopes.
Puffins are such expressionate birds and are thus, very photogenic. The bright sunlight made it difficult to get a good balance between the white and black feathers on them, to retain detail on each. With the 500mm lens, I was able to concentrate on portraits of the puffins, as well as capturing individuals or pairs sat amongst the sea pinks (thrift) on the slopes.
As the path follows the cliff edge, it is pretty easy to move to get different backdrops to the birds, such as the bright sandy slopes, or the lush blue sea beyond.
By angling the lens so it was in line with the steep slope, I was also able to get the sea pinks in the foreground, though it did involve a lot of waiting for the puffins to be looking the right way for the shot I wanted.
Whilst waiting, I had noticed that the one side of the cliffs was being used as a highway for the fulmars, gulls and occasional kittiwake to zoom up from the sea, to the taller cliffs by the lighthouse. And they were only a couple of yards away as they soared by.
This meant I could get a focus lock on as they approached and retain it until they were really close.
Something Kate soon spotted too, and joined in. The fulmars were definitely looking at us as they drifted past.
Then it was back home for a fine meal prepared by Andy and Lyndsey, with Magnus and Paula over too. Another glorious day on Shetland, with more fantastic images and memories to treasure.
There are I am sure, many wonderful areas of Shetland that we didn't reach on the last trip, but one of the more obvious targets for wildlife was Hermaness. It involves a pretty long walk to reach the cliffs, and as that would have ruled Ian out from getting there, we chose to avoid it. But not this time.
It was quite a long drive from our base on the Mainland, but with fair weather along the way, it was even enjoyable just being sat waiting for the ferries, as the gannets would be diving close to the shore, and if successful, they had to avoid the attention of the bonxies waiting in the wings.
The reserve is on the northern end of Unst, and after driving right over the island, it's a case of parking up and then making the walk across the moors to the cliffs where the majority of the action is. Thankfully there are now boardwalks leading the way over the rather boggy ground and along the way, the route bisects a colony of nesting bonxies, which provides a great excuse for stopping for a rest!
The boardwalk eventually peters out and it's a relatively gentle slope up to the cliff tops; the view alone is worth stopping and breathing in for a short while. I can imagine that on a wild day it would be pretty terrifying up there, but it was breezy and sunny when we arrived, with blue skies and richer navy seas below. Gorgeous.
And greeting us as we arrived was a puffin, who had popped up out of a burrow to welcome the new visitors.
Having been before, Andy advised which way to head for the various bird colonies, which is where we broke up into groups. Having had my annual fill of gannets at Troup Head earlier in the year, I wanted to look at bonxies, fulmars and maybe more puffins. The fulmars were everywhere, and surprised me several times by appearing right in front of me, floating on air-currents, rising up the steep cliffs.
Finding a sheltered spot out of the wind was an issue though, and in some places it was difficult to keep steady, even when kneeling down and using the tripod for support! As such, trying to track the puffins as they hurtled in from fishing, usually low down then up at the last moment, was near impossible. I tried using my 100-400mm for a while, but it just didn't seem able to consistently lock on to the birds against the changing background, and I chose to head elsewhere for slightly easier targets. Besides, my eyes were already stinging from the wind.
With all the flowers decorating the slopes, Kate and I had hoped to get some shots of the birds amongst the vibrant colours, but getting a good view to the birds was also tricky. We could see them from afar, but by the time we were close enough for a shot, the angle of the shot would be either awkward or the cliffs themselves made the shot too dangerous to reach for.
By the time I had ambled along to where the Muckle Flugga lighthouse comes into view, the others were heading back. Kate had already decided to meet Paula again where the gannets were skimming the cliff tops, and both Andy and Lyndsey had struggled to find the numbers of puffins they'd seen on their previous trip, and were going to try further back along the cliffs where we'd first arrived. I wanted to look over the end of the cliffs before also returning, so trudged onwards. The views of the massive gannet colonies on the rocks jutting from the sea here were fabulous, so I sat down for a while, to eat lunch and simply enjoy the spectacle.
Some of the fulmars amused me too, when they reacted with real venom to any strangers arriving at their nest sites.
It was time to make the walk back, and with it being such a remote reserve, there was hardly a soul around, at least at this far end of it. I had noticed though, about 200 yards ahead of me, a couple had struggled to cross one of the many boggy channels leading down the slopes and by the time I reached it, I could see that the mud was deep and I'd not be able to skip over whilst carrying so much gear. So I tried higher up the hill. There was plenty of boggy areas all around, with the bright green sphagnum moss covering it over, but jutting out into one area was a strip of grass. Safe to cross here, I thought.
With hindsight I should have prodded it with a tripod leg, but I didn't, and stepped on to it. The grass immediately gave way and my foot, and then leg sank into the bog, stopping halfway up my thigh. Desperate not to drop my camera in, as it was balanced on my shoulder, I had to lean back and that put my other leg in too. Great. It was vile, wet and cold.
And there was no-one nearby either. Carefully choosing a soft area to drop my camera and chuck my rucksack on to, I then tried to pull out my right leg. It was stuck. I could move my left, but it felt like I'd lose my boot if I tried any harder. What an utter pillock, I thought.
No service on my phone of course, I realised I'd have to get out without any help. Not that the others would have helped, having admitted later that they'd have taken a photo of my predicament instead!
By twisting myself over, I was able to start to pull my leg out, and by grabbing tufts of grass, I eventually unplugged myself from it, and crawled free, standing to assess the mess I had made. Both boots were full of bog-water and my trousers were covered in mud. Stylish.
This of course made the walk back delightful, having to stop every 15 mins or so to remove my boots and wring out my socks. But the strong wind blowing was now a benefit, as it helped dry out my trousers!
After rejoining the others, and they'd stopped laughing, we strolled (and squelched) back to the boardwalk to photo the bonxies for a while. Most of them seemed to be sat on eggs, but we were fairly sure some had started to hatch, judging by the sounds from the nest sites, and the actions of the parent birds. For such fearful birds, the bonxies were so gentle and tender with each other and with what was going on amongst the cotton grasses at their feet.
They were also keen to keep clean, and made good use of the many small pools around the area to wash in.
Unfortunately, while the boardwalk helps people safely reach the cliffs, it doesn't allow for alternative routes, so while we were all lying flat on it trying to photograph one bonxie as it washed, another visitor inadvertantly spooked it as he walked up the path. Such is life!
We turned our attentions to another pair nearby, and enjoyed watching them preen, stretch and yawn, as well as reacting to other skuas passing a bit too closely overhead.
It was getting late though, and with two ferries to catch back to get home, where Magnus was preparing one of his legendary lamb roasts, we needed to get going.
It was difficult to drag myself away from watching these awesome birds, let alone persuade Andy too, but I was starting to feel slightly chilly after my mud-bath earlier, and needed to be sat down for a bit.
Hermaness is definitely somewhere I would like to return to again, and Unst in general too. Yet more reasons to return to Shetland... and the meal from Magnus? It was absolutely scrumptious!
