Author: glengorm2020

Get to the Point

Posted on by glengorm2020

The beautiful weather of the last three weeks has finally broken.

Although the herby smell of warm, dry grass was delicious the smell of smoke rising from the resultant wildfires was much less so.

The distillery in Tobermory had to pause production because of the drought (a tragedy!) and Mull was officially – if briefly – the driest place in the country.

Rather than being the bright and verdant pasture for which Glengorm was named, the fields remain stunted and dull. This has been a bit of a worry for calving and lambing; things have been slow to start on the farm this year. However, if you visit us for a walk, you’ll see that the trickle is starting to swell to a flood. Little lambs are tottering after the ewes on over-sized feet, and within a week or two, I’m sure we’ll start to see gangs of them racing around and playing King of the Castle. This seems to be a universally enjoyed game for all lambs, in which they compete for a position on the highest piece of ground they can find (within shouting distance of mum, that is!)

The Skylarks and Meadow pipits are in full display mode; watch out for their lovely courtship flights as you walk through our fields. The Wheatears are back from their migration, and males can be seen singing boldly from prominent tussocks or boulders. The Hen harriers have been a bit quiet of late, so I can only assume that they are busy preparing to breed. Males have been seen “Skydancing” elsewhere on the island, so I’m keen to find out what our birds are up to. I did catch a very brief glimpse of a female yesterday, but she was off over the heather before I could see what she was doing.

In other news, Alex and I have re-homed a beautiful dog (if you were on the ferry last Sunday, you might have seen him!) “Big-George” as he is fondly known, seems to be settling in well. He’s a large black and white Pointer – perfect for keeping me company on those long upland walks. He was both well-loved and well looked after at his previous home, so we feel very privileged to have him.

Now, George is a bit of a foodie, so if you see him pottering around outside the Coffee Shop… you’d better watch your sarnies. There was a mildly embarrassing incident involving a wheelchair and a tuna sandwich in Oban, from which I have only just recovered. He also thinks my small parrot is a treat, and sits expectantly whenever Quito perches on my hand. Despite Quito’s desire to remain un-eaten, and George’s ambitions to the contrary, it really does feel like he’s completed our household.

I had secret hopes that George might engage in a bit of Pointing from time to time – we have lots of game species on Glengorm, and keeping track of them can be tricky. As it stands, the only thing George has pointed out so far was a particularly fetid deer carcass. Delighted with his find, he then embarked on a series of enthusiastic rolls. As far as George was concerned, I could keep my Grouse and Woodcock. He also eats deer-poo like Smarties, so if he offers you a kiss…

You might have heard about the Sperm Whale sighted in Oban Bay at Easter. This young male spent nearly nine days circling the harbour area – right where the ferries dock. He was estimated to be between 11-14 years of age, and roughly 11m in length. A group of these whales had been photographed off the coast of Sky shortly before his arrival, which was unusual enough in itself.

The Sperm Whale is the largest toothed animal on earth, and also the deepest-diving mammal species. They are usually found in waters reaching depths of several thousand meters. Here, they journey into yawning ocean trenches to feed on Giant squid and Octopus. They have the largest brain of any creature, living or extinct, and produce some of the loudest vocalizations known to science.

For this 20 tonne individual, Oban Bay – maximum depth 40m – must have been quite an experience. Save a few battered calamari rings from the local chippie, Oban isn’t famed for its abundant supply of Giant squid. People were both amazed and concerned.

For me, the whale might as well have arrived from outer space. Never in my wildest dreams had I hoped for a chance to see such an enigmatic creature. After two days of restlessly checking Twitter, I coughed up my seven-quid and galloped onto the ferry.

I kept imagining it – perhaps resting on the bottom. Feeling the warm fuel-oiled waters swilling around it. Hearing the apocalyptic thunder of CalMacs overhead. A frightened, alien presence in the bay.

I waited with other hopefuls on the pier. After about 30 minutes, a hump of greyish-black gently broke the surface, followed by a long stretch of crinkled skin. The look of it was odd: pinched but firm. It didn’t give the impression of being loose, but rather betrayed the powerful flexing muscles hidden underneath. This, of course, was the Sperm Whale’s distinctive flank. The dorsal fin was small and hardly more prominent than the breathing apparatus. The whale moved slowly, blowing out plumes of spent breath and water droplets as it circled the north section of the bay. 

I must admit, a sense of absolute dread filled me when I saw it. The curiosity and awe that had drawn me there was replaced with a kind of guilty sadness.  The photographs always seem to be the same: the whale lies stricken and canted on the shore. It is generally raining. Tiny people in jackets stand before it, desperate to help a creature they cannot understand but somehow feel connected to. As I made my way back to the ferry hours later I didn’t hold out much hope.

Nevertheless: the Oban Whale proved to be made of sterner stuff, and confounded the fairly gloomy expectations for its fate. After spending 9-days in the bay (and engaging in altercations with several boats), he left.

No drama, no big rescue operation – it literally just swam off. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Sun is Shining

Posted on by glengorm2020

So, it’s been a little while since the last Blog. Why? Because it’s sunny! I’ve been outside soaking it up…

Daffodil shoots can already be seen peeking cautiously out from between the clods of soil near my house. The great tits that inhabit the wooded path have been filling the air with their ‘teacher-teacher’ spring song, closely followed by a party of long-tailed tits whose tiny voices tinkle like wind chimes in the trees. The nests these birds build are delicately woven balls of spider silk and feathers, decorated with bits of lichen or moss to help conceal them. The little chicks must be very cosy inside, and as they grow, the nest actually stretches to accommodate them! I’ll be keeping an eye out in a month or two.

On Wednesday I was out looking for rather bigger birds. I was giving a bit of an ‘orientation’ to two brothers who hope to do some filming here on Glengorm. Our luck was really in, and we managed to obtain splendid views of two White-tailed eagles down at Mingary, plus a male Hen harrier near the Standing Stones. I’m really pleased that we’ve started seeing at least one male again; it’s impossible to know whether this is one of our resident individuals, but with the abundance of females here on the estate I have high hopes for the coming breeding season. The survival of hen harriers teeters on a knife edge elsewhere in the UK, and our birds are becoming increasingly important. It makes me really proud to work in a place where harriers can be seen daily; so much so that I have chosen them as the new emblem for our Wildlife Project.

Peter and Scot really got the grand tour, and I rather suspect they slept well after it… I know I certainly did?! Peter has some great ideas for footage of Glengorm’s historical features as well as its wildlife. He hopes to capture the atmospheric nature of the ruined village and Sean Dun by using time-lapse photography. When we arrived at Balimeanach (the ruined village abandoned during the Clearances) the sun was shining through the glen. One of the houses has a lovely carving in the doorway, and there are other similar works hidden around the estate. Inside the house, we found part of a bed frame – it looked very old, so might have been original. It was decorated with flowers and must have been very pretty once upon a time. Now, it is sadly canted and rusting against the crumbling wall.

I’ve also been riding around quite a bit with Alex. He often goes out to areas of the estate that I don’t know very well when doing his farming duties. He was born and raised on Glengorm, so has had plenty of time to explore the interesting nooks and crannies!

Friday was my first proper trip up to Sean Dun, one of the two Iron Age forts that we have on the estate. The view was breathtaking, and it was amazing to think of all the people that have enjoyed it through history – long before the likes of me! From this height, it is also possible to see the ‘Lazy Beds’. These are man-made undulations in the ground used for farming right up until the 19thC in Scotland. In some instances, sea-weed was brought up from the shores to use as fertilizer. The ridges allow good drainage of the soil for crops.

We also went up to Loch Torr. In summer, large numbers of lapwing gather here. If you’ve never seen or heard a lapwing, they are one of Britain’s most sensational birds. The plumage is a deep bottle-green with an oily sheen of purple around the wings. A striking black bib covers a glossy white chest, like an inverted dinner suit. A wispy crest pokes from a square – but charming – head. In flight the wings have a curiously rounded appearance, with the black tips swatting frantically to and fro like air traffic signals on a runway. Their call is mechanical, wacky, like a sci-fi device in meltdown (think flashing lights and smoke in Dr. Who). The strange ‘zips’ and ‘pops’ seem better suited to a futuristic disco than the quaintly rolling fields of the British countryside.

But few birds are as acrobatic and pugnacious; their displays during the nesting season are jaw dropping – to the extent where applause almost seems necessary. When living in Abernethy, my chalet overlooked a marshy field. Here, the lapwings were engaged in a constant battle against a pair of dastardly crows (who had designs of a gastronomic nature on their chicks). The lapwings would tirelessly mob the intruders, diving at them and tumbling through the air to drive them away. The crows were sneaky and often worked together to distract the adults.  Sadly, the lapwing is now suffering a significant decline in the UK – primarily due to changes in farming methods and intensification. The sight of their tiny chicks trundling gamely through rough grass is one that fewer people can enjoy.

My advice? Google them. They’re just so showbiz.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Fowl Weather

Posted on by glengorm2020

It’s been a busy few days here on Glengorm.  When I first moved to Mull, March had seemed eons away; a distant and hazy mirage of the Wildlife Project and what we hoped to achieve. Now, a month later, time seems to have squashed together like an accordion.

Between diligent hours spent tip-tapping on my laptop, I try to cover as much of the estate on foot as possible. Up until today, the week’s weather has been against me.  Saturday was by far the worst; I spent four hours trudging through miserable drizzle and high winds with only the gulls for company. The weather was so atrocious, that as I huddled in a rocky cleft, it took me several minutes to realise that a female harrier was also seeking shelter. She was reluctant to leave, and I felt guilty when a pair of raven (attracted by my presence) spied her and drove her out.

Monday was more encouraging. The heavy rain had attracted huge numbers of both buzzards and gulls to the sheep pasture. The gulls are often to be seen in a sort of vortex over the Standing Stones. The bowl created by the rocky outcrops here seems to favour them, and the result is a spiralling column of around one hundred and fifty individuals. The rain brought them down, and many could be seen ‘puddling’ the ground for worms (this is a comical pattering of the feet – thought to simulate rainfall – that draws the worms to the surface). Many buzzards were also prospecting for worms, and standing in one place I counted six separate individuals.

I walked down to Mingary, having not been over that way for a week or so. The herons, as usual, minced around for a while before finally settling back on gangly legs to feed. They seem less alarmed by my presence now than they were, and have stopped their wildlife-busting ‘gronking’.  A common seal was fishing Laorin Bay, and its quaint little head periodically popped up along the spit to check what I was up to. The common seals are more delicate than the greys, who have a Roman countenance and darker pelts. I noticed that the sea birds all seemed to be congregating on the shore rather than on their usual rocky island. I later learned that a white-tailed eagle had been perched there; perhaps, as the eagles are known to take sea birds, they were playing it safe.

In Mingary bay, a distant otter was busily diving along the weed margins, and a lone great northern diver (just where I always see one – wonder if it’s the same bird?) was preening contentedly. I didn’t see the stonechat pair that usually terrorise me on my visits, and this was a bit of a disappointment. I quite look forward to their scolding and love the way their tiny bellies are thrust forward in portly indignation.

Others were on hand to make me feel unwelcome. Small green sausagey turds littered the spit. They are of that special, annoyingly skiddy variety… unique to geese. I had seen skeins of twenty to thirty birds passing over, but here was a single pair of greylags. Their squalling honks must have travelled for miles, and the gander rushed about his goose with wings outstretched and syrinx visibly heaving with outrage.  I’m fond of geese, having kept them as a child, and so could only smile at the commotion. There is an excellent book by Konrad Lorenz (Title: “Here I am, where are you?”) that explores the social behaviour of greylags – I thoroughly recommend it, and you will love them thereafter (green turds inclusive).

As I stood watching the waves break on Laorin point, a hollow whipping noise cut through the sonic crashes. Three beautiful shelducks passed low over my head before turning to land in the next bay. This is one of my favourite species of duck; they are big and dapper in patches of chestnut, teal and white. They also have a prominent cherry-red ‘shield’ that rises from their bill and onto their forehead. I’ve never seen them flying so close before:  they are incredibly fast.

A small group of turnstones scurried up and down the tide line searching for invertebrates in the seaweed. These energetic birds look like clockwork toys; their dainty legs move so fast, you can almost hear them whirring! I also spied a winter plumage adult kittiwake mixed in among the common gulls loafing about on land. These can be easily identified by the neat triangle of pure black at the tip of each wing. Kittiwakes have a kinder look about them than most members of the gull family and are normally quite maritime during winter. A few oystercatchers were snoozing close by, which makes a change from their usual cantankerous squabbling.

It was as I watched the kittiwake that I first heard the unusual noise. It seemed to be a soft moaning, and I almost dismissed it as a seal (who’s soulful ‘yar-ooo’ing can often be heard around the bays on Mull).  The second time I heard it, the noise was more of a howl. It had me thinking of those Alaskan vistas you sometimes see in films or documentaries. Still, cold lakes. Loons. Divers.

Quickly I headed back along the point. Two great northern divers were feeding together and calling softly. I’ve never heard this before; it is an eerie sound. I couldn’t help but think of the other diver, who was still in the other bay and clearly missing the party. I like to think that the birds were relaxed in my presence; I didn’t have a hide, and was clearly visible sitting quietly on the shore.  They actually seemed interested more than anything, and continued to drift closer between periods of preening and diving for fish.

It was a very special moment, and I will be sad when they leave us for their summer breeding grounds.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

‘Twas the Season to be Jolly

Posted on by glengorm2020

Well, dear readers, it’s over for another year.

I hope all of you had a lovely festive season and Hogmanay. Indeed, for some members of the Glengorm community, the festive period was potentially a little too lovely… I, for one, am still experiencing a certain aversion to loud noises and intoxicating liquors (!)

Happily, the wildlife was always on hand to coax me from my darkened room. It’s been a real treat to see groups of visitors out to enjoy festive (if rainy) walks on the estate. It has also been a pleasure to spend time outdoors with my own friends and colleagues.

Perhaps the most memorable day was our very blustery trip down to the Bathing Pool. If you haven’t been before, the bathing pool is a neatly excavated square of shore in which a former owner of Glengorm – Lady Lithgow – enjoyed constitutional swims. The pool is filled by the tide, and otters can sometimes be seen practicing their strokes. One of my friends on the estate tells me that she found herself swimming with an otter here, and only realised when they got out together to dry off!

However, on this particular day, I don’t think any quantity of otters could have induced me to take a dip; just look at that sky.

As our party huddled behind large rocks to escape the wind, oystercatchers flashed past in  smears of red, white and black. Their loud ‘piping’ calls could only just be heard above the crashing waves, and I was almost certain that they would be dashed on the rocks as they crossed the bay.  Further out in the surf, seals could be seen bobbing like fat corks as the foamy water boiled around them.

It was certainly a bracing walk, but no less enjoyable for it. We even got a tiny bit of sunshine on the way home…

I’m pleased to inform you that this year’s events program is already starting to come together nicely (can I tell you more? Ooooh, I couldn’t possibly!) and that we have also started the design process for our new Glengorm Nature Lab, which will be located next to the Coffee Shop (ie. within easy reach of Gail’s scrumptious cakes…)

The Nature Lab will include information and activities for both adults and children, as well as being a base for the wildlife project. If anyone has any nice photographs of wildlife taken here on Glengorm , then please do get in touch; we are currently looking for display materials and images to help furnish the building.

More news coming soon,

Happy New Year to everyone!

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward