Exploring Mull – Page 4 – Glengorm Castle

A Whole Lot of Otter

Posted on 15th April 2015 by glengorm2020

Recently, I experienced a desire to know more about otters. For reasons unknown, their whiskery faces had bubbled up to a more prominent pool in my consciousness. Thumbing the instructions for a new trail cam and staring into the middle distance, I felt compelled to investigate.

Encounters with these animals have an arbitrary quality. I have never pursued them; simply enjoyed those occasions when our paths cross. As such, otters have seemed mysterious to me. Capricious, even. So armed with freshly honed field skills, I packed my lunchbox and took off for the coast. The weather was fine and fair – the first bright morning following many days of rain.

I don’t generally like to fly my own kite (!) but I have become something of a dropping connoisseur. What was once a passing interest has pupated into an unusual and eccentric obsession. For this we can thank the Aigas Field Centre.

Otters use their spraints as a means of communication, so they are normally deposited in choice locations where the scent will carry and not be erased by the tide. Often, these parcels of fishy fertiliser cause local plants to thrive; sprainting sites will look unseasonably green during the cool months.

Fresh otter poo is dark and crispy, with a sweet musk smell that goes easy on the nose [you heard it here first]. Consistency and composition will vary based on what your otter has been eating. The sometimes-present shards of crab and lobster shell can induce a light clenching in the muscles of the casual observer; try not to let that put you off. If you’re really keen, there’s always anal mucous to look out for too…

I have spent a lot of time looking around our coastline. Once I learned to see, a hidden network of neat grass paths, soft couches among dry vegetation and feeding pools filled with the bloated skins of toads popped up like a picture book. I only had to half close my eyes to imagine a whisky-brown back bounding between the thrift, or turn the page to see it snoozing under a downy of sea campion.

Some days later I went back to check the trail cam. The first video started with a blank screen of reflected infrared and a series of peculiar rustling sounds. Confused, I flicked to the next file.

A bristle of delicate whiskers slid out of the whiteness, followed by the outline of spiky-wet fur and a glimpse of beetle black eyes. A five-toed foot slapped irritably at the camera housing.

The otter was practically glued to the lens.

The stage curtain had lifted, but the taste of victory was bittersweet. I had pried into the life of something wild, and in doing so, caused a piece of its glamour to fall away. Its haunts and habits were exposed, its cover blown. Unwittingly I had become a keeper of secrets.

After all, nothing makes a creature more vulnerable than a GPS map of where it goes to the toilet.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

OtterCam: fully installed and ready to record…

Deer Diary

Posted on 15th October 2014 by glengorm2020

The autumn rut is my favourite seasonal event on Glengorm.

I can categorically tell you that nothing else – and I mean nothing – will get me springing out of bed at 5:30am.

Last year was the first occasion that I lead groups out to watch the stags; in all honestly, I was quite unlucky. The deer were slow to get going, and for almost a week of “prime rutting time” I despaired of finding any!

The 2013 rut was preceded by an exceptionally cold winter and a slow growing season for our vegetation. Though photoperiod [how many hours of daylight there are] is the main driver for rutting behaviour, it seems reasonable to suppose that a difficult cycle might put the deer behind schedule.

This time, however, they are right on cue. Alex and I were up bright and early to locate the stags.

Walking around in the pitch-black on Glengorm is a strangely soothing experience. No birds sing, no wind stirs the larch trees and only the distant boom of breaking waves spoiles the silence. That, and the baleful roaring of our stags.

Once upon a time Red deer were forest dwellers. Since the vast majority of Britain’s ancient tree cover has been removed, we are now more used to seeing them in the open.

The vocalizations that Red deer produce during the breeding season are designed to penetrate thick cover. “Roaring” carries well because the long soundwaves are able to diffract around obstacles such as trees. This differs from similar species such as Elk, which emit a higher frequency “bugling” call and prefer forest edge habitat.

Male red deer call throughout the night during the rut, and often during the day too. All of their energies are devoted to breeding behaviour; individuals can lose up to 20% of their body weight. Some will die from exhaustion, or be unable to recover condition before the cold weather of winter breaks.

If your day needs a comedy injection, google bugling Elks and marvel at how girly they sound!

Our Red deer stags are anything but girly. If you didn’t know what was out there, you could be forgiven for thinking that our forest was full of velociraptors. The quality of the call varies based on what message the stag is trying to deliver. Mostly, it is like a long, loud snoring burp. I have been accused by my beloved of producing similar noises from time to time.

Stagsroar for several reasons: to indicate their size and vigour [to both other males and hinds], to challenge a competitor or to reinforce a victory.

As we entered Sorne forest, it was clear that there were stags both in and out of the tree cover. We continued through the gloom and emerged by Baliacrach. Dim shadows could be seen moving along the ridges against the lightening sky, and at least six animals were roaring across the glen. The wind seemed changeable; this made the task of choosing a route difficult.

Red deer rely heavily on scent and hearing to monitor their surroundings. Though they are flighty at all other times of year, massive increases in testosterone levels [1000 x the resting level – yikes] can make the stags belligerent and unpredictable. From late June, their internal reproductive organs undergo histological changes in preparation for breeding. By mid September, their “accessory” reproductive organs [use your imagination] have increased considerably in size, as has the girth of the animals neck. Oh, and did I mention the antlers? Made of bone thicker than my wrist with up to eight forward facing spikes on each side?

Basically, it is in the interests of your longevity not to meet 190Kg of antler-swinging sexual frustration head on.

With that in mind we headed off through the darkness towards the deer. We had holding grounds from the previous year in our sights, so cut through the ruined houses to a five bar gate. We moved quietly, trying not to rustle clothing or vegetation.

At my immediate left, there was a sharp bark. We froze. It was still too dark to see the animal, but we could both hear hoofbeats traveling away from us. Ahead, around five stags were calling from the ridge. We passed through the gate and agreed that it must have been a lone hind on her way to the roaring males. We were aiming for a small patch of trees that would provide cover when dawn came. Right behind us, there was a gut churning bellow.

One of Glengorm’s young stags

Alex and I slid on our bellies into one of the black houses and peered back towards the gate. Standing at it was a sizable stag. It was far too dark to see more than his silhouette, but he was rubbing his nose along the bars where we had climbed over. He was less than 20m away, but thankfully on the other side of the fence. The fence was no real barrier to him of course; but I had the feeling that without it, he might have wandered closer.

Each antler bore at least six tines [points] and the stems were well shaped and solid. He kept sniffing the places where our scent was left, becoming increasingly agitated. Alex and I mouthed expletives to one another and flattened down behind the stones. The stag stood squarely, letting out a series of terrifying roars. From belly height, he looked exceedingly tall. These roars had a more guttural quality than those of the surrounding stags, and I am quite sure they were being delivered for our benefit.

At such proximity, the sound seemed to vibrate inside our chests. We could smell him. The weird bluish light of dawn was gathering, and against it, a pocket of hinds could be seen watching from the next rise. It started to rain. Eventually our male joined his harem; drifting off towards Balimeanach.

These two hinds [and calf] are part of a 22-strong harem belonging to “Mr Big” – the largest individual currently near An Sean Dun.

Alex and I let out a joint sigh of relief. When I walked back past the gate later on, I could see huge hoof slots in the soft ground. If it hadn’t been so dark, I’m quite sure he would have seen us crouched behind the wall.

I continued alone towards An Sean Dun, where the main activity had been last year. Using vegetation as cover I was able to pick out at least four stags – some with hinds – roaring above Mingary. More were calling from the Quinish forest, though I was not high enough to see them in the clearings.

As first-light brightened into morning, most of the master stags left for cover. Younger animals, hoping perhaps to steal a chance mating, loitered around the holding grounds. The rain was persistent, and they hunkered down in the bracken until just the tips of their antlers were visible. Every now and then they would rise to spray urine or to call a couple of times. I stayed with them for an hour, before distant gunshots sent them packing.

All in all, it was worth getting up for.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Chasing Dragons

Posted on 15th June 2014 by glengorm2020

I have a confession to make: I’ve gone off birds a bit.

As a result, I risk being cast out from certain factions of our island community. I’ve fallen for a new order. How does it feel? Superb.

Mull has around 10 species of resident Odonata, give or take. These include both the mighty Dragonflies, and their smaller [tastier] relatives the Damselflies.

On Glengorm, they have helicoptered their way deep into my affections. Nothing else gets me splattering about in a bog [and enjoying it] for an entire day. The most wonderful thing is their disregard for human observers. Once they have labelled you as a slow and hopeless terrestrial being, it’s business as usual for the Odonata.

This is not an excuse for inconsiderate behaviour. Rather, it is licence to observe some remarkably intimate and alien deeds at close range. The vibrancy, ferocity and diversity of Dragonflies are just three of their most charming attributes. In some cases, their scarcity is also exciting: a female Northern emerald at the start of June looks set to be a highlight of my Glengorm year.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Gold Standard: the ovipositor of the female Golden-Ringed Dragonfly makes this species the joint largest dragonfly in Britain!

The Immigration Game

Posted on 15th June 2014 by glengorm2020

For the last couple of weeks, the sun has been shining on Glengorm.

Now in my second year on the estate, I watch for our returning migrants with anticipation born from familiarity.

For me, there is something reassuring about the seasonal rhythms of our natural world. Watching the same sequence of events unfold each year feels like dropping an anchor in time. It reminds us that we belong. That we too are a part of this annual cycle, in an age where it’s easy to feel detached from nature.

When I stop to look at a dormant bramble patch in the cold months, then visit again in April to find a Whitethroat singing from the greening stems – it shores up the cracks that creep into our busy urban lives.

In that moment, the bird and I become links in a chain that stretches back for numberless generations. The bird is singing to compete for a mate and a place to breed, as millions of others have done before it. I am watching the bird, and hearing in its song the first bells of spring – as millions have also done before me.

You can almost see spring advancing over Baliacrach – note how green the vegetation is in the glen, but has yet to turn on our higher slopes. The Larch trees are also leafing up; they are the bright green trees in the darker patch of Spruce. I was pleased to find new buds on this beautiful Ash too.

The Whitethroats are not alone. With the warm weather came Wheaters, Chiffchaffs, Willow warblers, Blackcaps, Cuckoos, Spotted flycatchers, Whinchats, Swallows and Common sandpipers. All within a week or two of one another.

In the morning, the lilting voices of migrants mingle with those of our resident birds [- and the earsplitting screeches of my parrot; who thinks he needs to “sing along” at 5:30am…]

This is a male Northern wheatear – photographed close to Baliacrach. Wheatears actually raise their young in crevasses and small burrows, not in “nests” as you might expect.

Among the vegetation Adders, Slow worms and Common lizards are stirring. I’ve had several Adder sightings so far this year – perhaps because I’ve taken to exploring some more inaccessible areas of Glengorm. They are extremely well camouflaged when basking amongst dead Bracken and Heather.

Males are usually smaller; tending to have ash grey and black colouration. Females often look more bronzed [nothing new there] and sometimes even have a reddish hue […make your own joke].

They are very difficult to spot unless they give themselves away by moving – though occasionally, you might be lucky enough to see them coiled on a warm rock out in the open:

A fabulous Adder [quite a big male] photographed by Jen English on one of our guided walks! Thanks again for sharing this, Jen.

A Common lizard basking under a Bell heather plant

The Lapwings and Curlews have moved from their neutral feeding grounds up onto the breeding terraces, where they are displaying to one another with vigour. One male Lapwing managed to bring down an adult Grey heron last Wednesday – much to my surprise.

The unfortunate heron was flying low over an area of wet ground, and was so astonished by the vicious advances of the Lapwing that it fell completely out of the air and ploughed keel-first into a bog. It’s worth mentioning that herons – though unassuming at most times of year – are more than capable of predating a Lapwing chick. In light of this, the attack was not entirely unjustified… but still spectacular to witness.

Our herons are actually looking rather flash just now. The drab yellowish-green legs and beak have turned to a splendidly sexy orange; in honour of their breeding season. Loch Mingary is usually lined with their melancholy grey forms – but now, they have disappeared to perform covert nesting operations in the forest.

Two weeks ago I was lucky enough to see a White-tailed eagle hunting in Mingary Burn. This adult made two unsuccessful passes at Greylag geese and a gull roost on Laorin Point, before retiring to a convenient perch over the burn mouth. From the hide, I could see it tilting its head to eyeball fish below the surface.

Every so often, it jumped down into the shallow water. Its wings were extended for balance, and it was splooshing about trying grab a fish with its talons. This made for an amusing spectacle – and was clearly frustrating for the bird. After a third attempt, it positioned itself on a rock and yelped forlornly at the surface of the water. When no fish were forthcoming [can’t imagine why] it finally gave it up and left the area.

For me, this is the beauty of wildlife watching: I see White-tailed eagles on a pretty regular basis, but no matter how well you think you know an animal, they can still offer up intriguing and surprising behaviour.

Loch Mingary in the afternoon sunshine

As far as our smaller residents are concerned, on Sunday March 10th there were absolutely no invertebrates. By the Monday [first sunny day of the year] Glengorm felt like they’d never been away.

I found myself edging round spiralling swarms of small midge-like flies. Solitary bees buzzed industriously over rotten wood and stone dykes. My first Peacock butterfly of the year settled on a rock, the better to enjoy some afternoon sun.

The first “official” butterfly of 2014. It’s only official because I saw it 🙂

Reactions to most invertebrates swing from indifference to terror. Conquer your aversion: a fascinating and complex world waits. Take an interest in butterflies and you will soon discover the unadvertised benefits. Being creatures of warmth and sunshine, you need not trouble yourself with early mornings or poor weather [spare a thought for “birders” here].

Trundling through a pleasant meadow or attractive woodland ride will be time well spent in pursuit of enlightenment. I found my first Green-veined white and Speckled wood on April 15^th this year – so fairly early. All it takes is a little warmth and sunshine to bring them out of the woodwork. I’m already excited about seeing my first Dragonfly of the year…

Mull is blessed with some truly rare and wonderful invertebrates, so why not get out and introduce yourself this summer? Better still – note down what you see and pass the information on to your local recorder. Trust me, it’ll make their day!

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward