Families – Page 3 – Glengorm Castle

Love is a Cattlefield

Posted on 10th April 2014 by glengorm2020

On Glengorm, the annual cycle of the farm is once again in motion. March brought the arrival of our first Highland calves, and, the first few precious days of good weather.

Highland cows like to give birth in private. When their time is near, they leave the main group and set off in search of a more secluded spot. In many cases, this spot is so secluded that it takes the farmers half a day of misery to find them.

Most calves are born on the hill without assistance. They are quite capable of withstanding the weather and do not normally need to be brought indoors. Unusually for cattle, Highlanders rely on their trademark hair for insulation – not deposits of fatty tissue under the skin. As such, their young are born with thick insulating coats that give them the ever-popular teddy bear look.

Once the calf is born, the dams assiduously stash them in a safe place.

This behaviour is similar to that of deer and antelope – where youngsters are “parked” between periods of suckling, to keep them safe from predators. It is also similar to the behaviour of my Grandmother; who selects places so “safe” that they are unlikely to be re-discovered at a later date.

By law, our cattle have to be ear tagged within seven days after birth. For this, and more obvious husbandry reasons, it is very important that new calves are located.

However. Highland cows are sneaky. They generate Oscar-winning performances, with the sole intention of sending Alex and Angus on a wild goose chase over the hill. Standing wistfully on a rocky promontory, the new mother throws clandestine glances at nothing. With every appearance of concern and anxiety, she seems hardly able to prevent herself staring – in the complete opposite direction to her calf. It is deception by misdirection.

Highlanders also excel at turning not much into something tasty; so they are a great choice for unimproved grazing land, and an extensive hill-farming style. The beef itself is lean and flavoursome, with lower cholesterol and higher iron and protein levels than other breeds.

Time from Calving to Carving [as one of our Facebook followers so succinctly put it] is approximately two to three years for a pedigree animal. There are faster maturing breeds out there – notably the Shorthorn; but good things come to those who wait.

On Glengorm, life for a Highlander is wild. They are left to their own devices and only occasionally have to be brought in. They are also very curious – apparently unable to resist the lure of unusual noises, animals or structures. The siren-song of a chainsaw will have them flocking to the forest from half a mile away.

Because the devil makes work for idle hooves, repeated assaults have been made on the integrity of my wildlife hide. It is surrounded by an asteroid belt of inquisitive footprints, tufts of orange hair and snotty nose marks. The turf has been neatly nibbled from the edges, and it is only a matter of time before I discover a triumphant cow within…

Those of you who have visited Glengorm may have come across “Bobby Dazzler”. This is our enormous white Shorthorn bull, who spends most of his time pottering about in Bluebell Valley. His job – as representative of a renowned commercial beef breed – is to reduce the time it takes for our own beef stock to mature. His hair is short and coarse, but he carries a formidable mass of muscle and fat under his skin. He weighs approximately one tonne, but still manages something like a scamper when he hears the snacker pulling up! Like men the world over: he really does love his food.

The Dazzler’s predecessor bore a slightly more suggestive title: he was called “Explosion”…

The Highland stock bulls are smaller in stature than the Shorthorn, but long and powerful in the back.

The son of “Eoin Mhor” recently won supreme champion at the 123rd Oban Highland Bull Show. Add this to Tom Nelson’s recent appointment as President of The Highland Cattle Society, plus Angus MacColl’s judging date at the Royal Highland Show… and Glengorm is all set for a cow-tastic year!

Clearly, there is a limit to the number of young bulls we can hold. Unless they are one of the fortunate few, males are castrated and then grown on for beef. The Chosen Ones enjoy a life of privilege and pampering in the shed, before going to new homes and new romantic encounters elsewhere.

Cross-bred calves tend to be larger at birth and grow faster than pure Highlanders. They can be ready for the table a full year sooner – extremely useful if you are a beef producer. They have a similar luxuriant coat [when not covered in mud and sticky burrs] but tend to have longer legs and some degree of white mottling around the belly. On Glengorm, the majority of our beef cattle are de-horned at a young age. This helps to make their “final journey” safer and less stressful for both the cattle and their handlers.

Though it seems like a strange thing to be thankful for, Mull is fortunate in the fact that we have our own slaughterhouse. When the time comes, our animals have a short 30-minute journey to their final destination, where they are dealt with quickly, professionally and humanely.

Glengorm is also grateful to our client base here on the island; all of our produce is sold on Mull, and is not transported over to the mainland. Without the support of both local residents and island visitors, we would not be able to farm in such a low-impact manner.

You may have already seen our new “Eat Local, Eat Glengorm” rosette logo. If not, look out for it on your next purchase of delicious locally produced Beef, Lamb or Venison. Our meat is cooked and sold in both the Glengorm Coffee Shop and Tobermory Bakery, in addition to being present on the menus of many local businesses.

No food miles, but hopefully, a lot of food smiles!

[Ps. for those of you who were not a child of the 80’s like myself, the blog title is my “Homage” to Pat Benatar’s Love is a Battlefield. Unfortunately, my shocking puns are lost on Alex; a man entirely devoted to the Peatbog Faeries and Mariah Carey – groan.]

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward, Cow Fan & Music Aficionado

One of Glengorm’s lovely Highland calves!

Graffiti Sheep

Posted on 10th March 2014 by glengorm2020

On Tuesday the 25th of February, at 9am GMT, the parallel universes of Farming and Ineptitude collided.

I don’t usually help out with our livestock – for good reason – so when opportunity knocked I was most pleased.

The Glengorm farm is a man-zone of tractors, male posturing and humorous banter. It is a place where man-points are scored by being the muddiest, lifting the heaviest, or maintaining a grip on the wildest.

[*The only notable exception is at lambing time, when it swiftly fills with little girls.]

Recently, Angus worked two full weeks without realising that his leg was broken – this display of resilience was much admired. Many man-points were scored.

But on the 25th of February, The Scanner was due. In farming, this is equivalent to being visited by a wizard.

The Scanner comes over annually from New Zealand, on a two-month migratory passage that sweeps through the sheep farms of Scotland. He is an important carrier of sheep-related intelligence and an enthusiastic participant in humorous banter; but his primary purpose is to count unborn lambs.

In the days leading up to the arrival of The Scanner [who, by the way, is called Daniel and is a thoroughly nice man] all the female sheep are gathered from the hill and brought to the small fields surrounding the farm and fank.

Watching Daniel don a shoulder-length pink glove and a certain amount of gel, I thought the Glengorm Girls might be in for an uncomfortable couple of hours. However, mercifully, he is also equipped with a small hand-held ultrasound device which is placed on their bellies – externally (!)

The sheep come into the fank in groups. Once the first group was in, I was shown how to mark each ewe [on Mull, this is pronounced to rhyme with “cow” ] according to the number of lambs she has within her. My demo took place on a fence post, and was done with spray in a jolly shade of purple.

Nodding to The Scanner with manly bonhomme, I stationed myself next to “The Shedder”. The Shedder is a small standing area – sort of like a cattle crush – in which individual sheep can be contained whilst scanning or anything else of that nature takes place.

As each ewe is separated from the group, it enters a narrow passage. This passage is called “The Race” [on Glengorm, at least]. Standing ready at The Shedder, I didn’t fully appreciate why.

Blackface sheep have a reputation for being wild. Contrary to popular belief, both ewes and tups [the term for a male sheep] have an impressive set of horns. Watching the first expectant mother line itself up to the race, I began to understand that she would reach terminal velocity long before she reached me. Her nostrils flared, and with a nervous skittering of the feet, she hurtled down the narrow passage and took a spectacular leap. She almost cleared the crossbar into the shedder, but not before the scanner had grabbed her by the fleece and nonchalantly stuffed her back.

Each sheep was scanned in a matter of seconds – quite literally, about two or three. Once the number of lambs was identified, I had to mark the sheep prior to its release. This sounds straightforward; in practice, sheep are reluctant art partners.

What should have been a neat coloured spot squiggled and trailed – depending on the trajectory and mph of the sheep. Gentler cross breeds were fine. The Blackface left sporting childish Mr Scribbles, celebrity autographs or “crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon” [in the slightly mortifying words of the scanner].

Blackface sheep have a number of set approaches to the scanning process.

There are “The Jumpers”: these individuals steel themselves for maximum height and impact, bunching their little hooves underneath them, before launching up and in the general direction of the barrier. At times, two or three ewes would be piled like Junglebook elephants, as those behind gamely clambered over the forerunners.

There are “The Crawlers”: these individuals hesitate, then hunker down and try to shimmy past in stealth mode. Probably the least effective method as far as the sheep are concerned; somehow, we always managed to spot them…

Then, there are “The Runners”: these guys don’t mess about. They thunder down the race trailing farmers, fellow sheep and equipment behind them, making boldly for the exit… running like the wind… only to be shut into the shedder with a resounding clunk. A couple of brave souls almost made it, but Dan’s skills with the gate are every bit as good as his scanning.

Daydreaming , between shouts of “TWIN!” I contemplated the revolutionary effect Daniel could have on maternity units nationwide. This man could save the NHS millions at a stroke [though admittedly, patient satisfaction might take a hit]. His ability to decipher the vague black and white doodles on the ultrasound screen was uncanny – but then, having scanned over 4 million sheep in a 20-something year career, he does know what he’s doing.

What all sheep do seem to have in common is the delivery of a neat little “Screw You” skip, just as they make it back into the yard.

Presumably, the thought of surviving to graze another day makes them feel light on their feet – even when carrying triplets.

So, you might be wondering why we go to the trouble of scanning and marking our sheep at all. The answer is food.

The ewes are separated into our lambing parks based on the number of offspring they carry. For those with more than one youngster, additional feeding is required to keep them in good shape.

Sheep without lambs [so “yeld” sheep, to use the correct term] are given one year of good grace, after which their farming career is over should they fail to conceive again. These sheep were given an ominous red mark on the shoulder, and packed off back onto the hill.

The marks not only help with the separating process, but also help the farmers to sort out stray or missing lambs once they arrive. If a ewe has only one at foot, but bears a “TWIN!” mark, then they know to start looking. Speaking from experience last year, lambs just love to get lost.

Add to this the unbridled joy that some ewes get from stealing eachothers offspring, and you see that lambing is a thoroughly infuriating and time consuming business. Thus, further marking systems are required:

Once born, each pair of twins is given a number. This helps to ensure that everyone is where they need to be [and that the farmers’ blood pressure remains relatively stable].

Happily, the count of unborn lambs this year is the best on record for Glengorm. This was something of a surprise, considering the poor weather we’ve had all winter. According to the farmers’ vague explanations, bad weather can affect “the mood” somewhat.

For our flock of 800 ewes the final result was over 140% [ie. 1,120 unborn lambs between them].

Sadly, not all of these youngsters will survive… but it’s a very promising start!

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

[and sheep-marker extraordinaire]

We’re watching ewe…

A Life of Crime

Posted on 15th February 2014 by glengorm2020

Mull has a larger-than-average quota of celebrity species. Indeed, there are days when I can scarcely keep up with all the A-List eagle action. Nevertheless, my top wildlife moments have come from more mundane quarters this week.

Around our shores, herons are very much like streetlights: they’re tall, grey and stationed reliably every fifty meters. I’m the first to admit that my heart doesn’t do exactly somersaults when I see them. However, herons have revealed a side previously unknown to me – a side that is darkly criminal, calculating and [interestingly] buoyant.

I’ve been spending most of my outdoor time at the hide. Hot tea, biscuits and a stove are just part of its great appeal during Mull’s monsoon season. These afternoons had been uneventful [save for a hunting peregrine] until the otter showed up.

She was working the weedy margins of Loch Mingary with a single cub; old enough to dive, but still quite small. I hadn’t knowingly seen this otter before. Our regular girl has a large scar, so is easily identifiable.

The newcomer seemed wary – I was worried that she might catch my scent as she swam towards the hide. She passed without incident, but shortly afterwards a heron flopped down onto the rocks beside her. The cub slipped away, but the female kept hold of her butterfish and remained where she was. Her back arched aggressively, and I could hear her whickering at the heron.

The bird tilted its head, bent forward and took another step. Its expression was comparable to that of a Velociraptor: the kind one wears before it jumps Bob Peck.

Like lightening, it lunged forward just as the otter opened her mouth. She missed a nose piercing by bare millimetres, and there was an audible click as her teeth clattered against the bony beak.

The heron shambled off with its prize like a broken umbrella; the defeated otter sank miserably into the bladder wrack.

Days later, I returned. There was a good fishing tide: shags, cormorants, divers and mergansers were all busy hunting the loch. The herons, of course, waited patiently along the shore. One in particular was paying close attention.

Eventually, a cormorant surfaced with a mullet. The fish was side-on and lively, so the bird didn’t notice the heron take off – I assumed it was simply heading to a new spot.

Instead, the heron bombed into the water astride the cormorant and wrestled it for the fish. For the briefest of moments, a surprised and horrified head peered out of the pirate’s breast feathers, before disappearing.

Swimming is not a big part of the heron skill-set. It jerked about like a mutant swan, right in the middle of the loch. The mullet slapped it crisply in the face and returned forthwith to the wild. Fishless and adrift, the heron finally went airborne with the combined strength of front-crawl and willpower. Who knows what sinister deeds it might be contemplating next?

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Defeated: the female Otter swims off to search for more food…

The Rain of Terror

Posted on 10th January 2014 by glengorm2020

As those of you who live on Mull will know, it has scarcely stopped raining for the last two months.

The road that leads past the Coffee Shop and to our house is now an attractive drive-thru burn […and the brakes on my car have never been so well lubricated].

This new water feature continues along the Flat Rock track, takes forty winks in the Cattle Pond, before making its way merrily on down to the sea. The cattle have no use for their spa at present: they are quite cold and wet enough without it!

In their absence, this pool has been populated by Mallards and an occasional pair of Grey wagtails. These latter are really beautiful little birds, with chests of lemon yellow and an endearing way of bobbing their striped tails.

At the shore, Ardnamurchan’s rocky finger points through the emptiness of rolling sea mist. The gulls have once again formed their spiralling winter flocks, and they rotate slowly and constantly over the sodden fields. The female Otter with the scar across her face has been seen again with two small cubs – from the description, they seem younger than the ones I saw her with a few months ago. I hope this doesn’t mean that she lost them.

I actually started drafting this blog on the morning of the Glengorm Christmas Party [December 23rd]. Mysteriously, it was days before I felt able to continue with it. I’m not one to jump to conclusions… but I can’t help wondering if this was – in some way – connected to the half-empty bottle of Sambuca, touring the room with Mr Angus MacColl?

I should add that I’ve tried to find a snap from the party where we all look respectable enough for the blog, and regrettably, no such photograph exists.

The weekend prior to the party, Glengorm hosted the annual Cross at the Castle cycling competition. If you’re keen on bicycles, mud and Lycra-clad men – then this, dear reader, is the event for you. The weather was absolutely appalling, to the extent that quite a few competitors were physically blown off their bikes! Thankfully, there were no major injuries, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves – especially the kids! Talk about hardy…

I would like to thank everyone who took the trouble to leave their self catering accommodation so lovely and clean. I know this can’t have been easy given the quantity of mud involved, but myself and Val really appreciated it.

I would also like to thank everyone for their patience and good humour in the Coffee Shop – it was an extremely busy couple of days [not helped by Mariah Carey, George Michael and Slade; who were all on fast-rotate].

With other duties around Glengorm – and the less than clement conditions – my time out and about has been somewhat limited. The best morning allowed me to get a few pictures of this stag, as many of you on Facebook will have seen.

This particular individual and his friend live in the woodland at Bluebell Valley. The other stag only has one eye – which I assume is the result of a fighting injury. When they hear the quadbike engine, they appear on the brow of a knoll, ready to sneak down for some of the cattle feed.

Lovely though it is to see them, this behaviour is not likely to precipitate a long and happy life: stags like this eat huge quantities of the cattle mix, and encourage others to follow them down. Before you know it, there are more deer than cattle at the feeding station.

Flea the dog is in charge of chasing them off – so let’s hope they get the message sooner rather than later!

Elsewhere, major work is being undertaken in the castle. A good portion of the flooring has been lifted to install the plumbing for our new Biofuel heating system.

As you can imagine, the age of the building adds a certain amount of pressure (!) I doubt this floor has been fiddled with so extensively since Margaret Lithgow started her own improvements in 1911.

Tom is carrying this work out himself, with the assistance of Calgary’s Tom Reid. I have to say, so far, they’re doing a fantastic job and we’re right on schedule!

This is great news for the ongoing Biofuel and Sorne Woodland projects.

Meanwhile, Val and I have been busy spring cleaning the self catering properties and John has taken delivery of his vegetable seeds ready for the season ahead [yum].

I was recently shown some incredible pictures of the walled garden as it was in Margaret Lithgow’s era, so watch this space for a dedicated Glengorm Gardens blog over the next few days!

We’ve even got a photograph of her alleged Italian lover on a motorbike… with a snowman… and a very creepy lady feeding chickens.

Bet you can’t wait?

Wishing all our readers the very best for the New Year,

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

This photograph shows a reflection in the water of the cattle pond as the animals came over to drink