Category: Walks

To people who work in outdoor jobs, boxes can be scary things. They are carried anxiously towards you, held at arm length to avoid jiggling the contents.  The faces bobbing above the box are filled with nervous excitement and concern – the mouth a pale “O” of part-formed accounts and explanations. Birds seem to cop for more box journeys than other taxa. Normally, the lid is lifted to reveal a fallen nestling or unfortunate adult that has struck a pane of glass. Sometimes, it is a rabbit hit by a car or a hedgehog that rose too early from its winter sleep.

On this occasion it was owls. My surprise was absolute. They looked like two very mouldy grapefruits; completely spherical and covered in flaky grey fuzz. They were rather wet – the smaller of the two also sported a layer of mud over its growing feathers. The owls did not look pleased to see me. At the back of their black eyes, a disapproving blue light swam. The largest of the pair clicked its beak. The younger owl seemed cold and disinterested.

It is not unusual to find tawny owlets on the ground – indeed, like many other species of bird they will depart the nest before they are fully qualified aeronauts. They often fall as they clamber flightless through the canopy. In the majority of situations, it is best to leave them where they are – or apply the same common sense that you would use with an ordinary garden bird. Tawny owlets are normally quite capable of getting up off the ground to safety. This pair was found at the edge of a mature plantation; they must have struggled to climb the smooth, tall trees in time to escape Mull’s infamous spring weather. I lifted each one to check its condition. They were chilled and lethargic, but otherwise well grown.

Once the owls had dried and been gently warmed, they peered myopically out of my laundry basket. Their posture had changed from a moribund slump to something more dignified. They were comically hostile; but not too proud to scoff the shreds of rabbit hide and mice that I dangled enticingly above their beaks. These latter would be swallowed whole right down to the tail, which then protruded from the corner of their gape like a Winston Churchill cigar.

Sadly, the smallest owl died on the second night. He didn’t seem to be digesting his meals like the other, and went downhill very quickly in the small hours. Finding another owl for the second chick to be reared with was of paramount importance. It is not good practice to rear young birds in isolation, since they become too familiar with their keeper and then cannot be released.

Happily, my friend Sue provided the perfect solution. The owlet is now safely installed in a large aviary at Corrie Meadows, with an adult tawny to reinforce his avian identity. Fingers crossed he will be gracing our night skies in a few weeks time!

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

New Home: here we are just getting ready to drive to Corrie Meadows.

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…