It might not surprise you, but I'm a geek, a bit of a nerd. I also manage to be a geek across genres- there's no pigeon- holing Green Sand here. Like many of my kind, I'm a massive Star Trek fan, and the past week triggered something in my memory about a The Next Generation episode. The android Lt Commander Data had suffered a crisis of confidence after a plan of his had failed. Captain Picard gave some supportive advice by pointing out that its possible to do absolutely everything right, and still not get the result you want. This isn't failure, but it is LIFE.
The past week at work was everything to be expected- long, protracted, with the darkness broken by the joy of good company, good friends, and good chat. Sunshine amidst the gloom. My plans for the weekend were to, finally, head to Yellowcraigs/ Fidra for puffin and guillemot. Time was getting short, my spider- sense was telling me. Plans are one thing, but I have learned to take nothing for granted, and to expect the unexpected. After extolling that everyone should make the most of every moment they have I decided to take my own advice last Tuesday evening. I headed out for a walk in the evening sunshine, no expectations, but the hope of some bugs, beasties and other small fluttery things. It would also, hopefully, salve some of my ‘not spending enough time locally’ conscience that had been bothering me. Lastly, and possibly most importantly, I had yet to be bitten by a cleg and photograph it- a yearly tradition, generally under the heading of ‘Cleg feeding on Moron.’.
Luckily, I know the best places for clegs, and I found myself at the top of the Townfoot Farm path- actually, one of 3 separate and distinct paths. The official tarmac one leading down to the river, the semi- official, well- worn one which joins the main one halfway down, and the very unofficial mostly hidden path which joins the main one even further down. You’ll probably work out my favourite, albeit its now more and more difficult to access.
Given that being outdoors was more important than path purity, I compromised and made my way down the middle one. A few (very few) micromoths were disturbed by my progress….. and that was it for insects. The pollinator apocalypse- we probably need a better name for this- was evidence. The occasional bird moved about in the undergrowth, wren called distantly, with goldfinch moving about noisily above my head. The bramble patch at the bottom of the path was devoid of life, where this time last year I’d had multiple butterfly and hoverfly species. What I did have, though, was a massive patch of Himalayan Balsam strangling the brambles.
South Lanarkshire Council, so often the pantomime villains of these blog posts, genuinely deserves my scorn. They will deploy battalions of grasscutters at the very sight of a daisy, a dandelion or a buttercup. But give them something that they should intervene to tackle, and they ignore it. Shameful doesn’t begin to describe it, but from my interaction with the local councillors- of various parties- nothing surprises me.
A pleasant surprise, though, was a patch of ragwort that hosted a handful of common red soldier beetles. Spirits suitably raised by this small victory, I made my way back to the top of the path.
I was genuinely enjoying myself being outdoors, and decided that I didn’t want to go home yet. I drove the short distance to Redlees Quarry. Being wary of drinking teenagers, wee bams and other potential ne’er-do-wells, I opted to stay away from the main pond and walk to the WW2 anti- aircraft battery via the less- used paths. More micro- moths, and more soldier beetles, appearing to be roosting- a clue that time was moving on. Roosting pollinators, though….
I followed the path round to the raised ridge above the pond, and resisted the temptation to go off track. There’s a time and place for wandering off on an adventure, and 9pm wasn’t it. A group of young people were at the pond, doing young people things of some description. I opted to re-trace my steps rather than continue along the path and walk past them. My walk back to the car coincided with the sun dipping below the horizon, changing the light levels and atmosphere immediately. Dusk arrived hard and sudden, and the walk through the meadow and trees took on a much more alien feel. At that point I vowed to stop watching so many horror films.
Having survived that evening, I found myself a couple of days later re- tracing much of the same route. I realised its always possible to find time for these things if you make time for them. This time I became aware of much more insect activity. Sure, nowhere near as much as there should be, but monumentally more than there had been even a week before. Still no butterflies, but the common red soldier beetles were in more places. A small victory.
The highlight though was near the start of the walk. I stood in Uddingston railway station, oblivious to the commuters hose path I was blocking, engrossed by the swifts and swallows circling overhead. Then, as I waked under the railway bridge at the Uddingston bank of the river I heard the pretty unmistakeable screech of ring- necked parakeets. As luck would have it, I was for once in the right place at the right time, and a pair flew overhead. Much better than hearing them through the trees, and much, much better than seeing them at a roundabout in West London.
The plan had originally been to go into the Horse Field (where better to get bitten by a horse fly?) but unfortunately a brief glimpse found a group of young people doing young- people things, and I again chose discretion by avoiding them. The walk to Townfoot Farm was extended this time by 100 yards to take in the cycle path. No bugs, but I did get whitethroat and wren in the bushes. Unexpected, and very welcome in what is usually the quiet part of the summer.
The sun decided it had had enough, and I got caught in a rain shower on the way home. Somehow, refreshing, and added to my good mood. Go figure- I enjoy rain now. Swifts are still in the area, still circling over my house in the evening, reminding me of how much I enjoy that experience, and that I should never take it for granted again.
So, Saturday finally rolled around, by big day out. My mission- to get puffin and guillemot at Yellowcraigs/ Fidra, then to stop off at Musselburgh for, well, whatever. I wasn't desperately seeing a greenshank. No, not at all.
This was one of those surprising times when I did everything right. Train journey to Edinburgh? Check. Bus to Dirleton for the mile walk to the beach? Check. Massive shout out to the Edinburgh bus drivers who kept me on the right track (literally) and saved me some money. I’m a Lanarkshire boy, but sometimes I have to hold my hands up and point out that there are a lot of really good things about Edinburgh, the buses being but one.
Time was limited, if I was to keep to a realistic version of my plan, and I sped off along the path toward the beach at Yellowcraigs. Stopping briefly to photograph meadow brown butterflies (in exactly the patch of flowers I got them last year) I made good progress. The sunny weather meant that people were using the beach as a beach, rather than staying away to allow the visitor from Lanarkshire some peace and quiet. How very dare they.
I found the dunes mostly inhabited by people in tents and other shelters, but found an ideal perch to set up the scope. This perfect perch and perfect view, however, got me neither puffin nor guillemot. Patiently scanning the sea, then scanning the rocky island over and over again, but no joy. I made the most of what I could see, though, albeit no surprises among the seabirds on offer.
My attention got drawn to a young couple nearby. Glancing over, I saw the male of the duo struggling to put a tent up. Catching snippets of conversation about colour- coding poles was mildly entertaining, and it became apparent this guy hadn’t a clue what to do. He then resorted to a YouTube video which gave him a step by step guide. Still no success. His last resort was to phone a friend, who patiently told him what to do. Again, abject failure. By this point, his lady friend had given up, put on her tracksuit, zipping it up to her neck. Realising that whatever he had planned for the Saturday wasn’t happening, he grabbed the tent and they made their way back to the car, judging by their Western Scotland accents, for an awkward drive home.
I could have put the tent up in about 15 minutes, but I felt that the boy was emasculated enough without a 50 year old, badly dressed birdwatcher offering to help.
My time at Fidra had ended, and I was resigned to not getting either puffin or guillemot this year. The 2 weeks I had off work had offered a window of opportunity, a window which slammed shut by reasons I couldn’t control. A brisk walk back to the bus stop and I caught the connection to Musselburgh. Surely, I was in with a chance of common tern and greenshank?
Starting, as always, in the middle hide I got excellent numbers of lapwing, and a pair of black- tailed godwit in their breeding finery. The redness seared my eyes among the drabness of the water and mud. Blackwit in summer plumage should be gloried and celebrated. Lots of redshank were standing doing not much, but I successfully found the garganey that had been noted earlier. Unusually, there were 2 little grebe also present, in the furthest right pool.
A pleasant surprise was Dave Allan, Lothian birder extraordinaire, popping in. As if by magic, he found the greenshank in the furthest left pool, best viewed from the left hand hide. The 50 yard walk round was full of the expectation that my greenshank jinx would be lifted. Somehow, though, in the6 minutes it took to walk, the greenshank had disappeared. Common sand was found, but the greenshank was gone. It had either flown off, or was skulking so far in the thick vegetation that it could remain hidden forever.
With time pressing, I gave up on the greenshank- again- and headed for the sea front. My mission- to get common tern. I’ve remembered that I normally use my camera for my terns, unless I’m really lucky. The ones present were far too fast and far too distant to positively I.D them in binos, and my scope skills weren’t good enough either. Terns frustrating screeched from ma few places, but I couldn’t positively I.D them. I vowed (again) that I’d need to be creative about the places I visit. Or, bring the camera.
Worryingly, the trip was a gannet- free zone.
Dave, when I had told him of my previous attempts at Greenshank searching, reassured me that that was the very nature of birding. Wise words indeed.
Naturally, Baron’s Haugh had had 2 greenshank all day.
Waking early on Sunday I had the choice of either going back to sleep, or rousing myself and doing something useful. I procrastinated for 10 minutes or so I decided on the latter, and drove to Baron’s Haugh. The car park, when I arrived at 7am, was already busy, and I watched a pair of photographers gather up their kit and wander off. I couldn’t see if they had bins with them- Green Sand’s arbitrary standard of acceptable photographer behaviour.
Nuthatch called from the woods, a sound I will never get tired of. The walk to the Marsh Hide down the lane was peaceful, the thick canopy of trees blocking out much of the sunlight. Whether by design or by benign neglect, the RSPB has allowed the undergrowth to grow and thicken. The semi- light, the woodland, and the undergrowth made this as close to bear country as I could possibly get within 20 minutes of home.
I was early enough that roe deer were still active in the woods- if I ever get bored of seeing these beautiful creatures, shoot me. Closest encounter of the year, and a reminder of what I’d been missing all those weeks when I didn’t get up at silly o’ clock and go birding. No point in recriminations, really. Do better next year, GS.
At the Marsh Hide there was already a birder/ photographer whom I sort of recognised. Naturally, he recognised me, somehow, which was slightly awkward, even by my standards where I re- define ‘social awkwardness.’ Looking up from his binos, he gave me the good news that the greenshank had just flown off toward the adjacent Causeway Hide. Literally, seconds before I had entered the hide. I was now at the stage where, rather than being 10 minutes late, I was 10 seconds later. Nature is mocking me now. And yes, the 10 minutes of procrastination cost me dearly…..
Moving to the Causeway Hide I got green sandpiper (so I can hardly complain) to the left hand pool, despite the view being partially blocked by the undergrowth. No sign of the greenshank, naturally. A brief re- check in the Marsh hide was, predictably, fruitless. A damned good morning, though.
Later, Mrs GS had decided to go to the gym, as her choice of exercise involves breathing in other people’s sweat. I had the option of a 2 hour car nap (always tempting tbf) or to go back out, making the most of the good weather. For once, I chose well. Rather than my usual stop at Cathkin Marsh SWT I opted for Cathkin Braes Country Park. A ‘country park’ that’s set up as a bike trail, thanks to the 2014 Commonwealth Games. Not really my kind of place, but it offered the chance of a longer walk in the sun. It did get me thinking of a long- ago blog post where I classified different types of birding sites. Time for a redux, I think.
Moving swiftly away from the busier, formal paths I recaptured the spirit of excitement and mystery which I associate with my early teenage trips up there. Packed lunch (ok, a bag of crisps) and a book (Lord of the Rings, if you’re wondering) to spend time in the fresh air. Always with an edge that some of the more lurid tales of the Braes, mostly told by friends’ older siblings, were maybe more than apocryphal. I was fortunate enough that this trip gave me the chance to go off the beaten track and away from the formal trails. Still a man- made site, but it gave me the chance to let my imagination run wild. Goldfinch and corvids were the predominant species, plus a single stonechat from deep within the bushes. A slow wander back to the car with the sun shining, and the warm glow of a good day.
THOUGHTS.
Captain Picard’s advice about doing everything right and still not succeeding is only half true. Sure, my trips did everything right in terms of making the most of my chances of getting target birds. But really, what I was doing right was being outdoors, in the sun (and rain), in the fresh air, searching for bugs, being delighted by a whitethroat popping up, being disappointed at not getting a cleg bite, and feeling the joy and relief of the meadow brown butterfly.
Finding myself in fresh air, with binos round my neck, with a scope propped over my shoulder, cannot be beaten. THIS is the plan, this is what I got right. This was LIFE.
Stay healthy, stay safe folks. Lets keep being excellent to everyone.
John
The past week at work was everything to be expected- long, protracted, with the darkness broken by the joy of good company, good friends, and good chat. Sunshine amidst the gloom. My plans for the weekend were to, finally, head to Yellowcraigs/ Fidra for puffin and guillemot. Time was getting short, my spider- sense was telling me. Plans are one thing, but I have learned to take nothing for granted, and to expect the unexpected. After extolling that everyone should make the most of every moment they have I decided to take my own advice last Tuesday evening. I headed out for a walk in the evening sunshine, no expectations, but the hope of some bugs, beasties and other small fluttery things. It would also, hopefully, salve some of my ‘not spending enough time locally’ conscience that had been bothering me. Lastly, and possibly most importantly, I had yet to be bitten by a cleg and photograph it- a yearly tradition, generally under the heading of ‘Cleg feeding on Moron.’.
Luckily, I know the best places for clegs, and I found myself at the top of the Townfoot Farm path- actually, one of 3 separate and distinct paths. The official tarmac one leading down to the river, the semi- official, well- worn one which joins the main one halfway down, and the very unofficial mostly hidden path which joins the main one even further down. You’ll probably work out my favourite, albeit its now more and more difficult to access.
Given that being outdoors was more important than path purity, I compromised and made my way down the middle one. A few (very few) micromoths were disturbed by my progress….. and that was it for insects. The pollinator apocalypse- we probably need a better name for this- was evidence. The occasional bird moved about in the undergrowth, wren called distantly, with goldfinch moving about noisily above my head. The bramble patch at the bottom of the path was devoid of life, where this time last year I’d had multiple butterfly and hoverfly species. What I did have, though, was a massive patch of Himalayan Balsam strangling the brambles.
South Lanarkshire Council, so often the pantomime villains of these blog posts, genuinely deserves my scorn. They will deploy battalions of grasscutters at the very sight of a daisy, a dandelion or a buttercup. But give them something that they should intervene to tackle, and they ignore it. Shameful doesn’t begin to describe it, but from my interaction with the local councillors- of various parties- nothing surprises me.
A pleasant surprise, though, was a patch of ragwort that hosted a handful of common red soldier beetles. Spirits suitably raised by this small victory, I made my way back to the top of the path.
I was genuinely enjoying myself being outdoors, and decided that I didn’t want to go home yet. I drove the short distance to Redlees Quarry. Being wary of drinking teenagers, wee bams and other potential ne’er-do-wells, I opted to stay away from the main pond and walk to the WW2 anti- aircraft battery via the less- used paths. More micro- moths, and more soldier beetles, appearing to be roosting- a clue that time was moving on. Roosting pollinators, though….
I followed the path round to the raised ridge above the pond, and resisted the temptation to go off track. There’s a time and place for wandering off on an adventure, and 9pm wasn’t it. A group of young people were at the pond, doing young people things of some description. I opted to re-trace my steps rather than continue along the path and walk past them. My walk back to the car coincided with the sun dipping below the horizon, changing the light levels and atmosphere immediately. Dusk arrived hard and sudden, and the walk through the meadow and trees took on a much more alien feel. At that point I vowed to stop watching so many horror films.
Having survived that evening, I found myself a couple of days later re- tracing much of the same route. I realised its always possible to find time for these things if you make time for them. This time I became aware of much more insect activity. Sure, nowhere near as much as there should be, but monumentally more than there had been even a week before. Still no butterflies, but the common red soldier beetles were in more places. A small victory.
The highlight though was near the start of the walk. I stood in Uddingston railway station, oblivious to the commuters hose path I was blocking, engrossed by the swifts and swallows circling overhead. Then, as I waked under the railway bridge at the Uddingston bank of the river I heard the pretty unmistakeable screech of ring- necked parakeets. As luck would have it, I was for once in the right place at the right time, and a pair flew overhead. Much better than hearing them through the trees, and much, much better than seeing them at a roundabout in West London.
The plan had originally been to go into the Horse Field (where better to get bitten by a horse fly?) but unfortunately a brief glimpse found a group of young people doing young- people things, and I again chose discretion by avoiding them. The walk to Townfoot Farm was extended this time by 100 yards to take in the cycle path. No bugs, but I did get whitethroat and wren in the bushes. Unexpected, and very welcome in what is usually the quiet part of the summer.
The sun decided it had had enough, and I got caught in a rain shower on the way home. Somehow, refreshing, and added to my good mood. Go figure- I enjoy rain now. Swifts are still in the area, still circling over my house in the evening, reminding me of how much I enjoy that experience, and that I should never take it for granted again.
So, Saturday finally rolled around, by big day out. My mission- to get puffin and guillemot at Yellowcraigs/ Fidra, then to stop off at Musselburgh for, well, whatever. I wasn't desperately seeing a greenshank. No, not at all.
This was one of those surprising times when I did everything right. Train journey to Edinburgh? Check. Bus to Dirleton for the mile walk to the beach? Check. Massive shout out to the Edinburgh bus drivers who kept me on the right track (literally) and saved me some money. I’m a Lanarkshire boy, but sometimes I have to hold my hands up and point out that there are a lot of really good things about Edinburgh, the buses being but one.
Time was limited, if I was to keep to a realistic version of my plan, and I sped off along the path toward the beach at Yellowcraigs. Stopping briefly to photograph meadow brown butterflies (in exactly the patch of flowers I got them last year) I made good progress. The sunny weather meant that people were using the beach as a beach, rather than staying away to allow the visitor from Lanarkshire some peace and quiet. How very dare they.
I found the dunes mostly inhabited by people in tents and other shelters, but found an ideal perch to set up the scope. This perfect perch and perfect view, however, got me neither puffin nor guillemot. Patiently scanning the sea, then scanning the rocky island over and over again, but no joy. I made the most of what I could see, though, albeit no surprises among the seabirds on offer.
My attention got drawn to a young couple nearby. Glancing over, I saw the male of the duo struggling to put a tent up. Catching snippets of conversation about colour- coding poles was mildly entertaining, and it became apparent this guy hadn’t a clue what to do. He then resorted to a YouTube video which gave him a step by step guide. Still no success. His last resort was to phone a friend, who patiently told him what to do. Again, abject failure. By this point, his lady friend had given up, put on her tracksuit, zipping it up to her neck. Realising that whatever he had planned for the Saturday wasn’t happening, he grabbed the tent and they made their way back to the car, judging by their Western Scotland accents, for an awkward drive home.
I could have put the tent up in about 15 minutes, but I felt that the boy was emasculated enough without a 50 year old, badly dressed birdwatcher offering to help.
My time at Fidra had ended, and I was resigned to not getting either puffin or guillemot this year. The 2 weeks I had off work had offered a window of opportunity, a window which slammed shut by reasons I couldn’t control. A brisk walk back to the bus stop and I caught the connection to Musselburgh. Surely, I was in with a chance of common tern and greenshank?
Starting, as always, in the middle hide I got excellent numbers of lapwing, and a pair of black- tailed godwit in their breeding finery. The redness seared my eyes among the drabness of the water and mud. Blackwit in summer plumage should be gloried and celebrated. Lots of redshank were standing doing not much, but I successfully found the garganey that had been noted earlier. Unusually, there were 2 little grebe also present, in the furthest right pool.
A pleasant surprise was Dave Allan, Lothian birder extraordinaire, popping in. As if by magic, he found the greenshank in the furthest left pool, best viewed from the left hand hide. The 50 yard walk round was full of the expectation that my greenshank jinx would be lifted. Somehow, though, in the6 minutes it took to walk, the greenshank had disappeared. Common sand was found, but the greenshank was gone. It had either flown off, or was skulking so far in the thick vegetation that it could remain hidden forever.
With time pressing, I gave up on the greenshank- again- and headed for the sea front. My mission- to get common tern. I’ve remembered that I normally use my camera for my terns, unless I’m really lucky. The ones present were far too fast and far too distant to positively I.D them in binos, and my scope skills weren’t good enough either. Terns frustrating screeched from ma few places, but I couldn’t positively I.D them. I vowed (again) that I’d need to be creative about the places I visit. Or, bring the camera.
Worryingly, the trip was a gannet- free zone.
Dave, when I had told him of my previous attempts at Greenshank searching, reassured me that that was the very nature of birding. Wise words indeed.
Naturally, Baron’s Haugh had had 2 greenshank all day.
Waking early on Sunday I had the choice of either going back to sleep, or rousing myself and doing something useful. I procrastinated for 10 minutes or so I decided on the latter, and drove to Baron’s Haugh. The car park, when I arrived at 7am, was already busy, and I watched a pair of photographers gather up their kit and wander off. I couldn’t see if they had bins with them- Green Sand’s arbitrary standard of acceptable photographer behaviour.
Nuthatch called from the woods, a sound I will never get tired of. The walk to the Marsh Hide down the lane was peaceful, the thick canopy of trees blocking out much of the sunlight. Whether by design or by benign neglect, the RSPB has allowed the undergrowth to grow and thicken. The semi- light, the woodland, and the undergrowth made this as close to bear country as I could possibly get within 20 minutes of home.
I was early enough that roe deer were still active in the woods- if I ever get bored of seeing these beautiful creatures, shoot me. Closest encounter of the year, and a reminder of what I’d been missing all those weeks when I didn’t get up at silly o’ clock and go birding. No point in recriminations, really. Do better next year, GS.
At the Marsh Hide there was already a birder/ photographer whom I sort of recognised. Naturally, he recognised me, somehow, which was slightly awkward, even by my standards where I re- define ‘social awkwardness.’ Looking up from his binos, he gave me the good news that the greenshank had just flown off toward the adjacent Causeway Hide. Literally, seconds before I had entered the hide. I was now at the stage where, rather than being 10 minutes late, I was 10 seconds later. Nature is mocking me now. And yes, the 10 minutes of procrastination cost me dearly…..
Moving to the Causeway Hide I got green sandpiper (so I can hardly complain) to the left hand pool, despite the view being partially blocked by the undergrowth. No sign of the greenshank, naturally. A brief re- check in the Marsh hide was, predictably, fruitless. A damned good morning, though.
Later, Mrs GS had decided to go to the gym, as her choice of exercise involves breathing in other people’s sweat. I had the option of a 2 hour car nap (always tempting tbf) or to go back out, making the most of the good weather. For once, I chose well. Rather than my usual stop at Cathkin Marsh SWT I opted for Cathkin Braes Country Park. A ‘country park’ that’s set up as a bike trail, thanks to the 2014 Commonwealth Games. Not really my kind of place, but it offered the chance of a longer walk in the sun. It did get me thinking of a long- ago blog post where I classified different types of birding sites. Time for a redux, I think.
Moving swiftly away from the busier, formal paths I recaptured the spirit of excitement and mystery which I associate with my early teenage trips up there. Packed lunch (ok, a bag of crisps) and a book (Lord of the Rings, if you’re wondering) to spend time in the fresh air. Always with an edge that some of the more lurid tales of the Braes, mostly told by friends’ older siblings, were maybe more than apocryphal. I was fortunate enough that this trip gave me the chance to go off the beaten track and away from the formal trails. Still a man- made site, but it gave me the chance to let my imagination run wild. Goldfinch and corvids were the predominant species, plus a single stonechat from deep within the bushes. A slow wander back to the car with the sun shining, and the warm glow of a good day.
THOUGHTS.
Captain Picard’s advice about doing everything right and still not succeeding is only half true. Sure, my trips did everything right in terms of making the most of my chances of getting target birds. But really, what I was doing right was being outdoors, in the sun (and rain), in the fresh air, searching for bugs, being delighted by a whitethroat popping up, being disappointed at not getting a cleg bite, and feeling the joy and relief of the meadow brown butterfly.
Finding myself in fresh air, with binos round my neck, with a scope propped over my shoulder, cannot be beaten. THIS is the plan, this is what I got right. This was LIFE.
Stay healthy, stay safe folks. Lets keep being excellent to everyone.
John
