Dead Dragonflies

We've been away for a very special long weekend meeting all our close family in Inverness, a busy, bustling little city crammed with tourists of all descriptions. While it was good to have a brief re-acquaintance with urban life, it was better to be walking up the track which runs past our house and into the forestry.

However, at the little aggregate quarry where palmate newts and frogs used to live, a sharp-eyed member of our family spotted....

....a dead hawker floating in one of the small puddles formed by the miserable seep of water that's all that's left of the original pond.

It was almost certainly a golden-ringed dragonfly as we saw this species laying eggs in one of the small channels of water in the quarry this time last year.

This was disappointing enough but, a little further up the seep, the same family member spotted....

....another and, close by....

....yet another, this one broken just behind the thorax.

I know that dragonflies have brief lives but to find three dead within ten metres of each other is a bit concerning. We have had trucks and heavy digging machinery parked in this area so did wonder whether the water may have been contaminated by fluids from them.

Whatever the cause, we do hope that some of the dragonflies managed to lay eggs so we see some of this, the UK's largest dragonfly, again next year.

A Favourite Walk

My favourite short walk from our house, of a mile or so, takes us along a track between farmers' fields where there have been unusually large numbers of rabbits this summer, including some which have a white patch on their fronts - which one would have thought a disadvantage as the white makes them much more visible to predators.

Where the track leaves the fields it runs between dense masses of gorse bushes, home to yellowhammers which, despite the season being well advanced, are singing as if it was spring.

A path branches off the track and plunges into thicker pine woodland where, in the darker shadows under the trees, fungi are beginning to appear. I think this is milky bonnet.

In the clearings where sunlight reaches the ground speckled woods wait on the leaves of grass and bracken for any passing rival or potential mate, which is immediately confronted in a rapid, energetic dance.

This isn't a good walk for orchids. The only ones to be found are about fifteen northern marsh and, in just one confined spot, five creeping lady's tresses - sadly, now, beyond their best.

The walk returns to the house along squirrel alley, which runs along the back gardens of houses, some of whose occupants feed the local red squirrels, so there's a good chance of seeing one of these endearing characters.

Sundowners

A sundowner is a drink enjoyed in tropical climates at the time the sun sets. The web tells me that the term originated in South Africa, and celebrates the end of what is often a long, hot, thirsty day.  In this picture, taken in Namibia, the tourists - which included us - are experiencing what some would consider a perfect sundowner, taken after two hours of jolting around in the bush.

Since we've lived in and visited several tropical countries, we've experienced various sorts of sundowner, of which my favourite is one taken....

....while sitting on a shaded veranda looking out through the palms and across a white-sand beach to a tropical lagoon.

Sundowners became so much part of our lives that we've exported the habit to wherever we have lived. So, even in the dark evenings of mid winter in the far north of Scotland, we still sit down each evening to a 'sundowner'.

The trouble with our sundowners today is that places like Scotland are plagued not only with a sunset whose time varies with the seasons of the year but also one whose time is altered by our obsession with moving the clocks each autumn and spring. So we changed one of the most important and enjoyable features of sundowners, which is drinking them while actually watching the sun go down, in favour of having a fixed time to get together for a relaxing evening drink.

Included with our version of sundowners are 'nibbles', little dishes of snacks to go with the drinks. I recall from my Mombasa days sitting on this veranda overlooking the entrance to Kilindini harbour, that the best of these nibbles were the salted, roasted cashews - which didn't come in a packet as today's do but were bought raw and then cooked to perfection by Ouma the cook.

Sparrowhawk

This sparrowhawk came and sat on the fence which runs so close to the picture window where we sit that we could almost have stretched out and touched it. I'm quite sure it was aware of our presence but I've noticed before that these birds can be very tolerant of humans.

It was a small bird which, with its patterns and colouring, suggests a male. He was a little dishevelled so either he may be moulting or he's a had a tough time in the recent gales. We also noticed that he was standing on one leg. I don't know whether this is a habit of sparrowhawks but he reminded me of the way the Maasai moran stand nonchalantly on one leg, though they have the advantage of a spear to lean on.

He stayed on this perch for a good ten minutes. The only thing that moved was his head as he swivelled it to survey our and our neighbour's gardens. Finally, he twisted away and launched himself fast and low across the neighbour's lawn.

Rain Forecast

Last night's heavy rain cleared after breakfast to give us a brief window of finer weather - which even included a few sunny intervals - before the second, windy part of Storm Floris arrived, so we took the opportunity....

....to get out for our usual daily walk, this time a brisk one up one of the tracks that takes us from the house through the estate plantations to a point where there's....

....the sort of view one expects of highland Scotland, including an abandoned croft house.

Following last night's rain there were slugs out for the first time in ages, this one making a bold bid to cross the track, presumably in the hope of better feeding on the other side.

Who needs the BBC, the Meteorological Office and supercomputers when the sheep forecast is unequivocal: it's going to rain?

Littleferry Walk

We drove out to Littleferry for a walk yesterday to find our usual parking area busy with seven motorhomes, far more than we've seen before. NatureScot permits a one night stay free of charge which, given the lovely, almost empty beach, the miles of links and the wildlife seems a pretty good deal.

There was plenty to watch at the entrance to Loch Fleet, with masses of oystercatchers and smaller numbers of eider duck, cormorants, sanderling, gulls and, offshore....

....both gannets and sandwich terns diving for fish.

Today's most common butterfly on the links was the small brown, followed by common blues, but others were out, including this....

....rather small but brilliantly coloured peacock.

We were reminded of the approach of autumn by two puffballs, this one almost the size of a tennis ball, but we were particularly pleased to find a small collection....

....of gentians, hiding in the grass - see earlier post about these autumn gentians here. I can't remember seeing a gentian at Littleferry last year, which may be explained by the suggestion that they only flower once every two years.

Speckled Wood

The first section of this morning's walk down to the village to collect the Saturday paper was through dense pine plantation where some fungi, encouraged by the recent rain, are beginning to appear. This is a large one, being about 15cm across, and is unusual in that it is growing in exactly the same place as it did last year - see blog post from September 2024 here.

A little further on the path winds between young deciduous trees a few of which, sadly, have died, but this is the best place to find....

....speckled wood butterflies - hence our name for the wood, Speckled Wood. These butterflies have been on the wing for months, dancing around us as we pass through the sunny clearings.

We walk through Speckled Wood on the alert because it is also one of the best places to see....

....roe deer. This buck watched me, standing absolutely stock still until I moved to try to get a better shot at him, when he disappeared. I'm sure they know that, if they stand still when a human passes, there's a very good chance they won't be seen, and it is only when we stop that they need to move. I'm also sure this is complicated by the fact that some humans are accompanied by dogs off the lead, in which case these canny beasts know that loose dogs are unlikely to be under control and, therefore, it's a good idea to make themselves scarce.