Outer Hebrides (part 2). Puffins and Eagles

Hebridean Heaven

I’m going to be a bit sneaky. Virtually all the wildlife pictures I post on this site are taken from the kayak seat. That is what I do and that is what this blog is about.

However the island of Mingulay, sitting at the bottom of the Outer Hebrides chain, is such an incredibly special place it deserves a bit of an on-screen airing, even though we took a boat trip out there and there wasn’t a kayak in sight.

We nearly pulled the plug on the expedition in the morning because the weather looked fairly dire, but soon after we stepped ashore the sun came out and the relentless Hebridean wind eased off a notch or two.

We ended up having a Puffin experience which none of us will ever forget.

As we sat quietly on a headland overlooking a cobalt-blue sea, many hundreds of Puffins that were circling around our heads started to land all around us for a bit of a social. One or two pitched in with a beak-ful of sandeels and hurried into their burrow before they could be intercepted by a Black-backed Gull or a Bonxie.

I have often wondered what they do with the mouthful they have already caught when they are chasing the last little fish. The eels are all so neatly arranged!

Puffin with Sandeels

We spent a couple of hours enjoying the full-on Puffin action. The most endearing bit was when one adult would land at the entrance to a burrow, and the other would appear out of the hole and they would have a little greeting ceremony which involved a bit of cooing and beak-clopping.

Mingulay Puffin Pair

All this was played out in front of the super-dramatic atmosphere of the crescent of golden sand of the beach at Mingulay, backed by the lofty green hills of the island. Less than twenty people were currently on the island with us, so our viewing was as authentically wild as it could possibly be.

I hope these two little videos provide a bit of a flavour of this magical island:

Mingulay Puffins

The following day I was back in the kayak for a few hours and got lost (deliberately) amongst the islands off the east of Barra, although once again had a bit of a battle against the wind. A gigantic pile of sticks half-way up a cliff face was clearly the nest of an Eagle, but there appeared to be no activity within. However as I stared a couple of Golden Eagles appeared round the corner, circled around a bit over my head, and then sheared away to the south. Without flapping once.

Golden Eagle

Golden Eagles are the real-deal eagle, because they are super-shy and only hang out in the most remote of locations.

Their-cousins, White-Tailed Eagles (aka Sea Eagles) are rather cosmopolitan and can be seen closer to human activity. The first one we clocked was cruising over Castlebay on Barra. So they are generally easier to see. They are a gigantic slab of a bird and cannot fail to generate a ‘wow’ from any onlooker. Observation is made easier by the squadron on breeding birds that go completely bonkers when one appears over the horizon.

White-tailed Eagle (immature, without a white tail…a bit confusing)

We moved north through Uist and enjoyed a walk along probably the most beautiful beach I have ever had the pleasure of leaving a footprint on. Mile upon mile of white sand on the west coast of Berneray. Lapped by impossibly clear green water and with a backdrop of the North Harris mountain chain.

Berneray beach

To enhance the appeal of the Uist beaches even further, pairs of Ringed Plovers ran about close to their nests on the beach. I really like all members of the plover family, not least because of their heartfelt calls.

The Ringed Plovers were almost impossible to see when they were snuggled down on their eggs:

Ringed Plover on eggs

Little parties of Sanderling, some in smart breeding plumage, rushed about looking for sandhoppers.

Sanderling

Becky and I stayed in a tiny hut on the west side of Lewis for a couple of nights. It was called Otter Bothy so how could we resist! Unfortunately the wind howled and the rain lashed and, despite looking hard, we didn’t see any otters.

Otter Bothy

However a spot of dodgy weather was not going to quell the spirit of the nearby Arctic Tern colony, that kept up a constant cheery chatter. A few were hunkered down on nests amongst the rocks of the foreshore.

Arctic Tern on nest

Our visit to the west coast of Lewis was suitably atmospheric. There was a thumping swell rumbling in from the Atlantic, and the wind blew a mist of salty spray high up over the cliffs. A pair of White-tailed Eagles hung in the updraught.

not a kayaking sort of day

And then we heard the weirdly melancholic (?) whistle of a Golden Plover, in about as bleak and windswept lunar-style landscape as you might find in the UK. Eventually we saw them, running about on the peat, nests nearby no doubt so we didn’t hang around.

One of my favourite birds, several flocks spending the winter on the large, flat, hilltop fields around my home in West Devon. Great to see them at their breeding sites.

Golden Plover

So after two action-packed and wildlife-filled weeks working our way up the chain of islands that make up the Outer Hebrides, it was time to head home. The glare of the sand, the mew of the Lapwing, the bawl of the seals and the call of the Corncrake will linger long in our memory.

Bron and Pete

Roge and Lisa

Becky

We might just be able to maintain the fun with couple more days on the Scottish mainland before making our way south…..

Outer Hebrides (part 1): Whole Lotta Otters

Team Hebrides: Pete, yours truly, Roge, Becky (cool wraparound hairstyle!), Lisa, Bron

Our long-awaited Hebridean adventure, which had been postponed from 2020, got off to a flying start during the ferry crossing from Oban to Castlebay, Barra. The unusually flat sea was perfect for a spot of cetacean watching. We observed several large pods of Common Dolphins, two Porpoises, a small passing pod of Bottlenose Dolphins and three brief views of some very elusive and slinky Minke Whales.

Common Dolphins

Could this level of wildlife excitement be maintained when we reached the islands? Yes it could, and it was a feast for the ears as well as the eyes.

If you have the sound turned down, this video is unquestionably the most dull I have ever posted. It is a field full of grass. But crank up the volume and you will hear the extraordinary call of the signature bird of the islands, sounding like a broken electric doorbell. A Corncrake.

corncrake calling

Corncrakes were widespread across the UK until the cutting of hay meadows, where they nest, became mechanised. Now they are confined to the unimproved pastures of the Hebrides and fringes of the Scottish mainland. They are virtually impossible to see, although we did manage a glimpse of a bird as it extended its neck to call in amongst the foliage.

Complementing the call of the Corncrake were a cacophony of breeding waders; Redshank, Lapwing, Snipe (which were drumming and ‘chipping’), a handful of Dunlin, Curlew and Common Sandpiper, and the ubiquitous Oystercatcher.

Oystercatcher

It is hard not to like these noisy and extrovert birds. They are the first to scramble an attack when a Raven, Great Black-backed Gull, Bonxie or even White-tailed Eagle appears over the horizon. Although they are supported by Lapwings and Common Gulls, Oystercatchers are the most bold and always lead the intercept formation, usually successfully seeing the predator off. They launch the same attack technique when I paddle past in my kayak…flying directly towards me and pulling up at the last minute while piping at full volume.

Of course I was itching to get on the water when we arrived at the island of Barra. Despite being an overcast day the water was so clear it was almost luminous:

Kayaking in Barra

The beaches seemed to glow even under cloud, but were at their best when the sun came out:

Barra beach

As I set off on an otter spotting paddle round a multitude of small islands, I was escorted by a large squadron of seals. They shadowed me, snorting and sploshing and generally making so much noise that every otter in the vicinity would have dashed for cover. So I threaded my way through a series of narrow weed-filled gullies and managed to shake them off.

Surrounded by seals

And saw my first otter! It was resting on a rock shelf above the shore, but in typical restless fashion it couldn’t resist taking to the water to look for a bite to eat.

Fortunately I was downwind so was able to watch the otter fishing for ten minutes. Every time it appeared at the surface it was crunching on a tasty snack.

It then purposefully climbed out onto the rocks, made its way over to a prominent boulder, dropped a dollop of spraint on top, and then headed back to the water.

Otter sprainting

I was pleased to depart the scene without frightening the otter, when heavy rain began. The wind really started to howl and it didn’t take me long to get back to the slipway. I had glimpses of two more otters on the way back but the dodgy weather was not conducive to watching.

A couple of days later the sky was blue and the wind had eased a bit, so I was very keen to try to find an otter feeding in the sunshine. Good light means a better photo. In other parts of the UK they are essentially nocturnal although I have come across them early in the morning or on dull, rainy days. But around the coast of Scotland they will feed during the day.

It is still unusual to fine one in full sunshine, however.

I paddled round two islands off the north of Barra and my interest was diverted by a rushing party of Sanderling on a beach:

Sanderling

And I spent a long time captivated by the cheerful chattering of a flock of Arctic Terns that were loitering above an islet. They are absolutely stunning little birds and have a wonderfully floaty flight which suits their delicate design perfectly, with long tail-streamers stretching far behind. It is hard to believe they have the longest migration of all birds and have recently returned from the Antarctic.

I think they deserve a double-photo mention….

Arctic Tern

Arctic Tern

I had given up hope of seeing an otter, but as I was approaching my exit point I had one last look around the corner of an island where there which focused a swirl of tidal current. A good place for crabs, I thought.

I could not believe my luck when I saw the head of an otter break the surface a hundred yards ahead. It swam fast to the weed-strewn shore and got out. It was upwind, so good. The sun was out so I was full of optimism for a good photo. The only drawback was the kayak was bouncing around a bit in the waves thrown up by the stiff breeze, so holding the camera still could be a challenge, and videos might make the viewer feel seasick.

Even so, I had the best prolonged otter-watching session I have ever had. I watched it catch six crabs in quick succession, and take each one to the shore to eat. I was close enough to hear it crunching its way through the legs in typical hasty otter fashion. It would sniff about to check it had eaten every available morsel, then dive back underwater and emerge with another large crab in its mouth thirty seconds later. The crab was held sideways in the otter’s mouth, and I could see the prey’s legs waving about pathetically like big fat whiskers.

Twice the otter took a break and wandered off up the sloping shoreline, apparently to have a drink from a freshwater pool. As usual it moved with deliberation as if it had done this route many times before (which it probably had) and it knew every stone on the shore (which it probably did).

After about 45 minutes it simply wandered off over the skyline and disappeared, serenaded by a skylark (see video). Presumably it was going off for a rest in some secret lair.

Fantastic. Otter spotting at its best. For stealth and unobtrusiveness the kayak is king.

Munching Crab Leg

Otter, a bit of a wander

Time for bed

Otter, Barra

Barra Otter