Nottingham RSPB
local group

Voling Up North

For those of you not 'in the know' the term 'Vol' is short for voluntary warden, and several members of our group are 'Vols' on various reserves. This is my account of a fortnight spent up at Loch Garten back in June.

After approximately seven hours travelling we arrived at the camp and were greeted by our friends, Christine and Fay, who were fortunate enough to have seasonal jobs on Operation Osprey. Unfortunately it seemed that the ospreys had had a catastrophe - although they had laid three eggs, only one was left. Tawny owls were using a goldeneye box nearby to rear their young and would attack the ospreys at night, during which the eggs were broken, this meant, however, that the remaining chick stood a better chance of surviving as it had no siblings with which to compete for food.

The osprey disaster faded into insignificance, however, when we went to the local pub (four miles away) and were told that they no longer served 'Orkney Raven', the local brew. Oh,no! There's no point in staying any longer - I'll have to get the next train home in the morning. Woe is me!

Sitting outside the camp next day alone with my thoughts I heard a familiar 'plew, plew' call which brought me to my senses. It was a siskin, a fine male, and to my amazement he landed on a nest complete with a female and chicks. This was good, we didn't even have to leave camp to see different birds. A rusty old caravette chugged down the track and parked outside the kitchen. It belonged to Alan, a good chap with a heart of gold, who earned himself the nickname 'the hangover' as we never saw him sober! He had just picked up Dave, the volunteer cook, from Aviemore train station.

Monday morning saw Tim, myself and Fay heading Northwest in the direction of a golden eagle eyrie. Having reached the location it took an hour to actually find the nest but, having done so, we set the 'scope up and watched the juvenile occupant stretching its wings, preparing for the big day when it would set off to patrol the mountain valleys. An hour or so later the adults did just that, soaring higher and higher overhead with just an occasional flap of those huge blanket wings. On the way back we caught a brief glimpse of a red kite, one of those re-introduced on the Black Isle, and stopped to watch three or four bottle-nosed dolphin off North Kessock.

As it had been Fay's day off it was up to David to make dinner but he had earlier let Alan into his deep, dark secret - he couldn't cook! Fortunately Alan stepped in and made a marvellous venison meal; on going to thank him we discovered him laying across the sofa he told us he had marinated the meat in a cup of red wine, but was so stressed he was forced to drink the rest of the bottle!

Tuesday found me doing a spot of public relations in the hide and controlling the video camera. During this time I was aware of a chap keeping an eye on me. He came over and shook my hand. 'Hi, I'm Ivan Whitmoor from The Lodge'. 'Hello, I'm Stuart Taylor' Then it sank in. He thought I was STEWART Taylor the head warden - should I confess? No! I take him on a guided tour instead. It turned out he was the RSPB Legacy Officer and, in return for me showing him capercaillie, crossbill and red squirrel, invites me down to The Lodge. 'I'll give you a call when I can fit it in' I tell him as I wave goodbye.

On Wednesday we were free until l.00 p.m. so I hopped over to Carrbridge to see, and hear, a very controversial bird. Ray Dennis, the local expert, claims it's a greenish warbler whilst others think it's a Northern willow warbler. Having located it the song is nothing like a willow warbler and the bird looks like a chiffchaff! It doesn't, however, behave like either but perches on top of pine cones, in full view, singing loudly. My opinion is that for years to come it will remain known as the Carrbridge warbler.

Thursday we visited the high tops where we had splendid views of a female ptarmigan and a male dotterel before returning for duty at 6.00 p.m. For a change it was rather a quiet day.

Friday too seemed to start rather smoothly. I did two video presentations of last years highlights and was relieved by Karen, a 'Vol' from Dorset who whispered 'Don't have the soup, Dave's cooked it and it's bad'. She was followed by Andy and another Karen (the Information Warden) who both warned me 'Keep away from the soup'. As I wandered back my mind slipped into overdrive thinking of excuses. I decided on 'I had too much to drink last night and am on solids only today' when, on reaching the camp, Dave proudly announced 'Soup's on the table'. There was no escape Dave watched out the corner of his eye and the others sniggered. Was it onion soup or onions in pond water? I moved the scummy surface to one side, dropped in lots of grated cheese and bread and thought of England! Actually it wasn't too bad.

The second week of my fortnight at Loch Garten started like a little reunion - Clive, Margaret and Peter, whom I'd met in previous years, arrived and it wasn't long before the latter became known as "Peter the Pervert"!.... (editor - Why? Is there another story in this?).... After a chat Tim, myself, Karen and Fay went into Aviemore to celebrate Fiona's birthday. Fiona works weekends at the Osprey gift shop and it was here she met her boyfriend Simon in 1996. He suprised her by sneaking up for a visit, but was taken aback later in the restaurant as Fiona was too busy chatting to notice him proposing to her! Apparently he tried again the next day and was accepted.

Sunday was uneventful apart from persistent rain.

During duty on Monday I showed our new team mate Ben 'the ropes', and managed to spot a male capercaillie 'strutting his stuff' in an open area. He must have been in 'one heck of a fight' as all the feathers had been plucked from his head and nape leaving the orange skin exposed. He was a big bird and I don't think I'd like to see the one that did that to him. Ben and I walked over an area of moorland in the afternoon and accidentally flushed two male black grouse.

Our full day off was Wednesday when we trundled up to the Black Isle for more views of red kite. It wasn't long before Ben spotted one, hanging in the air on slightly bowed wings, displaying pale blue wing tags proving that this was one of the birds introduced to the area and which are now breeding successfully. Our route back to camp took us along the A832 where, between Munlochy and Tore, I saw a sight which I had wanted to see for a couple of years - a roadside tree on which people hang rags believing it to be either lucky or a cure for illness. The hundreds of pieces of clothing look messy, but at the same time impressive, and I thought that next year I might contribute by donating a sock or pair of underpants! After more views, this time the Beauly Firth dolphins, we were back on duty. Ben, who is short sighted, decided to take a rest, removed his spectacles, carefully put them in his back pocket and promptly sat down. CRUNCH! He was not a happy chappie!

On Thursday Helen Dixon and Julie Ellis, two girls involved in the Osprey Project, came to visit and it wasn't long before I was press ganged into agreeing to monitor the ospreys at Rutland Water this season. At first I was opposed to this idea but the ladies had such lovely smiles - how could I refuse? Lunchtime was interesting. Ben, as well as being short sighted and spectacle less, was a vegetarian. This combination proved both amusing and embarrasing for everyone. All us omnivores had devoured our venison meal but left a jug of thick brown gravy, with lumps of meat and mushroom in it, on the table. Ben proceeded to pour this over his pudding assumming it to be chocolate sauce!

Our last full day in the Highlands was not without incident. It was decided that we should go and check a loch which was rumoured to hold a pair of black-throated divers. Strong winds had made the water choppy, very choppy, and experience dictated that if there were any divers on the loch they would be on the calmer, leeward side, of the island. Two snakelike heads appeared but, in his eagerness to see the birds, Tim took his eyes off the road and we ended up in a ditch! No matter how hard we tried the car wouldn't budge. I remembered seeing a caravette about a mile away and ran for help whilst Tim and Ben tried filling the ditch with stones. The wind blew horizontal rain directly into my face as I attempted to run the four hour mile (Roger Bannister eat your heart out!). My camouflage jacket, gloves and balaclava were good protection against the wind but as I neared the caravanette the occupants looked on in horror at the approaching 'terrorist'. After some explaining the situation was made clear and help was forthcoming. Our transport was soon back on the road again, ready for the long journey home.

It had been a good working holiday, with many laughs and new friendships founded, and I recorded several good species in this tiny pocket of a once widespread habitat which needs our continued protection.