We couldn’t resist heading out this morning before the sun had risen to wander across the fields at the end of our lane. Under clear skies and with frost under foot, we crossed a few fields and then stood watching the sun rise over the distant rolls of the Northamptonshire countryside. As we were about to head back, a hare jumped up from its hiding place and ran off across the arable field.
On the summer solstice, on the side of a hill, surrounded by stunning scenery and the calls of birds, I got married to my amazing and lovely wife, Sarah. Anyone who has glanced at a few of my blog posts won’t be surprised to read that nature was at the centre of our wedding and that we chose to marry on an island.
Sarah and I met in February 2019 on a holiday in the Kalahari. We were friends immediately and started dating within a week of returning home. Living 180 miles apart, we didn’t manage to see each other very often before I disappeared to volunteer for three months on RSPB Ramsey Island. This might have been an issue for other new couples but it wasn’t for us: we kept in touch and Sarah visited twice. We met up increasingly frequently when I left the island, including an autumn week on the Isle of Mull, and by early 2020 we saw each other almost every weekend. In the March we both went down with COVID and on leaving isolation I travelled down to see Sarah, expecting to stay about a week. That evening, the first lockdown was announced, and we’ve lived together ever since.
In February 2021, we bought a house together in a Northamptonshire village and I popped the question on the Isle of Mingulay at almost the southern-most tip of the Outer Hebrides. On our way home we decided on a small wedding and to make the day unique to us. We soon decided on an elopement to the Isle of Skye (although our families and many of our friends were aware). We stayed on Skye, at Stein, for a week in October last year, looking for places to marry, as well as introducing the island to Sarah. After looking at a number of spots, we finally chose the most spectacular of all the locations on Skye; The Quiraing.
The 21st of June dawned gloomy and damp with low cloud blanketing the small hills visible from our cottage above the banks of Loch Dunvegan. I had woken to the distant call of a cuckoo and as we had breakfast, we watched an otter fish in the water below the cottage. Lynne, our photographer, arrived at 7:30 and we spent a while having photographs, including at the ‘first look’, the moment we both saw each other for the first time in our wedding clothes. The weather looked a little brighter as we left the cottage for the drive to The Quiraing but as we drove up into the higher hills the cloud enclosed around us and our hearts started to sink a little at the prospect of a dark and wet ceremony. However, as we dropped over the eastern lip of the line of hills on the Trotternish Peninsula, we ducked beneath the cloud and the view opened up in front of us.
We met our celebrant, Sonja, and her husband, Chris, at the side of the road by the small cemetery and we walked a couple of hundred metres to a stunning spot in a natural ampitheatre below the dark, brooding crags looking both ways along the majestic Trotternish ridge. The Quiraing is one of the most spectacular spots I know with the black jagged rock pinnacles standing high above the plain stretching out to the coast below.
There, on a spot out in the open, we prepared the space and ourselves for the moments ahead. We both walked a small distance away from the others and Sonja chimed two small bells to mark the opening of the ceremony. We walked to join them and the wedding began. At that moment a cuckoo started calling joined by a skylark and occasional chirping meadow pipits. The sky was still overcast and the low cloud lightly dropped moisture on us but the air was almost still.
The ceremony was a mixture of formality, readings to match the surroundings and the solstice, Sonja’s words defining our story to get to that moment and our own personally-written vows. The moments that stick particularly in my mind are many.
Writing our own vows made the moment even more personal and brought some laughter as well as the seriousness of the commitments we made. As I spoke, the rain started to come down a little stronger, fine drizzle flowing into my face as I read my chosen words. I promised to steer around sheep in the road while Sarah promised to put lids on jars (but not necessarily screwing them on properly). As Sarah finished the sky brightened a little and the dampness relented.
We exchanged rings that had been specially made for us, cast in sand from beaches that had marked moments in our lives, including one we would visit on Harris later in the following week.
We drank from a quaich. We individually poured whisky into the small two-handled hand-carved oak bowl, symbolising two people coming together as one, and we took turns to drink from it. We then poured the last remaining drops to the ground, to nourish the land around us.
Moving on from the quaich, we also included the ancient handfasting ceremony where our hands were tied together with a length of ceremonial ribbon. This ‘tying the knot’ moment again symbolises two people coming together and at the end when the hands are parted the knot stays intact and should remain so.
The final act of the wedding, with Sonja proclaiming our marriage, brought to an end what seemed like a both only a few seconds and an age in time. So intense was the ceremony that time appeared to both stretch and contract, but there was also the constant marking of the seconds as the cuckoo continued to call all the way through those 25 minutes. It became the symbol of our wedding and the two weeks in Scotland. We heard their calls frequently over the days that followed and, finally, as we wandered around a quiet, abandoned village on the east coast of Harris, we saw one speeding along above the shore, being chased by a meadow pipit or two.
After signing the paperwork, we eventually had to say goodbye Sonja and Chris, and we spent the rest of the day with Lynne, taking photos at various spots around the Trotternish Peninsula. We spent a while around the wedding spot, then moved on to Loch Langaig, Duntulm Castle, the old chapel at Bornesketaig, and the nearby Camas Moor Bay, with a view over to the Isle of Harris, and back to the top of the Trotternish Ridge with views over the Sound of Raasay to the mainland mountains of Wester Ross beyond.
Our day finished back at our cottage overlooking Loch Dunvegan and a meal at the fantastic Three Chimneys Restaurant below.
In our preparations, we tried to keep everything as local as possible. Our amazing and talented photographer, Lynne Kennedy, lives just across the Skye Bridge on the Kyle of Lochalsh, the lovely flowers were grown locally on the island by Catherine Matheson at Waternish and our fantastic picnic lunch was prepared by Isle of Skye Seafood. Our quaich was hand carved in Scotland, the whisky we drank from it could only really be Skye’s own Talisker, the hand fasting ribbon was in McKay tartan (there are McKays in my family) and my jacket and waistcoat were both made from Harris Tweed.
With starlings nesting in our loft in the spring, generally making a noise up there much of the rest of the time, and frequently taking over the bird feeders in the garden, we tend to forget the winter spectaculars they are famous for.
However, one of the local bird blogs revealed last weekend that there is a starling murmuration at one of our nearby nature reserves, Summer Leys. After a day of DIY, we headed over there late on this afternoon.
It was a bright, completely clear evening as we stood by a gate overlooking some pasture and a reedbed in the distance. It took a while for the first groups of starlings to come into the area but then they just kept on coming…
We had a long-awaited return to Africa in October. We booked a trip to Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park almost three years ago, expecting to go in the Autumn of 2020, but of course world events got in the way.
The journey was long and multi-staged, starting with an evening flight from Heathrow Terminal 3 to Dubai, arriving in the early morning after seven hours in the air. We had a three hour layover and an easy passage through the airport for the flight to Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. That second seven hour flight was a bit chilly at times but arrived mid-afternoon and we had just under two hours to wait for the final one-hour flight to the small town of Mfuwe. Passport control was very easy in the new International terminal at Lusaka and the checks of our COVID passes were very cursory. We had to walk the short distance to the old terminal (now for internal flights only) and the expected heat was quite comfortable, much to our surprise. However, the one hour flight in a Jetstream was rather sticky and we were glad to get off at Mfuwe into cooling air just as the sun was setting. We were met at the airport by Gavin Opie, our guide and host for the week, and some of his camp team, who took our baggage to the safari trucks. After a brief intro talk, we were off into the growing darkness of the Zambian night and out towards the South Luangwa National Park.
Our journey to Nkonzi Camp took us through Mfuwe itself, a scattering of mud-brick homes and shops spread along miles of smooth tarmac road. The village and the road were busy with people walking and cycling in the quickly fading dusk, with huddles standing outside shops and homes, with light and music coming from many of them. We picked our way around human and vehicular obstacles in the road and eventually the tarmac gave-way to dirt track after what seemed like passing through an endless linear village. Eventually, we passed across the bridge over the Luangwa River, the western boundary of the National Park and we left the hustle and bustle of the village behind. We soon saw our first animals of the trip as we spotted hippos out of the river eating grass around one of the safari lodges. We headed deeper into the wilderness and left other habitation behind, eventually coming to the deep sand of a dried-up riverbed. After a few more twists in the track we spotted the light of the camp and we trundled in to be met by Bev and the camp staff.
We avoided the next encounter with the local wildlife by having dinner as soon as we arrived. There was an elephant in the camp, moving slowly past the row of six tents laid out along the edge of the same river bed. By the time we had finished our meal, the elephant had moved through far enough that some of us, but not all, could go to our tents and unpack. At night, we weren’t allowed to wander through the camp alone and always had to be escorted by the camp staff. So once we were in our tent, there we stayed until morning as we settled into an already familiar safari camp routine.
As the camp is permanent for the eight months of the tourist season, the facilities were much better at Nkonzi than the temporary campsites I’ve stayed at in both the Okavango Delta and Kalakari. The tents were similar but larger, with a separate storage area at the back, and had a full-size wooden-framed double bed with very comfortable mattress. The was an ensuite bathroom at the back of the tent, with reed screens on all sides and reed flooring under foot. Amazingly, there was a flushing toilet (far better than the long drop equivalents from the other camps) and solar generated electricity. We had lights both in the tent and bathroom and a double plug socket for an electric fan and for charging devices and camera batteries. At the front of the tent was an awning and two camp chairs to sit under shelter during the hottest part of the day. However, the coolest place to stay at those points was the large open-sided dining shelter which not only had a large dining table but also a bar and several sofas, as well as a water cooler providing much welcomed refreshment when it was most needed.
Each morning we would be supplied with fresh water into the ensuite by the camp staff; we had to stay inside the tent until they arrived at 5:00am. It was clear why; during the first night and most of the other six, there were hyenas wandering around the camp, their calls echoing through the tents. We also heard the local elephant in the camp that first night too but didn’t hear the lions pass through a few nights later.
After getting ready for the day ahead, we walked in the growing daylight to the dining shelter and down onto the sand of the dry riverbed to have breakfast out in the open. Only on that first morning did I feel the need to wear a jumper at breakfast but it was soon discarded. Each morning we had a choice of cereal, bread toasted on a wood fire, and a hot drink, before heading out at 6:00am on the first of two game drives of the day.
We would stay out on that first drive until around 10:00am, having stopped for a drink and biscuits around 8:00am. We then spent the hours before and after lunch trying to keep cool. We would vary our methods, from sitting out at the front of the tents, lounging in the dining shelter or, the best solution of all, soaking the provided body-length scarves in water and lying under them on the bed with the electric fan on. The latter kept us remarkably cool despite the daytime temperatures in the shade reaching the low to mid-40s Celsius and much hotter inside the tents.
As the sun began to drop we headed out on the second game drive of each day at 4:00pm. As we set off the heat was always still quite intense but as the four hour drive went on it cooled somewhat until becoming comfortable again arriving back into camp at 8:00pm. One of the highlights of each day were the sunsets where we stopped for liquid sundowners, usually overlooking a flowing river or dried river bed. They were followed by night drives back to the camp, usually with Dixon doing an amazing job finding animals with the spotlight, including my first views of spotted hyena. On arrival back in the camp we would soon return to the dining shelter for dinner; three courses of European-style food washed down by a G&T, beer or wine from the free bar. After such a nice end to the day, it didn’t usually take everyone long to disappear back to their tents after dinner and not be seen again until the next breakfast.
Despite the camp being pretty special, it wasn’t what we primarily came for: the scenery and the wildlife were our real focus and they didn’t let us down.
Compared to the Okavango and Kalahari, the scenery of South Luangwa is ever changing, from one mile to the next. Set in a wide river valley, it is very flat, although it is possible to see distant hills many miles away. The dominant features are river itself and the dry riverbeds that adjoin it. Whilst the Luangwa River was still very much flowing, the other rivers run in the rainy season, which starts around November, and water flows for around four months before becoming dry again. Some of the trees were already breaking out into leaf in advance of the rains but the wider landscape was very dry with the last few waterholes nearly empty. Around the camp was largely scrub with occasional open areas but as we travelled further from camp the landscape changed frequently; more dense scrub, dry dustbowls with lifeless trees, wide open grasslands and wonderfully green mahogany woodlands. Some areas had similarities to the Okavango, some similar to the Kalahari, some were more like the savannah further north in Africa and some were desolate moonscapes. However, wherever we went we were never far from a riverbed and it was clear to see in some places that once the rains arrive, the national park transforms from the hot and dusty valley we saw into into a wet and lush landscape, if only for a few months.
We recorded over 100 different species of bird during our trip including over 30 that were new to me (finally taking the number of bird species I’ve seen in my life to over 500). Of those birds, the raptors were particularly notable, seeing eight different species of eagle including my favourite African bird, the Bateleur. I also saw my first ever African Skimmer, flying down the river with its long bill dipped into the water searching for fish. We had a great sighting of a Verraux’s eagle owl one night as we packed up after a sundowner and other birds included a great range of rollers, kingfishers, hornbills and bee-eaters. It was one of the bee-eaters that provided the most spectacular avian sight of the trip as we visited a southern carmine bee-ester colony at two separate dusks.
The mammals were just as varied as the landscape and birds, and we saw a great mix of large and small, and herbivore and carnivore including 29 mammals in total. The antelopes were plentiful with impala, puku, reed buck, water buck being seen most days and we saw the much smaller common duicker and the tiny Sharpe’s Grysbok. There were larger antelope too including a few kudu and a short glimpse of red hartebeest before they did their usual thing of legging it before you can get a good photograph. We also had really good views of giraffe including two males fighting over a female, clashing necks and legs. The zebra were also frequently seen including some very small foals and we saw a bit of fighting over harems.
We saw very good numbers of elephants each day including loose groups and large families. One evening, close to sunset, we watched one family with five small calves as it made its way over a river bed and into the bush, which was particularly memorable. We always tried to give the elephants a wide berth as they can get angry quite quickly and we were challenged and chased by one female after we stumbled across a small group in the growing gloom one evening.
Of the smaller carnivores, we saw civets and large spotted gennet, three types of mongoose (banded, white-striped and slender) plus quite a few four-toed sengi and some southern lesser galligoes (bush babies), scrub hares and ground squirrels.
Of the big carnivores, I saw leopard twice (others saw another on a drive I missed). The first was a surprise as we spent a little while watching a family of elephants by the road side, waiting for one to join the group so that we didn’t drive between them. Suddenly the elephants reacted to something and we saw a leopard disappear into the undergrowth having leaped down from the tree it had been resting in directly above the elephants’ heads. The second leopard was a night sighting. Just after getting back into the truck after our sundowner, we came across another truck shining a light into some long grass. Suddenly a leopard sat up and wandered off into the undergrowth.
Whilst the leopard sightings were fairly fleeting, the lions were very obliging. We saw them on three days of the six full days we were there. We found them on our morning drives including a group of three females resting on the dry riverbed just around the corner from the camp. The first group we found including three females and a male, resting but keeping an eye on the nearby antelope. We sat and watched them for 30 minutes or so as the relaxed in the morning sun and gradually moved through the area, a few metres at a time, in between dozing and stretching.
A highlight of the trip was my first ever walking safari. A small group of us walked from the camp straight after breakfast, led by Jabo, the armed Park Ranger, followed by Gavin, and then the guests, Bev and Dixon. We walked in single file, to appear a less threatening presence to any wildlife we came across, and soon crossed the river bed and walked out into the scrub. We came across the burrows of aardvark; Gavin approaching them cautiously as they can be used by a range of other animals including hyena and warthog. We then saw an elephant in the distance and made a large detour to avoid spooking it and eventually crossed the riverbed again towards a dried up waterhole. We found the bones of a hippo and the dung of crocodile in the area as well as the similarly white hyena dung. We eventually stopped for a drink and rest in the shade before the final leg back through the scrub and another crossing of the riverbed. Whilst we didn’t see a lot of wildlife while walking, it was amazing to be out of the truck and on our own feet out in the African wilderness. It would have been quite easy to forget how exposed we were and as we entered the last section of long grass, I had to remind myself that there could easily be something hiding just behind the next corner.
Alongside the sundowners at the southern carmine bee-eater colony, there were two other moments that stood out more than any in the trip. The first was actually a few minutes rather than a moment. Having not seen African buffalo before, it was quite a sight to come across over 150 strung out in a slowly plodding line in a large open grassland area. One by itself is quite an imposing view but the weight of buffalo in one place was something to behold.
The second moment was as we were about to sit down for dinner on the penultimate evening. There were sounds of quarrelling hyenas a short distance away across the dark dry river bed. The camp team shone lights out into the darkness and we tracked the two hyena chasing each other and fighting over what appeared to be the hind leg of an unidentified animal (probably an antelope). At one point, our hearts may have skipped a few beats as they both turned and started to run directly at us but fortunately they soon changed course and ran off into the darkness. They then spent the next few minutes running around the camp and we later found their footprints in the sand outside our tent. The video below gives a snippet of the excitement.
As they always do, the trip came to an end far too quickly. Some of our group were heading off to Malawi for a few more days and left in the morning while three of us had one more morning drive in the National Park before heading back to Mfuwe airport for an early evening flight. The heat was particularly intense on the way and it felt almost like constantly driving through the first waft of heat as you open an oven door. Fortunately, both the airport and first flight felt cooler and by the time we checked in at Lusaka’s international terminal we were back into an air-conditioned world, bringing some relief from the unseasonably hot weather we had been having for the previous week.
Overall, this was a fantastic trip that met and exceeded expectations, in terms of the camp, the scenery and the wildlife. I have yet to stay in a safari lodge so I can’t give an honest comparison, but surely camping on safari is the best way to get into the heart of the wilderness and surround yourself with African wildlife.
We have to thank Gavin, Bev, the other guide, Shadi, and the camp staff including Jacob and Dixon, amongst the others, as well as Jabo the National Park Ranger. They all worked so hard to make our stay as comfortable and safe as possible and to ensure we had as good a chance as possible of seeing the wildlife we were all so keen find. The knowledge and guiding skills were some of the best I’ve come across and they showed a great passion and care for the area and its wildlife. They all contributed to making it one of the best trips I’ve had.
We booked the trip with Naturetrek, our usual wildlife holiday agent of choice. Naturetrek we’re excellent as always and especially good in keeping us informed as we had to postpone the trip twice due to COVID. The link to their webpages for this trip is here.
As we got back home, we discussed when we would next return to Africa and initially it looked like it could be quite a few years until we do. However, we soon resolved to fit another trip in within the next three years, sandwiched by a couple of important birthdays. We simply can’t stay away from Africa for too long – it has so much more to show.
It is now over three years since I spent three late spring and early summer months as the long term volunteer on the RSPB’s Ramsey Island reserve. It seems like a lifetime ago and so much has happened in my life over the intervening years. A new job, COVID-19, a new house in a new area, and, most notable for me, a wedding, had put the island very much to the back of my mind. They were a fantastic three months, a highlight of my life without a doubt, but life very quickly moved on after I left, and bar the small matter of a global pandemic and cost of living crisis, very much for the positive,
I used to think about Ramsey Island a lot more often, often stimulated by the painting of St Justinian’s (the launching point for boats to the island) above my bed and other prints and photos on the walls of my old house. Despite those pictures being transferred to my new home, they have somewhat melted into the background; familiarity moving those images to the periphery of my vision. I also think, knowing that I couldn’t go, as volunteers haven’t been able to over the past two visitor seasons on the island, putting it as the back of my mind stopped me moping about it.
However, the opportunity for another stay on the island could not be missed. Having got out of the routine of an annual stay, as it had been between 2012 and 2018, it almost came as a surprise to me when the day arrived to travel across England and Wales to the familiar coast of Pembrokeshire. My packing was a little haphazard and my food very much a last-minute consideration, but, I have everything I need for a week.
The weather was beautiful when I arrived and has been the same since; almost wall to wall sunshine leaving me feeling sun-kissed each evening, although some of that might be wind burn as the strength of the northerlies have increased over the course of my stay. Having had a recent close shave with the effects of the sun on skin, my application of factor 50 has been a little more liberal this time, as has the wearing of my caps; it’s pretty exposed out here and the breeze can easily disguise the strength of the sun.
Arriving on the late summer bank holiday weekend, I half expected the island to be busy with visitors every day but the winds have meant that boats bringing them have only run for two days of my week’s stay; and I’m leaving a day early for the same reason.
While my life and the world has changed so much over the last three years, there are some very stable things about Ramsey which are gently reassuring. The scenery, on land and sea; the familiar birds feeding on the pasture, across the heathland and out over the water; the boats around the island, the ships in the Bay and the ferries on their routine journeys across to Ireland and back; the sounds of manxies at night and chough during the day; the flickering lights on the mainland and Milky Way overhead, and the stunning sunrises and sunsets; they all give a sense of continuation and permanence, that Ramsey is a constant in an ever changing world.
But, things do change here. There is a new warden, Nia, and another long-term volunteer, Luke. There is a new dog, Jinx, who has been trained to sniff out rats on land and sea, and the sheep dog, Dewi, indisputably the best dog in the world, is now very much the old boy of the island. The Bungalow, the volunteer accommodation, has been transformed, but not quite finished, with a fresh, clean look inside with new interior walls, a new stove, more electricity with sockets in each bedroom, and double glazing all round. There is just the kitchen and bathroom to remodel this autumn and the change will be amazing.
Ramsey, also, cannot escape the global changes and issues that are being faced in so many other places. Like the most of the UK, and elsewhere, Ramsey has experienced exceptionally low rainfall this year; climate change is casting a shadow over the island. I’ve never seen the place so dry and the grass isn’t just brown, it is non-existent in some areas. Not helped by the enormous rabbit population as the moment, the grass is so poor that the sheep, already down to a couple of dozen from around one hundred when I was last on the island, will be taken to the mainland at the end of the season.
There is another shadow over the island which is bringing dread of what is to come. Before I arrived, the news emerged that Grassholm, the other main island that is part of the reserve, has been hit by avian influenza. After reading awful stories from further north in the UK, and seeing signs of it in the Outer Hebrides, the news that bird flu had reached this hugely important gannet colony was a massive blow. Both on Grassholm and on Ramsey itself, as well as on the other Pembrokeshire Islands, bird flu could do enormous damage and undo so much of the decades of hard work of the conservationists. Ramsey’s birdlife is still recovering following the rat eradication over the Millennium winter with further good news this year, after the latest survey, that Manx Shearwater numbers have increased strongly again. As the adults and fledglings leave the island this year, it is hoped that they have avoided bird flu in this colony but there is anxiety over what may happen if it gains a greater grip over the winter and when they return next year.
I can’t end this post on a sad note, however. My stay on the island has been as lovely as ever and I will be very sad to leave it behind again. It is a truly beautiful place, and that won’t change; day visitors and volunteers alike are very privileged to spend a little time here. For me, it is a place that once it has you, it won’t let go no matter how long you spend away from it. Even if the periods of absence do grow longer and my stays shorter, even if it is put to the back of my mind, the island is still a major presence in my little world. Those pictures on the walls of my home will surely come back to life and over the autumn, winter and spring, I will spend a little more time thinking of this amazing place.
For the first time in over three years, I’m back on Ramsey Island, volunteering for a week with the RSPB. After spending three months here in the spring/summer of 2019, it seems a very long time since I was last here and so much has happened in the meantime.
Hopefully, this might re-energise my blogging a little…
We were just relaxing in the shade of our magnolia tree when we heard a rustle in the undergrowth and there popped up this little chap.
It’s years since I saw one, in fact it’s so long I can’t think when it was. So this is another mammal to add to the ‘seen’ garden list on top of our nightly hedgehogs and less frequent foxes plus loads of bats.
Just hoping he’s not going to destroy our lawn like the last two did over winter.
We were going to go for a local walk today but the weather is pretty awful and by time we drove the 10 minutes to the start of the walk the rain was coming down – we aborted the idea. However, on arriving home we spent some time in the garden using our new phones to do some macro photography of the water droplets on the flowers. I don’t do much macro photography but I’m pretty pleased with these…
We’ve just returned from a week in the Swedish countryside, staying in a summerhouse amongst the lakes, meadows and forests. Over the past 20-odd years I’ve been a frequent visitor to this stunningly lovely country but this was my first since the summer of 2019; COVID getting in the way of seeing family for far too long. I will write a more comprehensive post about the wildlife encounters during the trip but just had to start with the beavers!
Close to the summerhouse is a small lake teeming with wildlife above, on and below the water’s surface. Over the course of my previous stays there, I have made almost daily trips down to the lake to see the family of beavers that live there. Most often, the views are distant, across the lake, around their large lodge, and are certainly not guaranteed. However, this trip was very different, at least at the end.
We saw one or more beavers everyday and up to three at once but the penultimate night of our stay was particularly special. As usual we walked down to the lake towards dusk (although you can often see the beavers during the day) and we stood where the little jetty reaches out into the water. Going any further onto the jetty itself risks its clanking frightening off the animals and sending large ripples rolling out across the lake.
Soon after we arrived a beaver approached us. Not swimming far off on the other side of the lake but within five metres. Judging by its size it was likely to be a youngster from last year, coming up to take an inquisitive look at us. At first it swam into the little bay by the jetty, floating and turning for a while as its beady eyes kept a watch on us. It then suddenly splashed its tail and disappeared under the water. However, it wasn’t gone for long as it reappeared towards the little bay beside us and came back for another look.
Seeing one beaver so close was incredible but once the first had eventually made its way back to the other side of the lake, a second came in for a look. Similarly, it was likely to be a a kit from last year and it was equally as inquisitive and spent as much time floating about watching us and making several passes. Eventually, it too made a final pass and disappeared into one of the channels they have dug a the edge of the lake.
The sightings of these two beavers was made all the more special by the other wildlife in the surroundings and the sunlight as the dusk came in. The background sounds were of calling cuckoos, chattering fieldfares, several roding woodcock, numerous smaller songbirds and some croaking frogs in the lakeside reeds. The clouds lit up by the setting sun as well as the light on the trees gave the water a golden shimmer as the gentle breeze broke the glassiness spread across much of the lake.
This was not only one of the most memorable wildlife moments I’ve had in Sweden but one of the most memorable I’ve ever had. Fortunately, I have some photographs and video that captured the moments.
We occasionally get asked by our neighbours to feed their cat and chickens while they are away. This weekend after closing the chickens into their coop for the night, we stayed in the paddock for a little while to see what wildlife would turn up.
Our neighbour’s paddock is often used for sheep but we know from signs we have previously seen that there may have a variety of wildlife visiting each night. As we sat with our backs to the hedge, we waited in the cooling evening air for the wildlife to turn up. It didn’t take long for the first to make an appearance; two types of bat flying over our heads hawking for insects along the hedgeline. Shortly afterwards, the sheep started to make quite a lot of noise and they moved up towards the top of the field. Soon afterwards, a fox trotted past us and down the field, probably having been to see if the chickens were still up.
In the distance we could hear a little owl calling in the growing darkness and we eventually saw a brief glimpse of our main target for the night, a badger breaking cover but soon disappearing again before we could get a good look. We eventually had to wander back home but on the way we heard a rustling in the undergrowth and found a hedgehog out for his evening rounds.
That wasn’t the end of the wildlife, however. For two nights I put out my new trail cam to see what else uses the paddock at night. Whilst my trail cam skills haven’t got any better, I did manage to get reasonable images of badgers, a fox and, slightly more surprisingly, a muntjac. This last find must been in the field only moments before I turned up to release the chickens and pick up the camera.