Scottish Wildlife Trust

Aberdeen Members Group

Newsletter - Spring 2008

As newsletter editor, I feel that I should give you a brief personal introduction. I am a retired local government officer. My wife of more than 30 years will shortly retire to keep me company. We have had a lifelong “amateur” interest in wildlife but until our chicks had left the nest, we did little more than pay the subscriptions; read the magazines; and visit the occasional reserve. This is a pattern that, I believe, is repeated in many homes across the countryside.

Since retirement, I have had the opportunity to extend my interests (mainly in various different roles as a RSPB volunteer). I offered my services in this role, in response to the plea in the last newsletter. However, my appointment as editor, cannot guarantee the continued success of this newsletter. It can only be as good as the articles contained within it. Those articles must come from within the membership at large - even from the less involved members (as I was until recently). I also remind you of the appeal in the last newsletter for illustrations as well as articles. Ideally, I try to match images to the text (but my stock of clipart is very restricted in some areas).

The interests of our members are wide and varied. I appeal to more of you to submit articles for inclusion in future newsletters, so that what I produce reflects your experiences across the diverse range of wildlife that we all enjoy so much. The experiences of new members are equally interesting to read. I note with pleasure the first chapter of the diary of a volunteer. Possibly, it will inspire some of you to give up some of your valuable time to help protect or even enhance the beautiful countryside that we all call our home.

We park up in the Forestry Commission car park, denied our usual drive down the track owing to ongoing felling activities. As we walk down the track through the young Sitka plantation towards the stone bridge, through clear felling of the older conifer plantation. The vista has been completely transformed, where once only dense evergreen trees could be seen, now is an open churned ground of stumps and the occasional broadleaf tree, bordered by stands of larch. As we cross the bridge, a lovely citrus aroma fills the air. Many high stacks of logs at the track sides show the trees to have been Douglas fir, disclosed by the military green of the upper cut stems. This close to observation of the younger bark’s green iridescence usually goes unnoticed except on young trees and erstwhile lofty tops of windblown adults. Counting the rings on the chubby trunks, they were 40 years old. We march on up the track past remaining broadleaf trees on the left slopes, putting up several flocks of woodpigeons, 20–30 birds a time. A bit further, a red squirrel scampers up a larch, freezing at a safe height. I start my “tut tut” call, the squirrel replies likewise, flicking its bushy tail in annoyance – they’re mating and so likely territorial at this time of year. Amused, we walk on. To the right, a bird calling: a repeated single short high note. Looking through the larch trees we spot the source, a great spotted woodpecker. As far as we could tell, with no red nape, it is a female.

Entering the field towards old Gight castle we see and hear our first jackdaws – do they nest in the ruinous castle, or only in the many hollows in the old ash, elm and oak on the reserve? Passing the castle and through the kissing gate on to the reserve proper, a buzzard sounds his presence, gliding out over the Ythan, sharp eyes having spotted us from his tree top lookout. It’s a lovely day; sun shining, although slightly hazy; little wind. We start off down the path towards the river, blackbirds sound alarm calls, as do a pair of great tits. A robin flits across the path. Jenny wren, tail bobbing, watches us with curiosity – no alarm call, a young bird perhaps? Nearing the river, hidden on the path by the blackthorn bushes, we hear that unmistakable sound of large webbed feet skiing to a stop on the river. We’re unsighted by the bushes, the low sun and a strong glare reflected off the water. Unable to see our quarry, we creep along to the bridge, but no birds to be seen. Way down the river, we spot two cormorants. One takes flight, initially heading downstream before turning and heading back. We cower behind the bridge railings as the bird flies overhead, not spotting us, continuing upstream. Standing up, we notice large ripples spread out from the left bank, hidden by the bend in the river. Can it be the elusive otters? We stand still, waiting – again more waves fan out – whatever it is, it is big. Seconds later, a white body surfaces from under the water – a diving bird – a goosander. Its black looking head confirms the dark green head of the male. Sharp eyed, it spies us, and rapidly takes flight upstream.

Tramping upstream, we recall the flooded valley of recent spates, and wonder how the moles must survive as we pass their recent signatures. Do they hold their breath, use aqualungs, or have they gills? We can only assume the water does not percolate down too far despite the banks being flooded for many hours. A mystery. Continuing on, now in the shade, we admire the steep wooded slopes on our right, bathed in yellow orange sunshine – we spot a movement – a roe deer skulks in the undergrowth, aware of some foreign presence, but perhaps unsighted in the low sun, just as we were moments ago. Suddenly we’re startled by a large splashing noise behind – a cormorant flies off! Unseen by us, it must have swum past underwater whilst we watched the roe, surely the same bird we saw fly upstream. Wandering on towards the second bridge, a dipper, alerting us to its presence by its call, darts upstream inches above the surface. Another sign of clean water, though often the river looks murky. We cross the footbridge back into the reserve, passing through the first of the coppiced hazel and delightful old oak trees, keeping an eye out for squirrels. A tapping noise, distinctive, emanates from the direction of one of the old oaks; definitely a beak on wood – then the comedy sound “shrak”, the parrot like noise of a jay, quickly followed by its assumed mate calling from the direction of another oak tree further away. A flash of tail white confirmed the nearer jay’s location on a horizontal bough, tap tapping away – presumably at some acorns, perhaps from a previous stash, or maybe just a useful anvil.

We picked our way through more coppiced hazel, mixed with more oak and birch to our designated site. A mini forest of beech, various ages, but 40–60 feet high, forming a complete canopy over most of the hazel and some of the oaks. This gentle hillside has a southerly aspect, ideal for hazel to flourish. One starts to imagine previous land management here, perhaps for the castle, with its nearby doocot for fresh meat, the hazel giving firewood, withes for baskets, fencing, building materials. Today, with Douglas fir planted to the south, larch to the west and north, all towering 70 feet, their heights and closeness block the light from three sides, whilst the beech and the odd sycamore completes the almost blackout when in leaf. Many prematurely dead hazel coppices abound, others with lanky stems desperately clinging on for light and life. Dead and dying birch trees. Dead and dying oak trees. Although the dead wood, fallen and standing, has its varied life of insects, lichens and fungi, the change of land policy use 40 years ago to non-native conifer plantation and neglect and under planting of coppiced woodland is what we are here to help reverse.

Armed with bow saws, we spread out to safe felling distances from each other and begin the intricate process of felling tall trees within close stands. Smaller, presumably naturally seeded specimens, 2-4 inch diameter but still 20-30 feet tall are felled easily at first. If they got caught, “hung up” in other trees, being relatively small the bases could be man-handled away, once sawn through, allowing the tree to fully crash to the forest floor. Branches and stems are then sawn up to 10-12 foot sections and piled up length wise into habitat piles to rot down with time. Sizing others up for which way gravity will take them, slow but sure, boles of up to a foot diameter are felled. One large tree could take 30-40 minutes to fell and cut up. Time consuming, but rewarding, as we watch gaps appear in the canopy – blue sky and sunlight appearing on one of the half dead oaks, breathing a new lease of life and hope for spring growth.

Strenuous work. We repair for lunch to our favourite knoll that now receives sunlight, a result of previous felling days. Whilst eating, a mixed feeding flock of coal, blue, and great tits arrive. Among them are 10-12 long tailed tits – a lovely jolly social bird, likely one large family group. They all flit from branch to branch, tree to tree, slowly moving past, all calling incessantly to each other. Many eyes alert for predators. Beneath our feet, woodmice have been active on fallen larch cones, raggedly stripped bare. A skein of geese is heard, but not seen from our camp. Next, a flock of birds, 30 or so, calling to each other, circling around and occasionally shoaling as one like starlings, alight the tops of some larches. Too high to positively identify them, they suddenly fly off with a burst of chirping, then return, individually chirping again. They’re finch size, but their jizz is unknown to us – might they be siskins? – must bring binoculars another time. On previous lunchtimes, when the woods are quiet, we’ve enjoyed watching great spotted woodpeckers, pheasants scratching in the leaf litter, the buzzards calling and peering down at us as they pass overhead. After our repost, we fell a few more trees then pack up to trail the route back. Light now fading, dusk starting, more pheasants call to each other as they prepare to roost - some in the larch trees behind us.

Taking the high route back through the reserve, a low full moon promises a frosty night ahead. Look left! - two roe deer silently race across the farmer’s fields, leap with ease in what seems like graceful slow motion over the fence, past the huge old beeches, cross our path in front and disappear down the slopes to the right, with fading rustling noises chasing the white flashes of their rumps. Tawny owls begin to call to each other – we echolocate at least three in the valley. We hear the eerie “shrek” call of that prehistoric looking bird. Another “shrek” confirms the heron’s journeying upstream. Not seen today, but when the water is low enough he’s often found under the first bridge over the Ythan, sitting on the boulders awaiting, or perhaps digesting, his breakfast. Trudging along the muddy path back through the clear felled plantation, we see strong lights and the sound of machinery ahead - two lorries are loading timber on their backs with their cranes. As we reach the first lorry in dim light, the driver, lashing his load, startles: “Michty, ye nearly gave me a heart attack!” A final slog uphill we near the car park barrier just as the loaded lorries reach us - we step aside and give them a friendly wave - they dip their lights in acknowledgment. I muse awhile on the contrast at the meeting of the two extremes of tree management: handsaw-wielding volunteers with a passion for wildlife and woodland restoration versus the harvester, hydraulics and haulage of commercial forestry.

Members are welcome to attend volunteer days held on the first Saturday of each month. Please contact Mike Stevens before the Thursday of the preceding week. Limited places are available for pick up from the Aberdeen area. Actual tasks to be carried out will be dependent on priorities at the time. Mike is currently working within reserves.

September 2007 saw my first visit to Hoy, one of the many islands within the Orkneys. The tiny ferry crosses the waters of Scapa Flow several times each day over to Hoy, but I soon realised that I had not got to grips with its timetable when I discovered that my trip across was detouring via the oil terminal on the island of Flotta. However, this extra half-hour on the boat meant that I had more time being entertained by the sight of the many Shags and Tysties, (Black Guillemots). I was also mesmerised by the efforts of a Bonxie (Great Skua), doing its best to drown a large Grey Heron, which looked very bedraggled – and I suspect did not survive the Bonxie’s attack.

South Walls is joined to the southeast corner of Hoy by a causeway and once across, I received a very warm welcome at my destination - Snelsetter Farm, which is on the SWT reserve, Hill of White Hamars. The accommodation at Snelsetter, being a converted three hundred year old barn is very comfortable, and outside the front door, the views across the Pentland Firth to John O’Groats on the Scottish mainland are breathtaking.

The human breed of visitors seem to be rare at this reserve which covers an area of 71 hectares and is managed to support a healthy population of Scottish Primrose , which is rather different from our common spring flower (illustrated), plus it has a wide variety of herbs on its grazed cliff ledges. Pedigree Shetland sheep are reared on the farm but are used to neither machinery, nor even farm dogs, and as a result crowded around me and my two lurcher dogs who were very intimidated by the mass of inquisitive but noisy sheep. The weather was by no means ideal during my stay since it was very very wet and windy but I was able to walk on most parts of the reserve, whilst taking great care not to fall down one of the many gloups, or blow holes in the cliff that fall straight into the sea. The reserve has a small tidy car park just off the road before the track into Snelsetter itself but the timing of my visit meant that the bird life was not at its busiest. There was obvious evidence of abundant colonies of seabirds, and it seems that large flocks of barnacle geese visit in the winter months. Porpoises, seals and sometimes pilot whales can be spotted in the waters of the Pentland Firth.

The majority of the people on the island live on South Walls. Hoy has an abandoned feel but bears witness through its many gun emplacements and radio station buildings to playing a key role in both of the World Wars. Naturalists are welcoming the fact that the limestone from these concrete buildings is leaching into the acid soil, and is encouraging a different habitat of flora.

Having made the effort to travel to the island, I could not of course leave without visiting the much larger RSPB reserve at the north end of Hoy. This is mainly upland heath with lochans where red throated divers breed, and a trail allows walkers to climb to the top of the cliffs overlooking the sea stack, The Old Man of Hoy. This reserve is close to the Dwarfie Stane, a Neolithic rock cut tomb that is an easy walk from the road alongside the White Glen Plantation where the non-native conifers have been removed and replaced with local native broad-leaved trees from Berriedale, which contains the last remnants of the ancient woodland that once covered much of Orkney. A very damp but worthwhile trip.

A meeting was held with the Forestry Commission in January regarding design plans for Clashindarroch Forest. The southern end, around the Nordic ski trails, is to be managed for biodiversity. If there are funds available it is hoped to clearfell and restore an area that was once a raised bog. The watercourses are going to be managed with water quality and water voles in mind. Open areas will be created along the burns and any planting near the burns. Any planting near watercourses will be of suitable species particularly alder and aspen. It is hoped that treelines will be made to look more natural, and a mosaic of habitats will be created in these areas to encourage woodland grouse.