One of my favourite places to walk lies at the Southern tip of Hoy. On OS maps it has the name of Rotten loch which I assumed, like most places here, would be a corruption of old norse. It seems not and as there’s no loch to be seen, perhaps it has silted up, I’m going to lay the rotten part on the fetid black water that in places oozes up from your boot steps. It’s a low and undulating landscape of coastal grassland and wide shallow Geo’s and it’s a real haven for wildlife. The ground is wet in winter, wettish in summer and like much of this island, with its thin soil and tractor unfriendly gradients, it can’t be mown or tilled. A few sheep and a herd of semi-feral cattle wander here and there, keeping the sward short and wildflower rich.
In places, at this time of year, the land wears a confetti of pink, if you had the time (or inclination) Heath-spotted orchids could be counted by the thousand. In really wet spots, where even in summer every footstep is a squelch, Orchids are replaced by Ragged robin, a close cousin of Red campion whose torn and tattered looking flowers give the impression that they have been shredded by the easterlies that regularly whip in from the sea.
Locally Heath-spotted orchids are “Eve’s”. Northern-marsh orchids, that also grow here in abundance, are “Adams”
It’s generally agreed that Orkney has seven species of butterfly, rising to nine or ten when you count summer migrants. This year, with an influx of Painted ladies, it’s ten, next year the ladies may be shy and we may drop back down to nine. Of the ones I see at Rotten loch, my favourite is the Common blue, a resident species. They’re the Kingfisher of the butterfly world, a brief flash of violet-blue wings and they’re gone, flitting from clover to clover.
In winter the background noise comes from the rolling crash of surf. In summer there’s still the crash of water on stone – the land rolls down to shore of the rarely calm waters of the Pentland Firth, but at this time of year the seas rumbling and endless battle with terra firma is overshadowed by the call of birds. It’s a breeding ground for many species, from Skylarks through to Black-backed gulls. As you walk the birds give a running commentary, warning fledgelings of a two legged interloper. Most vocal are carrot billed Oystercatchers and bright legged Redshanks, as you walk they follow you, their calls repeated on a high pitched loop. Either species would be a great tone for an alarm clock, impossible to sleep through.
Above your head Lesser-blacked gulls follow and circle, warning fledgelings with a nasal “Khow-khow”. The fledglings meanwhile just watch you pass by, wondering what all the fuss is about.
The shoreline is ragged, cut by the tides. A favourite spot to sit is a geo that lies close to the site of a long lost Broch. Wide and shallow it must once have been perfect for the men who built Brochs to launch their boats from, vessels that likely wore a skin of seal hide over a skeleton of willow. There are two large flat boulders, sea smoothed and backside friendly. I sat for a while and when the tide lapped my boots and pushed me away, I took a photograph with a deliberate long exposure, just enough to blur time and water.
As I set up the tripod, a bull Grey seal whose ancestors skins may once have become Iron Age boats, eyed proceedings from a reef of black rock, occasionally shifting his weight as the incoming tide threatened to lift him from his berth. In the shallows of the reef an Eider and her ducklings were diving for molluscs. The ducklings were in their element, buoyant as corks, briefly popping to the surface before quickly diving again. I got lucky with the duckling at the top of the page, a fleeting eye to eye contact before he or she upended and disappeared, joining mum and siblings for a hunt amongst the kelp.
An oystercatcher dozed on a rock, probably exhausted after a serious pleep at the human session. As with the shot of the geo I wanted to use a long exposure, blurred sea around a sharp oystercatcher. The foldaway tripod that I usually carry is great for my little fuji camera that gets used for landscapes and the like, but with legs like Bambi it’s not so good for the camera and long lens combo that gets used for wildlife. Rather than put the best part of 4kg on a 1kg tripod I sat down, balanced elbow on knee and with the camera and lens in the crook of my arm, set a two second exposure. The sea blurred as expected but rock and oystercatcher aren’t quite sharp. Knee, elbow and crook clearly don’t make a very good tripod but I quite like the painterly effect. To be tried again with a heavier tripod, or maybe a lighter camera 🙂
A garden in Orkney 