Trouping the Colour

 Of late I've been taking more than a passing interest in podcasts.  Some can be ideal for long journeys, or sleepless nights; those twilight hours just as the dawn chorus begins on the other side of the window.  Some might tell me stories, perhaps wildlife tales, or chat about books.  Others might feature birdsong.  Earlier today it was bird tales, as, for no particular reason I selected Polly Pullar's Paperboats podcast, when she discussed her Solan Goose Summer.  I had read her article, in the opening edition of the Paperboats Zine 18 months or so ago, but it was good to hear her chatting about her experience on the cliffs, and reading from that article.

She must have struck an unconscious chord, for later in the day I headed off to Troup Head; and the gannets.  The skies were kind, bright and cheery.  Much like myself, I don't hear you say.  In a sheltered clifftop spot I settled to absorb the action.

The raucous sounds of the gannetry reach you on the path across the fields.  Then the rich aroma of the guano-stained cliffs.  And finally the eyes take in all the splendour.

 

 It is like sitting in a snow-globe; perpetual motion.  Soaring and gliding, black-tipped wings and golden domes.  The surf far below catches the attention.  It is early in the season on the cliffs, nesting time rather than guga time.  Sounds of surf, swirling and rushing, battling with the squawks and squeals from the cliffs; attention drawn from all around.

Down below waters swirl and churn, at times green, then blues and greys, frothing, seething.  Fulmars and gannets patrol the cliff face.  Black-tipped wings, fully 2m from tip to tip, soaring past, finding partners in the throng.  Clashing beaks.

 Polly tells us the one of the impacts of avian flu a few years ago, aside from the catastrophic drop in numbers, has been bright blue eyes turning black.  We don't yet know the full health impact of that, on the breeding colonies.

Rather than bringing in food to the nest - no plunging of gannets today, dive-bombing the shoals -  it is  nesting materials that are brought in.  Yes, some of the lucky ones get a little scrubby grass to settle on.  Precarious rocky perches offer little comfort.  Feathers ruffle, webbed feet tucked under, ready to keep the eggs warm in the weeks ahead.

An unplanned couple of hours in the sun, with Polly Pullar fresh in the memory for company.  And if sleep escapes me on the morrow, I wonder now where that might lead me.  My podcast range is growing (I'm using podbean).  And for the next few days my time is my own.

The homeward route offers views along the rugged cliffs of Moray, the Bin of Cullen a distant silhouette.  Sun bounces off the silver surf rolling into the wide arc of Banff Links. The Bin offers 320m of viewpoint to explore.  One day.  Probably not one where the legs have trundled a few miles on The Grasshopper in the morning.