RSPB Lochwinnoch

A country walk is a great environment in which to observe birds but I also enjoy a visit to a managed nature reserve. The RSPB - of which we are members - have many sites around the country, ranging from unmanned areas of wilderness to tourist friendly centres with full catering facilities and exhibitions. Today we travelled to Renfrewshire to explore the reserve at Lochwinnoch. We had been once before and today we had arranged to meet up with Nicole's friend and her family.

The village of Lochwinnoch can be reached by leaving the M8 just beyond Glasgow Airport and driving another nine miles down the A737. Living in West Fife, a clear run on the motorway allows us to hit the centre of Glasgow in just 45 minutes, which meant it took just over an hour to arrive at the reserve. While the Edinburgh city-bypass adheres to the ring road principle, the M8 barrels right through the middle of our largest settlement and the western part of the Central Belt is readily accessible to us - high speed all the way. It ain't necessarily pretty but it gets you to where you want to go. One of the few wetlands left in this part of Scotland, RSPB Lochwinnoch is the perfect place to watch whooper swans, wigeon and a wide variety of ducks during winter months. It's also a rare example of a reserve directly served by train as Lochwinnoch Railway Station is just a few minutes walk away on the Glasgow to Ayr line. I checked out the RSPB shop as we waited for our companions to arrive. Being members enabled us to avoid the £3 admission charge and I perused the selection of bird pin-badges, plumping for an avocet and a teal. They cost £1 each and I always buy a couple whenever I get the chance. The metal birds are affixed to my woolly hat and I had 24 such emblems at the last count. The ultimate aim is to cover the entire surface and I suppose I'd then have to source an RSPB scarf for the overflow. Jennifer and Colin rolled up in the car park, along with their bairns (or weans as they say in these parts) and we headed out on a trail alongside Castle Semple Loch. We saw several cormorants out on the water along with assorted ducks. One of the main reasons for coming was the sighting of a smew over the last few days, Nether I nor Nicole had ever seen this little white diving duck before. It is described on the RSPB website as a winter visitor in small numbers from Scandinavia and Russia. After scanning the loch with our binoculars, Nicole exclaimed she had spotted it among the goldeneye. I located the distant white figure and attempted to take a photo for ID purposes. I was at maximum digital zoom and the result was a rather indistinct white blob but enough to convince several knowledgeable birders online that they were in fact looking at the outline of a smew. A new life spot for Nicole, and not the only one for the day as it turned out.

A few trains rushed by as we walked to the reserve limit and back again. We passed a pool where the water was stained orange due to iron oxide deposits. A humorous sign informed readers they were looking at the fabled source of our other national drink - Barr's Irn Bru! It was a chilly day and a hot chocolate from the visitors centre was in order. Both children - Morgan and Harley - seemed to be enjoying themselves and they learned a few new facts about nature. Another path led away from the main entrance to an alternative loch viewpoint and we saw a few long-tailed tits buzzing around. Upon our return, we said goodbye to our friends and then climbed the stairs to the observation tower overlooking the reserve. A scope was available for visitors to use and as I was roving across the water through the lens, Nicole asked me to take a look at a bird of prey that was flying across our field of vision. I had it in my binoculars and then reached for my camera bag. By the time I was ready to shoot, I had lost the bird but Nicole was fairly sure it was a hen harrier. We confirmed this suspicion against the illustration chart on the wall and also spoke to the reserve manager downstairs, who said they did indeed get visits from the hen harrier on at least a semi-regular basis. Another life spot duly logged. Who said birding was boring? There's always something doing at a nature reserve.

Braemar

With one day of my summer holidays left before I returned to work, I fancied taking a drive up the A93 from Perth to Glenshee. I hadn't been further than the town of Blairgowrie on this road and reckoned it would be a nice excursion to push into a skiing area of the Highlands.

It was a bright Sunday morning and we set off at 10am, heading up the M90, over the River Tay on the Friarton Bridge and up past Perth Racecourse and Scone Palace. The County of Perth is sometimes referred to as Big Tree Country and we saw some fine arboreal specimens on the roadside as we approached Blairgowrie including the Meikleour Beech Hedge. Planted in 1745 on the Meikleour Estate, it is said the hedge grows towards the heavens because the men who installed it were killed at the Battle of Culloden. The hedge is noted in the Guinness Book of World Records as the tallest and longest on earth, reaching almost 100 feet in height and measuring 1740 feet in length. It is usually trimmed every decade, although the most recent trim - which took place in 2019 - was the first cut in almost 20 years. We passed through Blairgowrie and entered the realm of Highland Perthshire. The mountain backdrop was stunning and we noted a viewpoint to stop at on the way back. We pulled into the car-park of a charming little tearoom but unfortunately the business was closed today. Glenshee translates from Gaelic as the Glen of the Fairies and the little people certainly have an attractive home - in the summer at least. I tried not to think too much about the time 15 years earlier when we visited the miniature Fairy Glen on the Isle of Skye and I reversed the car into a ditch beside a single track road and the local RAC had to come and pull us out. Not much chance of that happening today (touch wood) as the A93 was a broad modern highway built to accommodate the hordes of skiers who make their way up here in winter. The chairlift infrastructure spanned the slopes and although the sport obviously takes place during the colder months, the café inside the ski centre are open all year round. We carried on as we had brought our own packed lunches and we continued to the Spittal of Glenshee, the meeting point of four glens. There was a car park here but not much else in the way of facilities. The large hotel that once stood in this spot was destroyed in a huge blaze back in 2014 and the site is still awaiting redevelopment. The original intention was to drive as far as this point but the tourist village of Braemar was just 15 miles further along the road so we decided to cross into Aberdeenshire and go for a look. Braemar is of course well known for its annual Highland Games, usually attended by members of the Royal Family who are based in nearby Balmoral for their annual sojourn to the Highlands.

The tourism industry in and around Braemar can be traced back to the 1850s when the Royal Train carrying Queen Victoria and Prince Albert would roll into the area every year. The railway initially ran to Aboyne and later to Ballater. Victoria continued to make the annual pilgrimage after Albert's untimely death in 1861. The route eventually closed in 1966, Butcher Beeching showing no sympathy. The village was bustling as we drove in and parked. As fate would have it, we stumbled across a chocolate shop and a box of truffles was acquired. Not a bad start! We had a look around and viewed the Clunie Water from the historic bridge. A traditional tearoom provided lunch and Nicole bought me a leather wallet from one of the many shops. It holds my cards rather snugly, cash not being something frequently carried these days. One has to wonder for how long the nationwide network of free ATMs can continue. Will they go the way of phone boxes? The community controlled castle is situated just outside the village and we drove along and parked in the grounds. Currently closed for a £1.5 million restoration project, with funding coming from the National Lottery and Historic Scotland as well as local initiatives, the building is scheduled to reopen in 2023. Built in 1628 by the Earl of Mar as his Highland hunting lodge, the castle was burned in the first Jacobite uprising to keep Government soldiers at bay. Rebuilt as a garrison fort to house the Hanoverian troops, the new castle was fashioned into a beautiful family home for the chiefs of Clan Farquharson, often hosting royal visitors. Opened as a tourist attraction by the present Laird and his flamboyant wife, the community has successfully run the place since 2007, raising the necessary finance for essential roof repairs to keep the show running. Before departing, we couldn't resist trying out the labyrinth in the gardens. In case you don't know, a labyrinth differs from a maze by having a straightforward route to the centre that can simply be followed. By contrast, a maze is a complex web of branching pathways and decisions must be taken by the walker, some of which may lead to dead ends.

On the journey back down the A93 we stopped at the viewing area we had spotted on the inward leg. Part of the Cairnwell Pass through the Grampian Mountains, this particular spot is known as the Devil's Elbow. With a summit of 2199 feet, the pass is the highest road in Britain and the apex separates the shires of Perth and Aberdeen. Historically a drover's route, the pass is often blocked by snow at the height of winter and large metal snow gates are then closed at either end to prevent vehicles disappearing in the drifts. The actual Devil's Elbow is a notoriously steep and narrow double hairpin bend that has been by-passed since the 1960s by a modern straight section on stilts. The original route can now be walked or cycled and informational panels in the car park showed photographs of buses making the precarious manoeuvre back in the day, with several passengers opting to walk alongside rather than remain onboard. Maybe not the sort of place you'd want to meet a petrol tanker coming the other way! Rather than take the A93 all the way back to Perth, we decided to cut across country to Pitlochry on the A924. This road branches off at Bridge of Cally and follows a parabolic curve (hey, I'm a maths teacher) to the popular Perthshire town. After a quick stretch of the legs at Kirkmichael village, we traversed varied terrain of valley floors, narrow glens and desolate moorland. At one point I pulled over after we had spotted a group of partridge scuttling around. There are two types of this game bird in the UK - the native grey and the introduced red-legged. It was the latter we had encountered and I managed to grab a photo one sitting on the long grass before something startled them and they flew overhead. We had seen partridges in Galloway the previous year but otherwise our only previous sightings had been in the fridges and freezers of farm shops, or at market stalls. Eventually we descend from the high moorland into the tourist trap of Pitlochry - a place we know well. It was a popular holiday destination in the caravan during my childhood. The town was quiet due to the almost total lack of international tourists and we made a quick toilet stop before moving on. Normally we would have visited the excellent fish & chip shop on the High Street but we still had our packed lunches and we headed a little further down the A9 to the Hermitage woodland for a bite to eat and our final adventure of the day.

Situated near Dunkeld, the Hermitage is in the care of the National Trust and offers pleasant forest walks among giant Douglas fir trees - among the tallest in Britain. Originally 18th-century pleasure grounds for the Dukes of Atholl, the paths lead to spectacular waterfalls overlooked by Ossian's Hall, built in 1782 as the focal point of the designed landscape and a place to escape the pressures of everyday life. It must have been a tough existence for the landed gentry! Originally decorated with mirrors, giving the illusion of water pouring in all directions, the hall was partly blown up by gunpowder in 1869, probably as a protest against toll charges on the bridge at Dunkeld levied by the 7th Duke. By the early 20th century Ossian’s Hall was derelict and it wasn’t until 1951 that the National Trust salvaged and simplified the building. We took in the sight and sounds of the cascading Black Linn Falls from the small viewing platform high above the raging torrents. The Hermitage is right beside the A9 and a nice place to pause while on a long journey. We then drove home, noting the progress of the the massive engineering project to upgrade the road to dual carriageway from Perth to Inverness. A mix of familiar and new terrain today.

Amble

Over the past few years we have enjoyed a few enjoyable excursions to Northumberland. England's northernmost county is just a couple of hours away from us and there are many castles to explore and birds to spot along the North Sea cost. With national travel once again permitted following the second major lockdown, we decided to mount a border raid. Nicole booked a few days in a static caravan close to the village of Widdrington and off we set on a fine summer's day. Bad luck struck on the A1 as we approached Dunbar. The car developed engine trouble and went into limp mode. I was able to pull off the main road and stop at a retail park. If you're going to break down, you might as well do it outside McDonald's! Clearly we needed assistance and we phoned our recovery company who dispatched a truck. After a couple of hours waiting, the car was hoisted aboard and we were taken back home to ponder our next move.

We were without wheels for a week as repair garages were experiencing an unprecedentedly busy period - a combination of staff absence, delays in the distribution of spare parts and the public returning to work in huge numbers and finally addressing that niggling issue with the car, thereby creating a bottleneck. Once we were mobile again, we decided to have another run south but the caravan park had no free spaces and finding accommodation in Northumberland was proving problematic - unless you were prepared to pay through the nose. Obviously the "staycation" craze was pushing up prices. I kept digging around and spotted rooms available in a place called Amble at £50 per night. That was within our budget and I looked up the town on the map - a seaside location a few miles beyond Alnwick. Not far from where we had originally planned to go. Perfect! This time the journey progressed smoothly and we rolled into Amble in the middle of the afternoon. The sun was shining and we found a parking spot near the harbour. Our digs at the Schooner Inn were just a short walk away and we decided to have a wander around before checking in. Almost immediately we stumbled across a row of beach huts that had been converted into little tourist shops. One was offering a selection of local beers alongside flavoured gins and I came out with a handful of ales from Alnwick Brewery. I grabbed a handful of Northumberland themed postcards from another trader. This was certainly a good start to the holiday. We noticed a sign advertising daily puffin trips and called the number to book ourselves on the 9am sailing the following day. We had landed lucky with Amble and the whole harbour, beach and pier area was a lovely coastal setting. The High Street began just around the corner and was a long straight affair with a plethora of local shops. In the distance we could see Warkworth Castle on the other side of the River Coquet. We strolled round to the Schooner Inn and it was a large traditional style town pub with rooms upstairs. The bar was empty - a recurring theme over the next few days - and we were shown to our quarters by a friendly member of staff. I would class the accommodation as acceptable. We did have an ensuite toilet and shower but the fixtures and fittings were tired and it was a cramped environment. No doubt the original guest rooms didn't have private bathrooms, which would have released more space. But considering we had booked at very short notice during a time of high demand, I had no major complaints. After all, it was merely a place to get our heads down after a day's exploring. Reviews were mixed but a common thread was excessive noise from downstairs at weekends. This potential issue didn't affect us as we were staying from Monday to Thursday.

Rather than sit in the room for the evening, we drove down the coast to check out one of the local birdwatching sites we had researched in advance of the trip. A large pond was overlooked by a wooden hide but first of all we took a path around the opposite end. Between the main body of water and a smaller pool, we observed dunlin at close quarters on the muddy fringes. Several ducks were also in evidence but there was no sign tonight of the main target - the avocet. They are known to inhabit these parts and - if successfully located - it would be our second sighting of this magnificent wading bird with the upwardly curved bill. The first spot wasn't confirmed until months afterwards as we weren't interested in birds at the time. Nevertheless, I had taken a photo of the striking chap on a Suffolk reserve we had visited. It would serve as a reminder of a nice walk. Upon joining the RSPB later down the line and studying the avocet on the organisation's logo, we thought - hmmm, that one looks familiar. The evening was rounded off with a visit to the chippie at Amble Harbour. The queue snaked along the street and it took 30-40 minutes until we were served. Social distancing was still in place and only two separate customers were allowed in the shop at any one time. Cod & chips twice with two portions of mushy peas please. Nicole was distinctly unimpressed with the latter offering but the main meal was heartily consumed at a picnic table overlooking the sea.

Following a decent night's sleep, we raided the fridge at Tesco for breakfast and headed round to the quayside to await our sailing. The boat was more than half full and the skipper a friendly local man with a very thick accent. I imagine passengers from outside the UK would have had difficulty understanding him - even from fellow English speaking lands. I remember trips to the north of England as a child where I encountered severe problems getting my head around the Geordie speech. I almost certainly had never experienced this cadence before and it sounded totally alien. These days we are exposed to a multitude of regional accents on TV and there's very little that can stump us. Well, unless you walk into a fisherman's pub in Peterhead! We had been told in advance there weren't many puffins left as most had already moved on for pastures (or waters?) new, but we were more than happy at the prospect of seeing a handful.

The trip would take us around Coquet Island which featured an impressive lighthouse. Situated three quarters of a mile off the coast, the island occupies 15 acres and is managed by the RSPB. Up to 20,000 pairs of puffin nest here but the most important species of bird on site is the rare roseate tern. Coquet is the largest breeding site in the UK for this endangered seabird. The lighthouse was opened in 1841 and incorporates the remains of a medieval monastery. An explosive fog signal was established at the lighthouse in 1902 which sounded once every seven-and-a-half minutes, later reduced to every three minutes. It was still in use in the 1970s and the main light was electrified in 1976. Up until this date, a paraffin vapour burner provided the primary illumination. The inevitable automation came in 1990 and these days the warning lamps are solar powered. It's incredibly challenging to shoot a level photograph on a bobbing boat and there's definitely more than a hint of click and hope involved. Mind you, the iPhone does have a handy straightening function which can restore the horizon to its rightful position. What services will these devices perform for us 20 years from now. The mind boggles and most likely never comes near the true mark. We spotted a gaggle of puffins floating on the waves and the boat passed close enough to observe them with the naked eye. One of them had a beak overflowing with sand eels. A tern flew by with a fish dangling but I've no idea if the bird was of the roseate variety. The hackneyed "they all look the same" argument is often the refuge of the novice birder but I think it really does apply to terns! We chugged back towards the harbour and the trip had without doubt been worth the £20 fare. Back on dry land, we wandered to the end of the pier where kids were indulging themselves in the time-old pastime of throwing themselves off the end. After a bit of Quatschen with a passing German couple it was time to jump in the car and drive the couple of miles to another renowned birding location.

Hauxley Nature Reserve was originally part of Radcliffe open-cast mine but was purchased by Northumberland Wildlife Trust in 1983 and transformed into the haven for wildlife the public enjoy today. Bordering the beach, it offers fantastic views across the length of Druridge Bay. There is a circular trail around the reserve with several hides to visit. The visitors centre was closed apart from toilet access and an outdoor coffee stall substituted for the café in these Corona times. We found a bench and had our refreshments. An email came in from my (much younger) cousin Tom Ross, asking if I could share my family research with him. I do the whole genealogy thing for my own satisfaction but I'll happily show my findings to anyone that's interested. Maybe one day in the future I'll get enquiries from first/second cousins once removed etc, asking about our common ancestors. I don't think anyone's interested in great grandparents while in their teens or twenties. Definitely a hobby you grow into. We walked around the perimeter of the reserve and saw cormorants, herons and collared doves. The water hides were fairly uneventful in terms of bird activity (it's never guaranteed) but we found a hut that looked into a leafy garden where lots of colourful familiar friends were buzzing about. A nice touch. This section of the Northumberland coast has several established wildlife locations within a few miles drive of each other and once we were done at Hauxley, we opted to investigate the Druridge Pools. Situated a short distance inland from the beach, a couple of hides are available and among a throng of ducks and waders, we spotted a vaguely familiar figure strutting about - the hallowed avocet. The emblem of the RSPB symbolises the bird protection movement in the UK more than any other species. Its return in the 1940s and subsequent increase in numbers represents one of the most successful conservation and protection projects. A great result and with dinnertime fast approaching, it was time to celebrate our success. A table was duly reserved at the Widdrington Inn and we headed on over. The place was busy and many people were sitting at the outdoor trestle tables. We found a cosy corner spot indoors and I ordered a pint of ale and a hearty steak pie. Hard to believe that good old fashioned pub grub had been unavailable for many months over the past year. It was certainly nice to enjoy simple pleasures again. Back at the Schooner, the bar was again almost deserted and I purchased two cans of coke to give them some custom. The barmaid moaned that she had only taken £200 all day. On the surface, that doesn't sound like a disaster but pubs are a bit like football clubs, nobody considers the substantial running costs and it's easy to assume the money coming over the counter is mainly profit.

The next day saw a change of direction. Instead of plunging straight into the bird hides, we popped along to the village of Warkworth for a look at the historic castle. The admission fees were hefty and a great view could be obtained free of charge by simply walking around the mound on which the castle is perched. The building was probably laid out in its present form in about 1200 and was the favoured residence of the powerful Percy family from the 14th to the 17th centuries. As the Earls (and later Dukes) of Northumberland, they were among the greatest landowners in northern England. The fortress was involved in the Wars of the Roses and was occupied by both Lancastrian and Yorkist forces. Warkworth - like most castles - experienced changing fortunes over the centuries and was subjected to many structural additions and demolitions. In 1915 the castle was declared a scheduled ancient monument and shortly thereafter was taken into state guardianship. The Duke’s Rooms, however, remained under the control of the Percy family until 1987. The entire settlement of Warkworth occupies a meander of the River Coquet and the watercourse has been artificially channelled from here to the sea. We stopped alongside the straight section on the way back to Amble but the incoming tide had pushed up the water level and as a result it was not feeding time for birdlife. Back in Warkworth we had a very pleasant wander around, admiring the old houses and stopping for ice cream, pastries and chocolates at a beautiful olde-worlde shop called Cabosse. Be sure to visit of you're ever passing through. I sourced more postcards from the village store and we walked back to the car via the rear of the castle. After driving through Amble and taking a turn into Druridge Bay Country Park, we swung back to the north as the park looked more like a family-friendly facility rather than a haven for birdlife.

We had a destination in mind - Barter Books in Alnwick. Housed within the town's former railway station (closed in 1968), the bookstore opened in 1991, initially within a small front room by husband and wife team Stuart and Mary Manley. It now fills the entire Victorian station building and is one of the largest second-hand emporia for printed matter in the whole country. I first visited a number of years ago as part of a birthday day trip. The antique high wooden shelving contains literature covering a vast range of topics. The books come from all eras. Ancient hardbacks jostle for position with more recent publications. Pricewise, we run the gamut from £2 paperbacks to high-value collectors items behind the counter. Something for everyone, and every wallet. But never mind all that! The absolute highlight for visitors is of course the model train running around the tops of the bookcases! The station is surprisingly grand for such a small market town which is down to the Duke of Northumberland wanting to impress Royal visitors to his patch. A short stretch of the branch line now operates as the Aln Valley Railway. Passengers are carried over a mile and a half of track but reconnection to Alnwick town centre is unlikely since the modern A1 severs the original trackbed. The bookstore features a period-style café called the station buffet with open fires and tables set within alcoves. We'd had lunch there on my first visit but today was incredibly busy. We had to queue for half an hour before being admitted to the actual shop on the time-honoured one in, one out basis. I purchased a book on railway history and another about the Beatles. Nicole went the whole hog and spent a tidy sum on an early set of bird "bibles" by Thomas Bewick. Published between 1797 and 1804, Bewick's volumes on British birds were effectively the first field guides for non-academics. They feature superbly detailed drawings by Bewick himself. Nicole's editions were later printings and I randomly flicked one open at the page on the woodcock. Apparently they used to be cooked and eaten with entrails still in place. Nice! All book lovers heading up or down the A1 should make the short detour to this amazing palace of literature.

Then it was back to the Widdrington Inn for another slap-up dinner and a couple of pints of the good stuff. We did manage to squeeze in another visit to the pond hide afterwards where the avocet were present along with godwits. Returning to the car, we encountered a bunch of blokes with fancy cameras and they informed us they were on the lookout for barn owls. Dusk was falling and we hung around to see if one would come hooting by but all remained quiet. The guys began to disperse and we drove back towards Amble (or rather, Nicole did, I hasten to add). Suddenly we spotted a tall figure sitting on a fencepost within an adjacent field and - lo and behold - it was the fabled owl. It sat there long for us to park in a lay-by and walk back with our cameras. Light was fading so the shots weren't great but we were lucky enough to witness the bird set off on its trademark lolloping flight. What a result after the "pros" had gone home empty handed! Back to the Schooner for our final night and this time there was a crowd in. A large group of youngsters were huddled round the pool table in the back room but they moved on after an hour and the place was dead again. The last day in this lovely county began with an industrial theme. The former mining town of Ashington lay about 10 miles south and we headed down to Woodhorn Museum on the outskirts. Ashington is also known for being the birthplace of the famous English footballing brothers Jack and Bobby Charlton, both of whom played in the national side that won the World Cup in 1966. Did you know England once lifted the ultimate soccer trophy? Over half a century has passed but you might hear it mentioned now and again. Entry to the (mostly open-air) museum was a very reasonable £7 and the ticket enabled you to re-visit free of charge as often as you liked over the next 12 months. Woodhorn Museum first opened in 1989 on the site occupied by Woodhorn Colliery until the start of that decade. A major overhaul took place in 2006 and the buildings now enjoy protected status. The entire location is recognised as a Scheduled Ancient Monument as it's the best example of a preserved late 19th-century colliery in the north of England. The museum depicts the lives of workers and features original buildings and equipment from the former colliery, including the two headframes, a winding house, engine installations, stables, ventilation equipment, blacksmith and joiners workshops, and the pit office.

It was fascinating to wander around the vast site and learn about the workings of the colliery and the lives of the people who worked here over almost a century. Sadly, as you might expect, this also included tales of tragic industrial accidents. We finished up in the modern indoor centre which had an exhibition about life in Ashington during the mine's existence. We relaxed in the café and contemplated the drive back home. We didn't plan any significant stops en route but on impulse I pulled into the Alnwick Brewery which we were passing anyway. A handful of bottles were sourced from the in-house bar. Then it was on to the A1 and back up to Scotland. We paused for a bite to eat at Dunbar, the very place where we had ground to a halt on our first attempt to reach the border. The weather had held up well for our stay but the heavens opened as we made our way home. It's easy to overlook how accessible Northumberland is to anyone who lives in the vicinity of Edinburgh, even more so if you're on the south side of the city. We will be back at some point.