After the previous day’s birding and a solid night’s sleep, I was up at 5am, packed and ready for a full day in the field. The plan was simple enough: head north towards Wick in Caithness and see what the Highlands had to offer along the way. As so often in Scotland, that plan would be happily derailed.
My first stop was Nethy Bridge, deep in the heart of the Cairngorms, in search of one of Scotland’s true avian specialities: the Crested Tit. In Britain, this small but characterful species is almost entirely confined to the ancient Caledonian pinewoods of Strathspey and the surrounding Cairngorm massif. Here, mature Scots pines, rich in insects and deadwood, provide precisely the conditions the species requires, explaining both its stronghold in the area and its absence elsewhere following centuries of forest loss.
Parking up, I made my way quietly towards the feeders, and it wasn’t long before success came in the form of two Crested Tits. Their spiky crests and restless movements made for a brief but satisfying encounter, a fitting start to the day.
Heading north once more, my next destination was Cawdor Churchyard in Moray & Nairn, a well-known but perpetually atmospheric site for Hawfinch.
On arrival, patience was barely required; two birds soon appeared, perching high and flying between the treetops. Stocky and powerful, Hawfinches have an unmistakable presence. Always an elusive species in Scotland, encounters like this are never taken for granted.
From woodland to coast, I then made my way to Chanonry Point on the Moray Firth.
News of a developing Little Auk “wreck” along the east coast had drawn birders out in numbers. These tiny Arctic seabirds, scarcely larger than a starling, are particularly vulnerable to prolonged winter gales. Strong easterly winds can force them into the North Sea, where exhaustion and starvation often result in mass strandings and heavy mortality.
When I arrived, several birders were already scanning the choppy waters. Eventually, two Little Auks were picked up sitting on the sea, their compact black-and-white bodies bobbing between the waves. Another bird flew east past the point, offering excellent views of its rapid wingbeats and short, rounded wings. Despite their delicate appearance, seeing these birds so far from their high-Arctic breeding grounds is always a powerful reminder of the forces at play in winter seas.
The supporting cast at Chanonry was impressive: a Green-winged Teal among the dabbling ducks, a sleek Black-throated Diver, three Red-throated Divers, a smart Slavonian Grebe, and good numbers of Eider and Long-tailed Ducks, all contributing to the sense of a coast alive with winter movement.
Just as I was preparing to continue north towards Wick, news broke that a Bonaparte’s Gull was still present at Gairloch on the west coast, around an hour and a half away. An adult bird feeding around a fish farm, and one I still needed for my Scottish list. The decision was instant.
It had been a remarkable day’s birding, and a perfect reminder of why Scotland, at its wild and unpredictable best, remains so hard to beat.