Join Opticron’s Creative Content Creator Rebecca Gibson for a virtual wildlife walk along the Moray Coast.
I’ve always been a firm believer in keeping a “local patch”. That is, choosing a small area close to home that you can visit regularly at different times of the day and year, to really get to know your local wildlife. Shortly after moving to Moray five years ago, I adopted a mile-long stretch of rocky coastline as my local patch. Coastal spots are particularly rewarding to explore often, as they change with the tide too.
During low tide visits, sightings nearly always start with waders. Oystercatchers are the most obvious with their black and white plumage, but if I stop and scan with binoculars, the rocks ripple with more camouflaged birds. There might be turnstones, redshanks, curlews, sanderlings, knot or ringed plovers. The latter is a tiny wader with distinctive banding on its face and a stumpy orange bill dipped in black. They’re most fun to watch when they get so distracted by a potential meal wedged in the sand that they don’t notice a wave breaking behind them, and scurry in a panic towards drier ground.
As the coast path climbs up into a stretch of grassland, I keep an eye on the ground in case small blue butterflies are perched on the yellow heads of kidney vetch. The yellow theme continues with yellowhammers. You’d think such a colourful bird would stick out like a neon sign, but when they’re surrounded by equally vivid gorse flowers, spotting them can be tricky. This makes spring and early summer an opportune time, when the males often perch on the tops of the bushes to sing. Joining them might be linnets, wrens, whitethroats, reed buntings or stonechats, either balancing precariously on teasel heads or buried in the shelter of the gorse.
A little further along the path, saltwater pools appear. Similar to the rocky shoreline, they look deserted at first sight, but during late spring they ripple with the tail flicks of dozens of tadpoles. I’ve been visiting them often over the past few weeks and they’ve already grown considerably. I love crouching on the bank and peering down to see them breaking the surface of the water with their tiny snouts.
The end of my local patch is marked by a series of sandstone cliffs occupied by fulmars. They look like gulls but are actually related to albatrosses, a bird group renowned for their “tubenoses” that enable them to drink seawater. As with many seabirds, I hear them before I see them with their grumbling cackles, audible above the waves. Some are perched on nests embedded in the rock, while others wheel around the bay on stiff wings, their backs shining a beautiful blue-grey in the spring sun.
See more of Rebecca’s wildlife photography on Facebook and Instagram @rebeccaonthewing.