Bird’s-eye view of summer

Our front and back lawns, just pocket handkerchiefs of grass, must be buglife larders. There hardly seems a moment of the day when there isn’t a blackbird or a song thrush or spuggie – sometimes all three – foraging across them for insects to feed their chicks.

Once the chicks have fledged they follow their parents into the garden, chasing after them uttering begging little cries and fluttering their wings to stimulate the parents to feed them. The parent birds run themselves ragged keeping up with their demanding offspring.

At this stage the chicks are larger than their parents but they’ll soon slim down when they have to fend for themselves. The parent birds will continue to feed their chicks until their feathers are fully grown and they can lead independent lives. After that there’s no coming home at weekends – they are on their own.

But these are land birds. Walking with Inka round Fasque Lake I picked up the halves of a dark olive mallard egg dropped by the duck well away from her nest and hatchlings so as not to advertise their presence to predators. Mostly, they nest close to water and the ducklings are swimming, soon after hatching. Very occasionally ducks nest in trees. I once saw a mallard fly out of a pine tree in a strip of wood on the road to Kirriemuir, between Tigerton and Memus.

The drakes are poor parents and have nothing to do with incubation or looking after the ducklings. They’ve formed a batchelors’ club and sit out on the lake, dozing in the sunshine and telling doubtful stories.

Having agonised last week over the absence of swallows and martins, I’ve had a number of reports of their arrival in Courier Country, for which many thanks. And I’m pleased to be able to report that the sand martins have arrived at the little sand quarry I wrote about, which is most reassuring.

Responsible access

Last weekend the Scottish Government gave us our first – limited – taste of freedom from lockdown. The Doyenne and I know how lucky we are living on the edge of a village, looking to the hills and able to walk out of our front door straight into fields and woods. We sympathise with folk who have looked out on to the same piece of pavement day after weary day.

It wasn’t surprising after so many weeks of confinement that people wanted to escape to the country but many car parks at popular walking destinations are still closed. So, I’ll mention the Scottish Outdoor Access Code which sets out where, when and for what activities you can exercise access rights.

The code is based on three principles which apply equally to the public and to land managers – respect the interests of other people, care for the environment and take responsibility for your own actions. The code can be read online and there’s a new section giving specific guidance when visiting the countryside during the coronavirus outbreak.

Not so tight lines

The River North Esk is widely regarded by fishermen as one of Scotland’s best salmon rivers. It rises in the foothills of the Grampian Mountains, at the head of Glenesk, where the Water of Mark joins the Water of Lee and flows through some of the most spectacular of the Angus countryside, finally reaching the sea at St Cyrus. It fishes best in spate conditions when there’s plenty of water for the salmon to reach the headwaters where they scoop out their redds and lay their eggs.

The wonderful weather we enjoyed in May was ideal for sun worshippers but, as my picture shows, conditions for fishing – if fishers had been allowed on the water – were very poor. The water level was hopelessly low and all its length the bleached ribs of the river told the same story.

It just brings to mind a song my father used to sing from his student days – “The burn was big wi’ spate, / An’ there cam’ tum’lin’ doon / Tapsalteerie the half o’ a gate, / Wi’ an auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate, / An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon – which made for some tuneful car journeys on our family holidays.

“The drakes are poor parents... they sit out on the lake, dozing in the sunshine and telling doubtful stories