Adventures on the Emerald Isle with Oaf
ANOTHER day and another woodcock, just like that old adage about waiting for a bus, and one more bird species for my feeding station, the starling.
The place is packed every day now from around 7.30am and there is a throng waiting for me as I get up in the morning. First job is to pour boiling water onto the frozen bowl of meal worms and then the blackbirds take centre stage, seven at once so far, and the desire to top up on the protein means that they put aside any notion of competition, and there are no O.K. Corral moments – just a couple of raised frills suffices as they dip into the feast.
The brace of starlings could not believe their luck, but believe it or not, they were frightened off by the robins, now turning up in sixes and sevens.
The big question is whether or not I can attract the nuthatches and woodpeckers which I know are thriving at a mate’s lodge a few hundred metres away, oh and the red squirrels, tree creepers and goldcrests. Not jealous, honest.
There are no trees between us and he backs onto the forest so it stands to reason he sees more roe and red deer, and I refuse to ask him if he’s seen pine martens yet. It would be a short-lived friendship if he had.
But seriously what’s the solution? More trees obviously. Although having said that within a few weeks, and planting one conifer as a bridge to the bird table, I’ve had eight bird species and one mouse, so I’m banking on the feeding commotion attracting even more birds and fingers crossed for more species.
The same thing happens at sea when one solitary gannet spots a feeding frenzy of cetaceans below and quickly joins in. One diving gannet when there is not another bird in sight, can attract hundreds to the scene within two minutes.
I was able to show my dear friend Oaf this phenomenon from the cliffs of Cape Clear, off of the coast of County Cork, last stop before the legendary and very dangerous Fastnet Rock.
You see I had pointed out a couple of minke whales followed by six or seven bottlenose dolphins, and the white water swirling around, a tell-tale sign of feeding, and as I set up the video I asked Oaf to watch for gannets. ‘Woody, I’m the biggest gannet you know hahaha!’ This was probably true but how I wish I could share the open road with my friend again. I can’t believe it has been five years since he left us. I said to his long-time partner Moz on his anniversary that Oaf had certainly left us lots of memories. And here’s a good ‘Oafism’.
At the time I was working for MSN news pages and was intent on doing a piece to camera and I asked Oaf to oblige. I set up the camera and began my spiel...
‘Hi, you find me as the southernmost man on the island of Ireland and over my shoulder you can see the Fastnet Lighthouse...’ I asked Oaf did he ‘get’ it all and he said yes as confidently as Alfred Hitchcock...’ And now let’s go to the pub,’ he said.
A few pints of Guinness later I checked the footage only to find the sound and colour were spot on, but the only trouble was, the horizon was at 45 degrees and it appeared as though the Atlantic was pouring away in the direction of America – there be dragons. I miss Oaf, but not his camera skills.
To add to this relative disaster we had traversed a huge rabbit warren on the cliff top Alpine meadow and we both fell three times.
Oaf lost his £150 sunglasses and I lost a £150 camera lens, by my reckoning it was 4-4. And then we had two chowders, five pints of Guinness so we finished up at 10-10.
Another great result. It has to be said however that Oaf went one in front when he then pulled off a spectacular Guinness stunt witnessed to great applause on the island.