Magical Creatures
AN APPRECIATION OF OYSTERCATCHERS
Drowning out the wild winter winds and brightening this monochrome Hebridean beach is a chorus of carrot-coloured clothespeg beaks. A flock of peeping black and white oystercatchers skims the surf; this welcome party of white arrows signposts that spring is not far away. I watch these waders as they congregate on the shoreline, scouring seaweed and foraging among the rocks. Contrary to their name, they’re not eating oysters. Instead, they favour cockles, mussels and lugworms. These birds deploy three different feeding strategies: the ‘hammerers’ who pierce the shells, the ‘stabbers’ who prise them apart, and the ‘tweezers’ who probe for worms. They learn these techniques from their parents but can adapt their style in less than two weeks if food becomes scarce, as their beaks grow faster than our fingernails.
At this time of year, the UK population of oystercatchers are joined by overwintering birds from Iceland and Norway. Their numbers – and noise – swell to a peak before they bid their farewells and disperse to their respective breeding grounds.
Here, in the coming months, they’ll engage in nest dancing with their partner. Throwing small sticks and stones over their shoulders to impress their mate, they’ll settle down to lay their clutch in a scrape. But some will save themselves the trouble. These waders are partial to the practice of egg dumping – depositing them most frequently into the nests of common gulls.
Despite behaving like cuckoos, oystercatchers have a much more positive reputation. Here on these South Uist sands, they go by their Gaelic name, gille-brìghde, meaning ‘servant of the bride’. The bride in question is the Celtic patron saint, St Bride, who arrived on these shores with an oystercatcher on each wrist.
Legend has it that these birds protected her from evil men trying to kill her. As she reached the beach, finding nowhere to hide, she said a prayer and lay on the sand, expecting death. But the patrolling oystercatchers saw her, covered her with seaweed, and she remained hidden. She blessed the birds that saved her life, and in rough weather, it’s said she sends these waders out over the ocean to guide sailors back to safety.
As I leave the shore and turn towards home, the oystercatchers peep a farewell; these wonderful waders always bring a big smile to my face. Wearing their dazzling white winter chinstraps, it’s as if they are grinning back at me.