Apologies in advance for any typos, clangers or loss-of-thread during this piece, as I am writing this late in the day, having just come back from the Black-headed Gull nest census at the Forvie ternery. This is the first really big piece of survey work of the bird breeding season each summer, and it’s fair to say that it’s a good workout both physically and mentally.

Forvie’s gullery occupies a wide area of vegetated dunes within the electric-fenced enclosure, and there’s a lot of ground to cover to ensure no nests are missed – so much ground, in fact, that we have to divide the area up into sub-sections using coloured marker canes. Within each sub-section, each individual nest must then be counted and marked (we use flour for this, in huge quantities), and in addition we also record the clutch size (i.e. number of eggs per nest) in a random sample of nests. And all this within a 20-minute ‘disturbance window’, after which we must vacate the colony to allow the birds back down onto their nests, in order to prevent eggs or chicks getting chilled. No pressure then…

Luckily, we were able to assemble a crack team (well, not in the literal sense – we don’t want any broken eggs, thanks) comprising staff and volunteers from Forvie, Muir of Dinnet, the NatureScot regional office in Aberdeen and even the central National Nature Reserves advisory team. Good job too, as there was plenty of work to go round.

In fact there’s far to much work to have any chance of completing the count within the requisite 20 minutes. Therefore If an individual observer hasn’t completed their sub-section in that time, it’ll be another hour before they can return to the colony to pick up where they left off. This hour’s downtime allows the birds to settle down and incubate their eggs, thus avoiding any adverse effects. Ultimately, the welfare of the birds must always come first.

It always amazes me how much variation there is between individual clutches of Black-headed Gull eggs. While the majority of them broadly conform to the typical pattern shown in the photo above, with an olive-brown ground colour and dark brown or blackish blotches, others go for a completely different colour-scheme altogether.

So, what of the results then? Due to variation in the density of nests (and vegetation) in different parts of the colony, some sub-sections were more difficult and time-consuming than others. Thus some sub-sections required three 20-minute sessions (with an hour in between each session), while others were completed first time. And at the end of it all, the grand total stood at 1,705 nests – a small decrease from the 1,831 recorded last year, but a large and impressive colony it remains.

In addition, the average clutch size was an impressive 2.9 eggs per nest; I think this is the highest ever recorded in the nineteen years that I have been monitoring Forvie’s Black-headed Gulls. Hopefully this indicates that the birds are generally in good body condition (which is a prerequisite for producing eggs, of course), and bodes well for the rest of their breeding season.

We also recorded some other useful data during the nest census. Not least of these was establishing the first hatching date for our Black-headed Gull chicks for 2025. Several observers reported seeing ‘chipping’ eggs, wherein the chick is just starting to break its way through the eggshell…

…while one lucky observer saw the first fully hatched gull chick of the season – hopefully the first of many thousands.

With Black-headed Gulls having declined severely in Scotland over the past decade or more, the Forvie gullery is now of disproportionate importance in a regional and national context. In 2023, it was reckoned that we held almost 25% (!) of the Scottish breeding population of the species. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket.

It worries me that a bird so common, widespread and familiar as the humble Black-headed Gull should become a species of conservation concern, but sadly that’s the world in which we now live. Take nothing for granted in this respect. But come what may, we will continue trying our best to safeguard them, so that scenes like these might always be seen in Forvie’s skies. Wish us all luck.

The gull nest census also allowed us to see how our nesting Eiders are getting on. With Danny having clocked the first sitting bird a few days previously, we knew they’d be getting on with it. Right enough, by the conclusion of the day’s work we had located 25 Eider nests within the gullery. Doubtless others would have been present in other parts of the fenced enclosure that we didn’t cover this time – but we’ll get onto these while carrying out the Common/Arctic Tern census next month!

All the while, further Eiders are settling down and starting to lay their own clutches. At the moment there’s a constant traffic of birds up and down between the estuary and the ternery – quite often a female being chaperoned by several attentive drakes.

In fact there’s so much Eider traffic that in places around the ternery, the sand takes on a sort of crazy-paving effect from all the footprints. I actually reckon it would make for a great textured wallpaper. Or maybe not.

So, with the epic Black-headed Gull nest census safely negotiated, our attentions will turn next to our Sandwich Terns, whose breeding season (as per usual) is around two weeks behind that of the Black-headed Gulls. So come the third week of May, we’ll be back in the saddle to do it all again. Can’t wait!…

In the meantime I’m away for a lie down in a darkened room. See you again next week!

There’s no doubt that the present period of the year is a very exciting one for anybody with an interest in the natural world. With plants bursting into life, insects and amphibians emerging from their winter dormancy, and legions of summer visitors arriving from the south, there’s something happening more or less everywhere you look. Even for the old-timers among us, who have seen this annual festival of life play out umpteen times before, there’s still that sense of wonder and anticipation associated with the northern spring.

To that end, I had recently been exchanging e-mails with a fellow seabird conservationist up in Caithness, who was excited to report that ‘his’ Sandwich Terns were already on eggs as of Monday. This remote colony in the far north of Scotland is of particular interest to us here at Forvie, as we know from ringing returns that it was established in part by chicks fledged from our own Sandwich Tern colony – thus proving that we are a net exporter of terns into the world (see here for more on this subject). Anyway, having jokingly complained that ‘my’ Sandwich Terns were yet to start egg-laying, I was put back in my place by the birds the very next day, when the first eggs appeared in our colony – right on cue, but a little too late for Easter!

In other tern-themed news, our first Little Terns of 2025 reappeared on Wednesday morning, fresh from their travels from Africa. As we do every year, we will be keeping a very watchful eye on these rare and fragile birds throughout the coming months, while keeping our fingers and everything else crossed for the forthcoming breeding season.

Visitors to Newburgh in recent weeks may have found themselves wondering where all the Grey Seals had gone. The answer, in fact, was not very far at all: a proportion of the haul-out had simply relocated from the Ythan mouth to Forvie beach, just south of the barrier fence. It appears that the seals take advantage of the seasonal sanctuary area in South Forvie, where public access is temporarily restricted to safeguard the aforementioned breeding terns, to enjoy the undisturbed haul-out facility of the east-facing beach. And who can blame them – after all, who doesn’t enjoy a change of scene every now and again?

Along the estuary-side path just now, the air is heavy with the sweet, coconutty smell of Gorse in flower. This spring’s display of Gorse flowers along the Scottish east coast appears (for whatever reason) to be particularly impressive, and Forvie is no exception. Gorse gets a bit of a bad rap for its viciously spiny foliage, and at times aggressively-vigorous growth, but it makes for an indisputably fine sight (and smell) under a clear blue sky in spring. And it’s superb for wildlife too, providing nectar for pollinating insects and shelter for nesting birds. I mean really, what’s not to like?…

Following on from last week’s comment about wildflowers starting to wake up, several more species made their 2025 debuts this week. The following four species were all photographed along a short section of the coastal path at Hackley Bay, where the south-facing aspect and relatively sheltered location (compared with the more exposed cliffs and headlands at least) have no doubt accelerated their growth.

With the increase in plant growth each spring comes a corresponding increase in the things that eat plants. Sure enough, this week we recorded our first sightings of the year of several species of moth caterpillar. First up were the prodigiously hairy larvae of two species of tiger moths, the Garden Tiger and Ruby Tiger respectively.

Both of these moths are generalists in terms of their larval food plants, and the caterpillars will happily eat a wide range of different plant species. Later in the year, with a bit of luck, we will hope to see the adults of both moth species when we start operating our light-traps both at home and at the Reserve – weather permitting of course. Last summer was so dismal we hardly had any opportunities for moth-trapping; here’s hoping for better this time around.

Other newcomers in evidence this week were the hairy, tufty, Mohican-wearing larvae of the Dark Tussock moth (a particular favourite among Forvie staff), plus the green-and-black-chequered caterpillars of the Six-spot Burnet. The latter species, which is active by day rather than by night, is especially abundant in South Forvie, and in a few weeks’ time we’ll see the black-and-red adult moths bumbling around the flowers in the dune-slacks once again.

Now Danny and I have been especially well-behaved lately, and as a reward we were let out on Thursday to go and cause chaos on someone else’s nature reserve for a change. Actually, we were borrowed down to Loch Leven NNR for a day’s survey work censusing nesting waterfowl on St Serf’s Island, the largest island in the loch. This certainly represented a change of scene for us, and a variation on our usual diet of seabird work.

While our main surveying target was the loch’s population of Mallards, the most abundant species of nesting waterfowl on the day was, curiously, the Barnacle Goose. Although these are chiefly an Arctic-nesting species, there is a thriving feral population in certain parts of Scotland, and interestingly these birds mingle freely with their truly wild counterparts on the wintering grounds on the Solway Firth. This is an intriguing and constantly-evolving aspect of avian ecology, and it was a pleasure for Danny and I to be able to make a contribution, however small, to the ongoing monitoring work.

Down at Loch Leven, the staff like to work hard and play hard. Having covered some miles on foot during the morning session, lunch break was taken on the shore where we had earlier landed the boat. Even as a confirmed coastal devotee, with a healthy suspicion of inland sites, I was forced to admit that the view was pretty good. And it was fine to be able to take the weight off the feet for a while too.

So that’s another week done, and I must admit that all this talk of eggs, sandwiches and lunch breaks is making me hungry. That’s me away to the fridge – see you again next week!

While the first half of April at Forvie was indisputably lovely, it was also a little bit unnerving. Here in the North-east, we’re somewhat unaccustomed to quite so much sunshine and warmth at this early stage of the year; thus three settled weeks in early spring must, we thought, be a symptom of climate change or some other impending apocalypse. However, this past week has seen a return to normal service, with grey skies and some (actually much-needed) rain. Regular Forvie volunteer Richard described the weather mid-week as ‘reassuringly overcast’ – proving that here on the east coast, you can at least guarantee the humour will be dry.

On Tuesday the dreaded haar even rolled in for a few hours, thankfully just after we’d completed the weekly Eider census, which would otherwise have been rendered an impossible task. It did make for some atmospheric photo-opportunities though, with the coastal cliffs and headlands looming out of the murk, and doing strange things to our sense of distance and perspective.

Dense fog also serves to make sound carry unusually through the air, often bringing the sounds of seabirds ashore in peculiar crystal-clarity, or making the sudden bark of a Roe Deer seem startlingly loud in the otherwise silky silence. Most east-coasters generally loathe the haar – every year it scuppers many a planned barbeque, beach party and beer-garden soiree – but I must confess to quite enjoying the atmosphere of the Reserve when the haar’s in.

As for the Eider count itself, it appeared that numbers were starting to build up promisingly with the breeding-season just around the corner. While Richard and I counted the coastal portion of the Reserve, Catriona was simultaneously counting the estuary, and between us we totalled nearly 1,000 Eiders. This is already some 350 birds more than the 2024 spring peak (which usually occurs sometime in May – hence the weekly Eider censuses from mid-April to early June each year, to make sure we catch the peak number).

We’re not sure of the reason for the upturn in numbers, but there’s a possibility it may be related to the bumper breeding season that Forvie’s Eiders enjoyed two years ago, when 340 young survived to fledge. This ‘class of 2023’ may now be returning to Forvie as a cohort of ‘Eider teenagers’, with half an eye on this or future breeding seasons. Either way, it’s great to see an upward trend in Eiders for once, after many years of decline.

With the return to grey and damp weather came a corresponding increase in windspeeds and wave-action at sea. This served to do a bit of a demolition job on the beach barrier fence, and some restorative surgery work was required mid-week. This tends to be a feature of the early part of the ‘tern season’, with heavy seas and capricious spring weather making barrier fence maintenance a real labour of love. At least all the spade-and-sledge action is helping to keep us fit – every cloud and all that.

The previous three settled weeks had fairly advanced the growing-season for Forvie’s plants, and this week we noticed Red Campion in full flower for the first time this year. As well as being one of the first widespread wildflowers to come into bloom, it will also be one of the last to remain at the end of the year. Its remarkably long flowering season make this plant a garden favourite of mine; with me not being a ‘proper’ gardener (but rather a naturalist who happens to own a garden), the fact that it’s dead easy to grow also helps considerably. More importantly, though, it’s also a valuable resource for pollinating insects at either end of the year when other flowers are scarce.

Meanwhile in the dune-slacks, the bright yellow fallen-sun blooms of Colt’s-foot can occasionally be found, and indeed some of the flowers have already ‘gone over’ and begun to set seed. Time waits for no plant!

Migrant birds from the south have been slow to arrive despite the settled conditions of the previous weeks. We have, though, begun seeing Ospreys on the estuary with increasing regularity, and these imposing, fish-eating raptors will remain a fixture here right through until early autumn now.

Less visually spectacular, though no less welcome, have been the first returning Willow Warblers, reoccupying their summer territories among the willow scrub on the heath. These tiny and unassuming-looking birds are among the most impressive travellers in the natural world, undertaking a colossal migration from sub-Saharan Africa to the northern extremes of Europe and Asia each spring, before returning south again in the autumn.

The average Willow Warbler is about 25% of the weight of a House Sparrow – yes, that’s a quarter of a sparrow – yet still has the capability to cross open seas and vast deserts under its own steam. So next time you’re walking by the willow scrub on the Reserve, listen out for the Willow Warbler’s delicate, lilting little song, and know that you’ve met with one of nature’s little miracles.

The trickle of arrivals in progress just now is of course balanced by a corresponding series of departures, most notably among Forvie’s waders and wildfowl. During the course of my composing this piece, about a hundred Curlew have departed noisily to the north-east over the village and Reserve, ‘jumping off’ the coast and heading for Norway.

The Curlew has a beautifully evocative voice at all times, but never more so than when departing on migration; at these times their voices sound particularly urgent and impassioned. No wonder I suppose: leaving the coast and heading out to sea must be a bit like setting off to swim a length of a pool where you can’t actually see the other end. It’s a leap of faith, and I often wonder whether the Curlew in the departing flocks are so vocal in order to reassure one another. After all, these are living creatures, and not just pieces of biological clockwork driven purely by a pre-programmed genetic code. And I know I get nervous before undertaking the long journey down the motorway to see my family!

A bit of an ‘And Finally’ story to finish. Sometime over the winter, a short section of drystane dyke at Waterside car park was damaged by a vehicle (which I would imagine probably came off worse). In fairness, whoever did the damage had at least tried to put back the fallen stones, but it was a bit of a mess – in local terminology, ‘a richt rummel o’ stanes’.

I have done a bit of dyking work here and there over the years, and found a willing apprentice in seasonal warden Joe, who has recently rejoined us for the summer. So on a particularly wet and ‘reassuringly overcast’ afternoon, we sought to sort it out.

So a tidy job completed, and a comprehensive soaking endured in the process. Now that’s more like it.

By the time this week’s blog post goes public, the clocks will have shifted forward an hour to denote the start of British Summer Time. This always seems a bit of a laugh at our latitude, when summer doesn’t actually arrive until much later in the piece (if, indeed, it arrives at all – 2024 was a dismal failure in that respect). What’s more, the lost hour of sleep due to the overnight clock change means I’ll be permanently grumpy and grizzly now until October, when the clocks go back again and I can recoup the lost hour in bed. Happy days.

In the meantime, we’re all crossing our fingers that the upcoming summer is as pleasant and sunny as this past fortnight, which by my reckoning has produced more hours of sunshine than the whole of last summer!

All week we have been beavering away at the electric fence, fettling and fine-tuning it prior to next week’s switch-on. This will happen in conjunction with the barrier fence going up on this coming Tuesday (1st April), when South Forvie will close to the public once again for the bird breeding season. Locals and regulars will be well-versed in this annual routine, which is essential to the survival of our tern, gull and Eider colonies, and we are always very grateful to everyone who respects the temporary access restriction each year. By doing so, you are helping us to conserve Forvie’s internationally-important breeding birds – you can’t say fairer than that.

Around the ternery we are still seeing ominous signs of Badger activity on a daily basis (well, probably actually a nightly basis – during working hours we only ever see the tracks, and not the actual Badgers!). As we’ve said before, the success (or otherwise) of Forvie’s breeding birds this year is likely to depend upon the success (or otherwise) of the fence in keeping the Badgers out. We’ll see whether next week’s switch-on has the desired effect – fingers and everything else crossed. In voltage we trust!

Activity in the gullery peaked mid-week, with around 800 birds present on the ground across their extensive nesting area. This is hopefully just a fraction of the eventual total (last year we hosted 1,831 nesting pairs), but represents a good start.

Early in the season, the gulls tend to be a bit jumpy, and can often get spooked by a passing raptor or a low-flying helicopter (note to self: must send another gentle ‘reminder’ to air traffic control about this), at which point they tend to decamp to the adjacent estuary. On Friday, however, they seemed to take to the river for a different reason: the rising tide during the morning appeared to present them with some sort of unusual feeding opportunity.

The incoming tide apparently brought with it a bonanza of food of some description. Initially I wondered whether it might be shoals of small fish, but I couldn’t see any prey items actually being picked up. Instead, the gulls seemed to be picking delicately at the water’s surface, and in doing so they were joined by Eiders and Shelduck, which dabbled and sifted the surface-water with great enthusiasm. Presumably, whatever all these birds were eating was very small, and very abundant; perhaps a flush of zooplankton of some sort.

Zooplankton is a general term for all the tiny animal organisms that live in the water-column. These include all forms of life, ranging from single-celled protozoans to more complex animals like molluscs and crustaceans. At high densities they form a sort of organic soup, borne on sea currents and tides; this then provides a rich source of food for larger creatures like fish and seabirds, and even some of nature’s true giants such as Basking Sharks and various baleen whales. My theory that Friday’s feeding-frenzy may have been attributable to zooplankton was backed up by the dense, greasy foam that formed along the water’s edge: a classic sign of nutrient-rich water. Either way, it made for quite a spectacle, with over a thousand Black-headed Gulls cashing in.

Away from the estuary, there were reports this week of strange goings-on at the Coastguard’s Pool in North Forvie. A sudden drop in water-level coincided with the appearance of a small vortex in the water, as if someone had pulled out the bath-plug to let out the bathwater. What was this all about?!

Closer investigation showed a new ‘drain’ had appeared in the retaining-bank that keeps the water in the Coastguard’s Pool (the pool being, of course, a man-made flight pond and not a natural water feature). The water disappearing down the vortex was thus reappearing on the downhill side of the bank, and flowing away into the marsh.

And I reckon I know who the culprit is: a native mammal that’s recently bounced back from its 20th Century decimation at the hands of the invasive American Mink…

Water Voles excavate networks of tunnels in and around their favoured wetland habitat, with burrow entrances both above and below the water’s surface. In this particular case, an underwater entrance on the upper side of the bank, and an al-fresco entrance on the lower side, means the vole’s tunnel is acting as a very effective drain-pipe. Along with Beavers, Water Voles are some of nature’s own civil engineers.

We don’t intend to intervene in the changes that are taking place at the Coastguard’s Pool; in the natural scheme of things, the shallow water will eventually succeed into fen and willow scrub in any case. And the loss of any open-water habitat will be offset by the new wetlands that are starting to form in other parts of the Reserve – swings and roundabouts so to speak. And besides all this, the most well-known inhabitants of the Coastguard’s Pool didn’t seem at all fazed by the drop in water-level: it was ‘business as usual’ this week for the pool’s breeding population of Common Toads.

Just like the abundance of zooplankton provided a windfall for the Black-headed Gulls on the estuary, so the concentration of Toads at the Coastguard’s Pool did likewise for the local Grey Herons.

A slightly sad story with which to end this week’s missives. After many years of increasingly futile patch-up repairs, it was time for the old railway carriage on the Rockend track to make its final journey to the great carriage-sidings in the sky. Having stood on-site for over sixty years, the structure was very rotten and becoming hazardous, so we had no choice but to have it demolished and taken away.

Although this job was a necessity – and undoubtedly tidies the place up substantially – it was still a poignant sight seeing it gone. It had been owned by John Massie, a former Forvie volunteer and a huge character (in both personality and physical stature – John was a veritable man-mountain, and nearer seven feet tall than six). He had used the old carriage as his field-station and accommodation while protecting and studying Forvie’s terns over the course of several decades. John sadly died several years ago, and now his old carriage is gone too. But his memory continues at Forvie: it’s still one of John’s classic photos that adorns our seasonal signage relating to the ternery.

In a sense, the removal of the old railway carriage felt like the end of an era; time relentlessly marching on, the past being ruthlessly swept aside. But John’s legacy lives on in Forvie’s terns, which we’ll continue to safeguard in his stead. Fair to say he left big boots for us to fill.

The spring equinox week at Forvie produced for us a series of fine, settled and sunny days, the likes of which we’ve become quite unaccustomed to in recent times. A high-pressure weather system, centred to the south-east of us over the North Sea, made its presence felt throughout the week, and suddenly the spring of 2025 was properly up and running.

Down at the ternery, where throughout the week we’ve been toiling away in our attempts to Badger-proof the electric fence, things were moving along rapidly. Monday saw the Black-headed Gulls reoccupying their ancestral colony site for the first time this year, thereby signalling their intentions for the coming season, as well as giving us the hurry-up with regard to getting the fence finished. Don’t worry, gulls, we’re all over it – the aim is to have the fence ready for electrification by the end of next week. In the meantime, we owe a debt of gratitude to volunteers Jim, Richard and Vikki, whom between them have put in a mighty shift over this past few days.

With the gulls now back on-site, and the sound of the nascent gullery drifting across the calm waters of the estuary to Newburgh, reserve manager Catriona remarked that “Forvie sounds like Forvie again”. Amen to that.

Above the pleasantly raucous babble of the gullery, an eagerly-awaited sound was heard for the first time on Thursday morning. Cutting through the gulls’ chatter was the unmistakable, harsh, grating ‘kerrick‘ of the first Sandwich Tern of the year. And not just one, but four Sandwich Terns, newly arrived from Africa; as certain a sign of spring as the first Primrose in flower, or the first Bumblebee at the window-box. The voice of the Sandwich Tern cannot reasonably be described as musical – I can’t help but be reminded of the sound of having one of my teeth removed under local anaesthetic (not recommended, by the way – go for the knock-out option instead) – but despite this it remains a most welcome sound when heard for the first time each spring.

Forvie’s gulls and terns, of course, make their summer home in the ever-changing, shape-shifting landscape of South Forvie. We’ve spoken many times before of the famous dynamism of this landscape, of how nothing remains static for long, and of the constant influence of wind and tide. Having witnessed this dynamism first-hand over the course of the past eighteen years (and counting), my one real regret is that I didn’t think to take fixed-point photographs at regular intervals, in order to keep a pictorial record of the immense amount of change that has taken place during that time. But in my defence, when I took up this job in February 2007, I was on a six-month contract and assumed I’d be away again by August; little did I realise I’d still be here nearly two decades later. An irritating missed opportunity!

But it’s never too late to start something worthwhile though. Sensing an opportunity to start a useful citizen-science project, Forvie volunteer Elaine teamed up with Newburgh & Ythan Community Trust and Chainsaw Creations to install a series of ‘photo posts’ around the Ythan Estuary. These are strategically-located (and beautifully carved) wooden posts, upon which a phone or camera may be placed and a photograph captured of the landscape beyond.

Each post – and there are three on the Newburgh side of the estuary, and one on the Forvie side – bears a plaque with instructions on what to do. Essentially, anyone taking photos from these posts can send them to the e-mail address printed on the plaque, and this will create an archive of pictures which will show the landscape changing over time – the very kind of pictorial record that I wish I’d kept from day one!

The contribution of the Reserve staff was very modest (we helped provide some of the funding, as well as the spade work to install the two posts nearest the estuary), and it was very much Elaine’s initiative and hard work which got project off the ground. We look forward to seeing the results in years to come – we promise to keep you, er, posted (sorry!).

Speaking of heroic contributions from locals, the North East Sea Kayakers carried out a water-borne litter-pick on the upper estuary last week, and recovered a veritable mountain of rubbish from the environment. We’re always saying that we could have a full-time job just lifting litter from the Reserve, yet we never have the time to do it justice – so we’re super-grateful to those visitors and locals who take it upon themselves to tackle the problem. And NESKY’s water-borne efforts recovered litter that we (land-based) Reserve staff wouldn’t be able to get near in any case. Great work, folks – we owe you a debt of thanks.

Any haul of beach litter is likely to contain one or two ‘interesting’ items, and this was no exception. There was a remarkable collection of footballs (which might get re-used by someone), a ten-foot length of flexible drainage pipe (which certainly will), and a New Holland tractor which was unlikely to go back on the road… nevertheless, a test-drive was considered essential just to make sure.

A bit of wildlife news with which to finish up then. The clear skies and south-easterly breeze during the week provided ideal travelling conditions for waterfowl heading north-west for the summer, and consequently Pink-footed Geese were prominent in our area this week. Their days with us are now numbered, as they begin to depart for their summer quarters in Iceland and Greenland.

And as some species depart northwards, so others arrive from the south. A Great White Egret appeared on the estuary on Thursday, the first of its kind we’ve seen this year. This species is expanding its range north-westwards with the warming climate; once a big rarity here, these stately white herons are becoming an ever-more-familiar sight in the North-east.

Meanwhile in the wooded and scrubby areas of the Reserve, the leaves of various trees and shrubs are beginning to burst. Elder and Hawthorn are two of the earlier species to get going at our latitude; both can be seen around the Forvie Centre, where the new leaves bring a welcome splash of colour to the winter-bleached branches.

Right on cue with the emerging leaves, the first migrant Goldcrest appeared this week too. These tiny birds – at five grams in weight, Europe’s smallest – depend upon invertebrates for food, so the new leaves, and the insect life that they support, will be very welcome. Countless thousands of Goldcrests cross the North Sea each autumn to flee the Scandinavian winter, and in spring the survivors make the return trip north-eastwards – an unbelievable feat for what’s basically a feathered ping-pong ball. Fair to say they must be a good deal tougher than they look.

Goldcrests are yet another example of nature’s capacity to amaze and inspire. I know I’ve said it a thousand times before, but isn’t nature brilliant? Bring me sunshine.

Spring is an awkward season here in the North-east. It always appears to arrive at our latitude somewhat reluctantly, dragging its heels, seemingly never totally committed to the idea. Although the signs are there – the bursting leaves of Hawthorn and Honeysuckle, the village gardens bedecked with spring bulbs, the occasional drone of a passing bee – it’s seldom felt spring-like during the course of this past week. Several days have been what we like to describe as ‘nice behind glass’, meaning the bright sunshine and blue skies look very pleasant through your window, but they don’t feel nearly so clement when you actually get outside.

In between the bright spells came some stingingly icy showers; getting caught out in one of these certainly served to remind you that you were alive. The periodic cloudbursts were driven before a keen, biting northerly airflow, with the associated wind-chill rendering the ambient temperature barely above freezing. Spring? What spring?!

The capricious weather poses difficulties for wildlife emerging from winter hibernation. Flying insects are particularly susceptible to its vagaries, as they require ambient warmth in order to achieve working temperature in their flight-muscles. Thus on cold days, we sometimes encounter insects such as bumblebees – which have a high wing-loading and require a lot of energy for flight – staggering around lethargically, having been rendered unable to fly.

If the cold persists, and the bees cannot find a nectar source nearby to sustain them, casualties are inevitable. So there’s a balance to be struck between getting up early, and having the pick of the potential nesting-sites and feeding opportunities, or leaving it later until the weather is kinder (in theory), but missing out on these early opportunities for feeding and breeding. For each individual insect, it’s essentially a gamble with very high stakes.

Butterflies which overwinter as adults, such as the Small Tortoiseshell, are faced with similar problems. They emerge from hibernation when temperatures begin to rise in early spring, but a subsequent cold snap may then spell disaster. In addition, if they emerge before there are sufficient nectar-bearing flowers available, they will be unable to feed, which also means certain death. The stop-start springs that we’ve experienced in recent years here in the North-east are unlikely to have done these declining insects any favours.

Spring is also a hard season for many species due to the depletion of natural food sources. The glut of seeds, nuts and fruits produced during the preceding summer and autumn will have been gradually consumed during the winter, and consequently there’s not much left to go around. What’s more, no new food will be produced until the growing-season is in full swing, which is many weeks away yet. So while we may think of spring as a softening of the hardships of winter, in truth it’s the toughest season of all for some of our wildlife.

Seed-eating birds are a good example: there are very few seeds left by early spring, so times are hard. Some species may switch to an insect diet during spring and summer, but insects won’t be widely available until the trees are in leaf (which in the North-east can be as late as May) – so this means the next few weeks are the leanest weeks of the entire year. Consequently, birds such as Goldfinches may increasingly visit garden feeding-stations to supplement their natural diet of fine seeds in the wider countryside.

For the same reasons, this time of year may bring more unusual species into gardens as their natural food runs out. Bramblings are winter visitors from Scandinavia, and specialise in eating the seeds (or mast) of Beech trees. But with the mast supply much depleted by early spring, they will gladly accept sunflower seeds as a substitute foodstock. So it’s worth having a second look through the sparrows and Chaffinches hopping around under the feeders just now, and if you’re lucky you may be rewarded with a sighting of one of these handsome interlopers.

Wherever there is a gathering of small birds, you’re likely to encounter a Sparrowhawk trying its luck. Like their prey species, they also have an easier time of it in summer and autumn, when there are large numbers of juvenile songbirds on the go – which are inexperienced and often poor fliers – to provide them with plenty of easy meals. By spring, though, following the winter’s depredations, songbird numbers are at their lowest ebb, and thus their predators must work harder for their supper.

The Sparrowhawk in the photo above was standing on the roadside between the Forvie Centre and the main road, having just made a kill. And having made all that effort, it wasn’t for flying off and leaving it behind. Consequently I was treated to a remarkable close-up view from the window of the works car.

It even stood still long enough for me to stop the car, apply the parking brake, switch on the hazard lights, reach for the phone, and snap off this series of photos – which allow us to identify the unfortunate victim as a Starling.

It’s not just the Starlings on the receiving end just now. We recently reported upon the emergence of the year’s first Common Toads on the Reserve…

…and immediately they find themselves on the menu for various other species.

It’s hard to know who the perpetrators are in these instances, but the three species with ‘form’ are Grey Heron, Otter and Carrion Crow. In each case, it’s hard to believe that these warty, sour-tasting amphibians would be their first choice of food. Perhaps this is another example of having to make the best of a bad job at this tough time of the year.

No such hardships at the seal haul-out, where Danny this week counted a whopping 3,158 Grey Seals. In an astonishing piece of symmetry, almost exactly a year ago the corresponding count produced 3,176 individuals.

As with so many aspects of natural history, there is much that we don’t know about Forvie’s Grey Seals. Step forward researcher Claire Stainfield, who kindly allowed us to reproduce the following image…

This remarkable aerial image was taken as part of a PhD study by the Aberdeen Marine Mammal Project, based at Scotland’s Rural College (SRUC), gathering data on the environmental factors influencing seal haul-out behaviour. As part of this study, researcher Claire is using a drone, under licence from NatureScot, to capture images which provide valuable data on the numbers, distribution and demographics of Forvie’s Grey Seal population. You can learn more about this research here. We wish Claire every success with her ongoing project, and look forward to hearing about the findings in due course!

And so the hard soft season of spring in the North-east rolls on. We’re apparently forecast southerlies for the coming week, so hopefully a warmer few days lie ahead, which might serve to help out some of our spring wildlife. Personally, I would appreciate a bit less sleet and hail as well – thank you!

The first week of meteorological spring saw the Forvie full-time staff returning from their pre-season break – the calm before the metaphorical storm of the summer season on the Reserve – and launching straight into the new season’s work. There was no gentle morning of office admin to ease us back into work mode after a fortnight away; instead we headed straight to the ternery, tooled up with brushcutters and fencing gear, to lay the groundwork for the electric fence going up the following day.

Time and tide, they say, wait for no-one, and this is true in the literal sense when working on a coastal site like Forvie. Sure enough, it was a race against the clock to get two truckloads of fencing equipment tripped from the workshop to the ternery, plus a thousand metres of brushcutting done, before noon – at which point the rising tide would cut off our escape route for the pickup truck. So much for an easy first morning back!

Following this frantic first morning, a happy afternoon was spent wading through the mire of administrative tasks that inevitably accumulate when you’ve been away from work for a few days. For most conservation staff, it requires a truly horrific day’s weather to make a day at the laptop seem like a good thing, but in any case, this cleared the way for a full day’s fencing work on the Tuesday.

For the monumental task of turning the heap of netting and poles into a functional fence, we assembled a crack team of volunteers and staff, including a hired crew from our ‘sister reserve’ at Muir of Dinnet NNR, headed by reserve manager Simon. Fuelled by tea, coffee, sweet treats and plenty of craic, the combined team got through a power of work before it was time to call it a day. Thanks everyone!

There is always a certain sense of urgency associated with this job each spring. Acutely aware of how quickly time passes, and how many other distractions crop up in the day-to-day running of the Reserve, it’s essential that we leave ourselves enough time to make a truly professional job of the fence. Not least because its beneficiaries – namely the first returning Black-headed Gulls and Ringed Plovers – are already beginning to accumulate in the local area, as if checking up on us to make sure we’re doing the job properly. I can’t say I blame them either: the success (or otherwise) of the electric fence in deterring mammal predators could make or break their breeding season. Their lives quite literally depend on the work that we’re doing here.

The mammalian predators in question are the troublesome trio of Badger, Fox and Otter. While the Fox has traditionally been the no.1 adversary to Forvie’s ground-nesting birds, that title has arguably now passed to the Badger. Big, physically strong, adaptable and increasingly abundant – not to mention very partial to an egg breakfast or seabird supper – they are a formidable challenge to fence out of the nesting area, and have been the cause of much hair-tearing on the part of the wardening staff this last few years. Indeed, Catriona’s description of a Badger as being “basically a JCB with fur” is pretty much spot on. While working at the ternery this week, we found an ominously large amount of Badger sign (i.e. tracks and diggings) in the area. A long battle of wits lies ahead over the next few months: wish us luck!

At the northern edge of the ternery is an eroding sandbank bordering the Ythan Estuary. Over the course of the past few years, this has acted like a kind of time-capsule for beach litter which has lain buried under the wind-drifted sand for decades, and is now gradually being exposed by the continuing erosion. This has produced such delights as a 1960s bleach bottle, a pre-decimal packet of Golden Wonder crisps (2d a bag, in case you were wondering), and a tobacco tin probably dating back to the 1940s.

This week we struck gold (aluminium?) once again with the discovery of this Scottish Pride Lager tin; most of us at this end thought Scottish Pride was bread and not beer, but we now stand corrected. Although much of the text on the can had worn away, still discernible was a promotional offer for a free 1985 calendar courtesy of The Scotsman – all you had to do was collect 20 (yes, twenty) ringpulls – this presumably constituted a cracking night in during the winter of 1984. Please drink responsibly!

Towards the end of Tuesday, a shout went up of “Swaaaaaans”, somewhat recalling the car-chase scene in the film ‘Hot Fuzz’ (and thus evoking memories of Danny’s near-miss with the Isabelline Wheatear last autumn). Passing high northwards overhead was a beautiful V-formation of Whooper Swans, on an early stage of their journey back to Iceland for the summer. This is the first real piece of visible migration we’ve witnessed this spring, with hopefully much more to come in the next few weeks – exciting times ahead.

Other spring landmarks this week have included the emergence of the first Common Toads from their winter slumbers…

…the appearance of some typical early wild flowers in sheltered spots, namely Lesser Celandines and Primroses…

…and an uptick in birdsong, including the first Reed Buntings giving voice to their simple refrain from the scrubby bushes around the Sand Loch.

Lastly, a round-up of staffing news. Reserve manager Catriona, having been on temporary assignment to Forvie for several years, has now been confirmed as permanent in the role, for her sins! Meanwhile, we’re delighted to be welcoming back seasonal warden Joe for his second summer on the Reserve, while Danny and Daryl are both continuing in their established posts (as part-time/weekend warden and estate worker/dogsbody respectively). Thus the ‘class of 2024’ have been reunited for the summer of 2025 – here’s hoping it’s a good one, and not as wet as the previous year (viz. the photo below)!

So that’s us back in harness in preparation for the upcoming summer season then. Let the mayhem begin!

Hi folks! As some of our readers may already know, two of my main duties over the winter at Forvie include engaging with the public on my patrols at the Waterside end of the reserve, and weekly counts of our Grey Seal population – raising local awareness about them at the same time. However, I am also privileged to monitor and count our wintering Red-breasted Mergansers and resident Eider Ducks, over the course of the autumn, winter and early spring. Similar to the Grey seals, I count both species each week, across the entirety of the Ythan estuary, starting at the river mouth (next to the seal haul-out) and ending at Logie Buchan (just outside of Ellon). These counts are conducted at high tide (the complete opposite time to Grey Seal counts – which occur at low tide), because this is the best and easiest opportunity to see both duck species on the water. The information gathered from these counts is vital in helping us to determine population trends of both species. So today, I hope to give you a general overview of how both species are doing here.

I recently had a very interesting chat with local wildlife photographer Ron Macdonald, who has very kindly supplemented this blog with his beautiful photos of both duck species. During our recent catch up, he mentioned that he had obtained some particularly significant ringing information about Red-breasted Mergansers, with kind permission from the Grampian Ringing Group. What I found especially fascinating, was that despite the Red-breasted Merganser being a relatively common winter visitor to the Ythan River every year, there is extremely limited data available on their country of breeding origin. In fact, despite being a UK breeding species, (who’s population is massively augmented by birds from Scandinavia and Iceland during winter – when numbers swell to 11,000 or more), there have only ever been 239 birds ringed in the British Isles, since records began. Furthermore, the vast majority of ringing recoveries (consisting of nine birds), all originated from Iceland, with individuals also from the Baltic and Denmark. For those who don’t know, ringing recoveries are often dead birds found with the leg ring intact and readable, and of course living bird’s rings are also identified – but only when they hold still long enough for a good glimpse of the code!

Interestingly, Red-breadsted Mergansers ringed here in the UK, have been found as far away as Norway and Finland! However, this species is a relatively rare breeder in the UK with an estimated 1,650 or more pairs (the vast majority of which breed here in Scotland), by wild upland waterbodies like streams, rivers and lochs with plenty of vegetation, providing cover, around the water’s edge. So, while it is perfectly possible that some overwintering Mergansers at Forvie could be of Scottish decent, Ron thinks that given the significantly high Icelandic demographic of ringed recoveries found in Scotland (combined with our own scarce breeding population), that it is extremely likely that most birds will originate from Iceland – and return to breed there each spring. This is a stark reminder of the sheer international importance that the Ythan river catchment, and the wider Forvie National Nature Reserve, holds for so many migratory birds across the ornithological calendar.

During a successful count, I might expect to see over forty of these elegant and colourful ducks on the river. So, you might ask what brings so many Red-breasted Mergansers here in winter? The answer lies within Ythan river and adjacent coastline. The waters here have healthy populations of butterfish and flounders, which are vital prey for these birds to help them survive and ‘refuel’ throughout the winter. Mergansers are saw-billed, meaning that their serrated mouths are filled with tiny saw-like teeth, which make them master fishers. Sadly, this has brought them into conflict with game fishermen in the past, as they do have a liking towards trout and salmon. Check out Ron’s photos, which perfectly illustrate the Merganser’s sawbills in action. These medium sized and slender-bodied ducks are approximately 58cm in length and can weigh nearly 1.4kg. Males undergo a rather strange head-bobbing courtship display to attract females to mate with, during late winter and early spring, and this is a very common and rather entertaining sight on the estuary right now – just ahead of egg laying and nesting season. They are a real delight to watch every week on my routine estuary counts.

The subject of courtship brings me onto the iconic Eider Duck (also named Common Eider), because this is the time of year when males start to jerk their heads upwards and backwards and call out with that comedic “oooh” vocalisation (called ‘cooing-movements’); rendering them irresistible to judging females, which they hope to mate with. In many ways, this species is the ‘poster boy’ or ‘poster duck’ of Forvie National Nature Reserve. I won’t be going into as much depth about their natural history and general biology, as it’s been heavily discussed in previous blogs. However, I would like to take this opportunity to discuss how they’re doing as a year-round resident species here. Eiders have a somewhat sad story at Forvie, as many of you may already know. Historically, this nature reserve was reputed the ‘Eider Capital’ of the UK, but this is definitely a thing of the past nowadays. In the 1990’s, you could expect to see anywhere between 4000 and 5000 of these ducks on the estuary, which is a sight that I can’t even comprehend as a relatively new warden here. In complete contrast, fast forward to present day and we’d be lucky to count 300 on the estuary, regardless of the time of year. This is especially shocking when you consider that peak winter counts still yielded over 2000 birds as recently as 2012.

Looking at that trajectory, you’d be forgiven for thinking that they are doomed to local extinction within the next few years. However, thankfully, over the last 10 years or so, we have observed that the population has steadily plateaued at approximately 100 breeding pairs. The current small population has become the new normal for Forvie. But we are optimistic that although it is a fraction of what it used to be, that nonetheless, the population has reached a sustainable carrying capacity here (which is the maximum population that a given area can sustain). But why has the Eider population bottomed out so dramatically?

The exact causes for the decline are definitely open to question and there isn’t a ‘one-size-fits-all’ answer to this unfortunately. However, we know there are at least two very significant potential causes for their decline. These include reduced food availability and increased disturbance.

We know that Eiders feed on crabs and especially favour mussels. So, there is some school of thought to suggest that eutrophication of the estuary (primarily from agricultural run-off and sewage), has enriched the Ythan sufficiently enough to facilitate the growth of Enteromorpha weed mats. These weed mats have spread across vast swathes of the estuary, subsequently smothering the mussel beds in the process. Therefore, eutrophication might be reducing the availability of the Eider’s primary food source. Although this is very concerning, it might only be one part of the complicated puzzle of the Eider’s local decline.

Controversially, it is possible that disturbance could also be reducing the amount of suitable nesting habitat for Eiders. Footfall (which of course we actively encourage) has dramatically increased since the 1990’s, and with that comes the potential for elevated disturbance. These ducks are ground nesting, which makes them extremely vulnerable to predation. Although predation by foxes is relatively rare nowadays, these birds have co-evolved with wild canids (dog-like carnivores including foxes and wolves), so to an Eider, a labrador innocently walking along the heath with its owner, might signal ‘wolf’ or ‘fox’ – potentially restricting ‘safe’ nesting only to areas with no human or dog presence. When you consider that roughly 99% of Forvie’s Eiders breed within the safe confounds of the Tern Colony, which is protected by a barrier fence, a smaller electric fence and is entirely closed off to the public (during the breeding season), it does make the case for investigating the correlation between disturbance and breeding success, a particularly strong one.

However, it is extremely important to encourage people to care for our nature reserves, and arguably, that is only possible if they have access to the natural world. This is an extremely difficult balance to strike; both ensuring that nature is protected at the same time as allowing people to experience it. Because how can we tangibly care about something that we can’t see or touch? It’s probably impossible to achieve that care without access. So, in theory, allowing people to enjoy nature will undoubtedly contribute to the betterment of the natural world. But how far we take that access, is a very difficult ethical question, which requires a lot of careful consideration and discussion. Hopefully I haven’t opened up an overly controversial debate. But it is important to encourage these potentially difficult discussions within the conservation arena, because that way, we stand the best chance of successfully conserving the natural world, for which ‘we’ are an integral part.