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.

Running a National Nature Reserve like Forvie is basically a delicate balancing act. On the one side we are tasked with protecting the Reserve’s wildlife and landscape, and on the other we must provide a service for its visitors. In other words, places like Forvie must be run for the benefit of both wildlife and people. This appears straightforward enough when it’s written down, but the reality on the ground is really quite different.

The problematic bottom line is that we (humanity) are the reason that wildlife is in trouble in the first place. We tend to have a deleterious effect on nature wherever we go. This can be as a result of our direct interactions with nature, such as killing wild creatures for food or profit (think the great whales, or indeed most of the world’s megafauna) and our use of land (e.g. clearing natural habitats for our crops, livestock and developments). And it can also occur through indirect effects, such as climate change or pollution of land and water. Put simply, you and I are generally bad news for nature (well, not just you and I personally, but I digress).

Humans on the whole aren’t daft, and we have recognised this problem for a very long time. Nature reserves – ostensibly places of refuge for what’s left of our beleaguered wildlife – are one of the ways we have tried to mitigate for all the damage we’ve caused in the wider natural world. Here in the UK we have more nature reserves (albeit mainly small ones) than many other countries in the world; it’s perhaps not a coincidence that we are also one of the most nature-depleted countries on the entire globe. Maybe all those nature reserves are proof of a guilty conscience!

For all the damage that we’ve already done, and continue to do, we still paradoxically think of ourselves as a ‘nation of animal lovers’. This is reflected in the number of us who keep pets. As we’ve mentioned in the past, other writers have suggested that this is a proxy for our lost connection with nature. But the monstrous irony is that our pets can also have a destructive effect on the natural world – even in supposedly ‘protected’ places like nature reserves.

Last year Forvie received about 75,000 human visitors (and that’s just on ‘our’ side of the River Ythan; this doesn’t include the thousands of visitors to Newburgh beach). A great many of those visitors brought their dogs with them. And why wouldn’t you? The Reserve offers great walks through an extensive open landscape, as well as having one of the best beaches on the entire planet. And once you’re on the Reserve, there’s no road traffic to worry about, nor any farm livestock to consider. So an ideal place to let the dog have a run around, right?

Whoa, hold your huskies though! Just like our opening paragraph, this isn’t quite as straightforward as it appears. Far from being a barren wasteland, Forvie is home to a wide range of sensitive and threatened wildlife, of national and even international importance – which is what sets it aside from (for example) a country park, or a city greenspace. The Reserve is supposed to offer a sanctuary for this wildlife, away from the anthropogenic pressures on the wider countryside. But this only works if the people who visit Forvie are willing to show a degree of restraint and consideration – particularly when it comes to exercising their pets.

In basic terms, a dog is a predator. A very tame and cute and cuddly one in our eyes at least, but a predator it remains. Or at least that’s how other creatures view it. Wild birds and mammals don’t make the distinction between a Labrador and a Wolf; to them it’s just a predator, and they react accordingly – flee for your life. And at this time of year, this burns up crucial energy that wild creatures can ill afford to spare. The cumulative effects of regular disturbance – which sadly happens at Forvie on a daily basis – can be fatal.

For birds, seals and deer, disturbance by dogs during the breeding season can cause the abandonment and death of their young. That’s why we operate the dogs-on-leads policy from April through August each year. Adherence to this request is variable at the best of times, but people on the whole are quite understanding. Sadly though, this has led to a situation whereby folk think that as soon as August is over, it’s a free-for-all. Fact is, Forvie doesn’t stop being a nature reserve overnight, and sensitivities remain throughout the year: feeding and roosting birds, deer calves, seals (and other visitors, for that matter). The Reserve needs to be treated with respect right through the year.

What’s more, direct damage to the wildlife isn’t the only issue. We’re perpetually tearing out what’s left of our hair due to the profusion of pet-related litter on the Reserve. Chewed-up tennis balls, the exploded remains of rubber toys, little plastic bags full of poo, and then there’s the un-bagged stuff that we’re constantly treading in. The latest craze seems to be owners allowing their pets to dig cavernous, ankle-breaking holes in the footpaths, without ever thinking to stop them doing so, or to fill in the holes. Excuse me while I stand up from the keyboard for a moment and scream into space. Come on people, surely we’re better than this?!

By common consensus among Reserve staff, confronting dog owners about the behaviour of their pets on the Reserve is one of the surest ways of earning us a faceful of abuse. It’s an interesting piece of psychology: seemingly to question the behaviour of someone’s dog is tantamount to calling them out as a bad parent. Please be assured that this is never our intention; we only ever aim to safeguard the wildlife that we love, and are obliged to do so by our employment and the law. We’re not killjoys for the sake of it, we’re simply trying to protect the Reserve and its inhabitants.

Opposition and criticism isn’t a one-way street though. As I said earlier on, it’s a balancing act, and the ‘dogs versus wildlife’ dilemma can result in slings and arrows from both sides. On the one hand, dog owners tend to get irritable about us placing restrictions on their recreational activity, while on the other hand, passionate naturalists often complain that we’re not doing enough to prevent disturbance and damage to wildlife on the Reserve (which is supposed to be a protected site for wildlife, right?). Who’d be a nature reserve warden?!

The Scottish Outdoor Access Code is built upon a basis of ‘rights with responsibilities’. But it’s the second of these that’s the dealbreaker. Everyone knows they have a right of open access in the Scottish countryside – including in places like nature reserves – but the bit that gets forgotten is that this only applies if that access is taken responsibly. And in Forvie’s case, this means taking care to ensure your visit doesn’t harm any of the things that make it such a special place.

A key point to make before I sign off is that we’re immensely grateful to those visitors (and their dogs of course) who do treat the Reserve and its wildlife with the respect it deserves, not least because you’re setting the example for others to follow. Thank you – on behalf of both the wildlife, and our own sanity.

Right, that’s me done for the week – away for a lie down in a darkened room now…

When I was growing up, I often used to hear my older relatives speak truisms such as the one I’ve used for this week’s title. ‘Count your blessings’ was another one I heard frequently, such pronouncements being guaranteed to elicit an eye-roll and a deep, long-suffering sigh. Young people aren’t generally inclined to hang on every word of their elders, and I for one tended to greet these pearls of wisdom with a smile and a cheery “yeah, whatever you say, Nan…” or something similar. But the passage of time does strange things to our perception of the world – I think it’s called ‘perspective’ – and decades later you suddenly come to the realisation that many of these sayings contained an irritating ring of truth.

I say ‘irritating’ because of the missed opportunities. This is a nature blog of course, and it’s of nature that I speak here. Even as the aforementioned naïve youngster I was fascinated by the natural world, and captivated by the beauty of wild flowers, birds, butterflies and so on. Having moved around a lot as a child, I was also lucky enough to have lived in some superb places for nature. Being young and naïve however, I took such things for granted, and never stopped to think that one day they might be gone. If I had my time again, I’d make sure to really appreciate them, and milk every last drop.

I’ll give you an example. When I was seven years old, my family moved house to a place just outside the New Forest in southern England. Within ten minutes’ walk of our new home, I could stand on the towpath of the disused canal and listen to Nightingales singing. The crème de la crème of European songbirds, belting out this staggering, show-stopping song, just ten minutes away from the house. Sure, I enjoyed it at the time, but did I really appreciate how special this was? And how lucky I was? In truth I probably took it for granted; a common trait of the human condition.

What I didn’t know at the time, of course, was what the future held. Firstly that I’d eventually settle in North-east Scotland, where Nightingales are extremely rare (the last record in our region was, I think, in 2008). Secondly – and far more importantly – that Nightingales would disappear from great swathes of their former range in the UK, in common with so many other migratory (and indeed resident) songbirds. These things are in serious trouble, and their continued survival in doubt. They are hanging on in a handful of areas in the south and east.

In the 20-odd years since leaving home and making my own way in the world, I have heard Nightingale song on just one occasion, a rare spring holiday to Suffolk in 2017. It was a surprisingly emotional experience, standing on the heath in the pitch darkness with the air filled with that immense sound (for their size, Nightingales are unbelievably loud, made even more so by their habit of singing in the dead of night when everything else is quiet). I swore never to take anything in the natural world for granted ever again.

OK, we’ve gone off-piste a bit here, but I promise it’s all relevant. Back, then, to Forvie. The Reserve has now been my local patch for eighteen years (my ‘anniversary’ was last Wednesday). I’ve never seen a Nightingale here (yet!), but a wealth of other wildlife throughout the year makes this an incredible place for a keen naturalist to live and work. However, the difference between the young and naïve me of thirty years ago, and the grizzly and grumpy me of today, is that I now take none of it for granted.

The amount of change that has taken place in the natural world during my relatively short lifetime is almost mind-blowing. Changes in climate, land use, agricultural practice, population and recreational activity have all had their say. In terms of individual species, there have been winners and losers (sadly the latter outnumber the former), and the future is hard to read. The only certainty is that there will be even more change.

Consequently, this week’s take-home message (without wishing to make it sound too much like the ‘thought for the day’ off the radio) is to appreciate the wildlife around us while we can, and to help to safeguard it for the future – both ours and theirs. Indeed, this is what underpins our day-to-day work on the Reserve, and even our domestic lives outside of work. To that end, I’ll finish up with a few examples of ‘ones to watch’: things which we maybe don’t give a lot of thought, but are worthy of our attention – and which might not be around forever.

Bumblebees. We’re just coming up to that time of the year when the first bees – usually Buff-tailed or White-tailed Bumblebees – begin to emerge from their winter hibernation. As well as brightening our spring and summer days with their cheery colours and diligent perusal of the garden flowers, bees are critical pollinators of both wild plants and commercial crops. Without them, the terrestrial ecosystems of the world simply couldn’t function. And yet they are in massive decline and in need of our help and consideration. At home, you can help out by providing nectar-rich flowers and avoiding the use of harmful chemicals in your garden.

Tree Sparrows. We’re lucky to still have a reasonably healthy population of these cheeky and chirpy little fellows here in the North-east, as they are now extinct in many other parts of the UK. Having grown up ‘down south’, where Tree Sparrows had long since been extirpated, I was eighteen years old before I saw my first one, and even now the novelty of seeing them on the garden feeders hasn’t worn off. If you’re fortunate enough to have Tree Sparrows around your home, they can be encouraged to use nesting-boxes affixed to trees, fenceposts or buildings; an entrance-hole diameter of about 30 mm is ideal.

Curlew. Still a very familiar sight locally – 600 or more may be present on the estuary during the winter – but sadly a species in headlong decline. This is now one of the most threatened of all UK breeding birds; we can only hope their fortunes are better in mainland Europe (where many of our wintering Curlew spend their summers). The cry of the Curlew is one of the most beautiful and evocative sounds in the entire natural world – enjoy it while you can, and in the meantime help them out by allowing them to roost and feed undisturbed when you visit the Reserve.

Common Toads. Another species that’s still very plentiful here, but once again, this isn’t the case everywhere you go. Toads depend on wetlands for breeding, and undisturbed damp places for hibernation; both of these habitats tend to get swept away by development and agricultural ‘improvement’. The proliferation of the motor vehicle hasn’t helped the poor old Toad’s case either. But visit the Reserve on a damp day in summer, and it’s like taking a step back in time to when these characterful creatures were abundant in the wider countryside. And not only are they endearingly ugly-attractive, but they’re great garden pest-controllers too. Long may they survive with us.

I could go on and on with further examples, but the theme remains the same. Don’t take these things for granted. Hold on to them, cherish them, and do everything you can to help save them. Turns out that dear old Nan was right all along.