Magical interaction with wild animals in their own habitat and on their own terms

During my many stravaigings and meanderings up down and across this country I call home, it has been my fortune, my pleasure, to encounter some of the wonderful wildlife that occupies its rivers, mountains and glens.

Many of these encounters were close and some were extremely close.

Those who may have read, ‘From Dumyat to Mont Blanc — being alive with mountains’, a selection of my mountaineering adventures, sometimes misadventures, perhaps will recall that I was once ‘smote’ on the ear by a disorientated snipe, that I nearly stood on a lizard and on another occasion stumbled over a red deer fawn hidden in long ferns. All accidental.

What follows, supported by photographs, describes an incident where the creature involved actively sought me out.

The images are poor quality. Mainly as I was being attacked from over ridges and mounds.

What I describe involves surveillance, skilled stealth aerial acrobatics and attacks on me;

Some years ago, I spent a few days at a guest house in Scourie, in the far north west of Scotland, researching a book I have yet to finish. After dinner one evening I rambled over to an area of rough ground and cliffs on the coast, hoping to snatch a photograph of the sun setting over the ocean as it circled to New Zealand for the night. I settled down on protruding rocks and waited for the red sky. Camera at the ready.

As things turned out, the sunset was not shaping out to be the spectacular event I had hoped for. I urged myself to be patient, all good things come to those who wait. And wait I did, lost in my own thoughts as I gazed out onto the magnificent, rugged, remote, lonely coastline, holding back the vastness of the Atlantic ocean.

My reverie was brought to an abrupt stop by a dull clout across the back of my head.

I swung round to see what had happened.

An Arctic Skua was swinging up and away from me. As I watched it soar into the sky I received my next shock, a second clout on my head, again from behind. I had not seen the first bird and I certainly had not seen its strike partner. They circled above as they scrutinised me and worked out their next move.

I gave up on my ‘photograph of the year’ thoughts at that point and sat still, observing my circling attackers.

Not for long. Without warning one dived and struck out at my head, catching my raised arm. I closed my eyes and ducked. An instant later the second swooped and again hit its target, the top of my head. Their ‘air raid’ continued for the next few minutes as they relentlessly dive-bombed my bobbing head. Eventually they eased off and settled on a nearby rocky outcrop to observe my reaction.

They were a pair of Arctic Skua, or as they are named in the USA, Parasitic Jaeger, stercorarius parasiticus.

I had obviously blundered into their territory and was too close to their recent hatchlings and the reception I got was their way of saying, get off our land.

The Right to Roam Legislation in Scotland meaning nothing to them.

As I retreated from their domain, I was able to snatch a few poor, photographs of them, either on the ground or circling near me. As I watched them flying I was reminded of the old British warplane, the Buccaneer.

a rest between attacks as they discuss tactics

Artic skuas feed mainly by kleptoparasitism, taking food from other seabirds. They will also hunt for their own, fish, rodents, small birds, mammals and eggs. They are sturdy birds, typically about 18 inches body length with a four foot wingspan.

I read somewhere that the word “skua” comes from the Old Norse term for seagull. As winter approaches they vacate Scotland and head south to the Southern Hemisphere before reappearing about April the following year to breed.

As I continued my ‘retreat’ and had reached the cover of a shallow gulley, which I followed. I breathed a sigh of relief as I thought, ‘safe now, I am out of their sight’.

All is quiet, peace reigns and I continue my retreat with care, down a narrow rocky edge.

They have seen me off, they had won and I had retreated. Safe at last.

The final clout on the back of my head came as a bit of a surprise and it took me all my time and circus skills to stop cartwheeling over the edge. Just one last reminder.

Brilliant.

I am so impressed by these fearless birds. They are beautiful creatures and real characters. It was my privilege to be allowed so near them. The photographs, a bit snatched and hazy, evidence the whole process, from surveillance to attack.

Sad to relate, as I write this piece, their very existence seems in peril and they are, certainly in Britain, on the endangered list. I wish them well.

2

Arctic Skua Attack

Pigeons and Police

Being Alive with Mountains.