The online presence of Tim Collier. Photographer, course leader, lecturer and blogger.
Our last full day on the island. Early morning saw us visit the Abbey and Abbey museum, before any of the boats arrived from the mainland. It was wonderful to have it all to ourselves and be able to savour the special atmosphere that pervades in and around the buildings. Later in the day it would become the tourist honey pot that it is, but for now we were the only people there.
The south of the island, like the Abbey, is intrinsically linked with St. Columba. A walk across the rougher part of the island past loch Staonaig, which at one time supplied Iona with its fresh water, will take you to Columba’s Bay.
Up to the north yet again in the afternoon and the rain got heavier and heavier. On the sands at Boundary Strand the Sanderling were back and two Knot appeared from somewhere over Calf Island. They were struggling against the increasing wind and now persistent rain.
The forecast was right! Early morning it was threatening and getting darker with the wind beginning to strengthen. I like these conditions even if it can make photography a little challenging.
With the weather still holding and a wet day forecast for the morning, I took the road out to the north of the island again in the afternoon. The white sands of Strand of the Seat were pulling me back, the waders had gone but the waves were turning beautifully on the sands.
Fingal’s Cave
The morning was all about a trip out to Staffa and Fingal’s cave. We’d rescheduled it as the weather on the following day did not look too promising. We got it right, although I do really prefer dramatic sea conditions but the boats simply won’t run on such days!
Perhaps the highlight of the day for me, although the landscape views across to Mull and beyond were very special, was coming across a small group of waders on Traigh-na-Criche (Boundary Strand) on the north of the island.
So the afternoon came with heavy showers before settling down to a fine day with a good breeze. It’s about a mile and a half from where we were staying to the north of the island, passing the ruins of the Nunnery and the iconic and atmospheric Abbey, which I would visit at length on another day.
On our first morning I was out before 7.00am to begin to get to know the island and walked over to the west coast and on to the machair, although not many wild flowers at this time of the year! The machair also forms the golf course and hosts the annual Iona Open at the end of August, but I only saw two people on it all week! The Bay at the Back of the Ocean holds a mix of sand and pebbles and is also home to ‘The Spouting Cave’. The best ‘blows’ are seen on a mid tide with a good sea running. We had the mid tide and even with a less than angry sea, it was still an impressive sight.
As soon as we got over to the island, (we had taken a cottage with two good friends) and after dumping our belongings, I was out to the coast overlooking the Sound of Iona. It was wonderfully empty of people and with a week ahead I was full of anticipation of what the island might offer up. Scotland is nothing without the ubiquitous ‘Hoodie’ (Hooded Crow) and there were plenty here. The previous week I’d tried to find the single ‘Hoodie’ that had spent at least the last two years on Walney, a note worthy bird for Cumbria, but failed. Here I hooked up with them again and would spend some time enjoying their striking plumage and seemingly individual antics, and indeed, personalities.
I’d been to Iona once before. It was a bit of a stressful day as I remember it! We were on a family holiday north of Oban and decided to ‘do the tour’ from Oban over to Mull, then Iona. I recall that we all felt like cattle being herded from one form of transport to another, then another and so on all day long.
We travelled from Walney to Oban on the Friday, stayed in a B&B and then headed over to Mull on the Saturday morning ferry. A flypast Arctic Skua was a bonus between the mainland and Mull, with dozens of Kittiwakes and the odd winter Guillemot.
Migrants kept passing through as the week went on and the Swallows kept pulsing in large numbers. Meanwhile off shore Eiders were undergoing their annual moult and further out Common Scoters could be observed in small flocks every so often.
All our other days on the island saw temperatures into the mid to high twenties with no weather systems to help us. Nonetheless we enjoyed slowly clocking up the numbers and getting some fine views of the regulars. High tide brought in some of the Atlantic Grey Seals and on occasions they can number up to 500. Last year, however, they were disturbed by dogs off their leads, which resulted in some of the seals abandoning the site. Their is no access onto the beach at anytime of the year.
The first morning dawned bright before a heavy fog engulfed the Island. Greenshanks appeared to be everywhere along side the edges of the gravel pits – 20 counted on one pit alone. Other waders making use of the pools were good numbers of Dunlin, Redshank and small numbers of Curlew and Turnstone. 3,000 Oystercatchers with a few Bar-tailed Godwit were out on the sands of the estuary. A few migrants were a passing through but most notable was a large movement of Swallows, 5,000+
Over two weeks in September I stayed on two vastly differing islands, for the first week it was Walney Island and the second week Iona. One well populated and in England, the other an island of pilgrimage in the Inner Hebrides. Two Islands – Two worlds.
Slimbridge is a place that I can never get tired of. It holds a special place in my memory as one of the first reserves where I can remember feeling that birds were going to be an important part of my life. We stopped there as a family on the way back from a holiday on the south coast. I was about 12 at the time and the bird I remember most was the Long-tailed Tit. I’d never set eyes on them before and seeing them working their way through the willows was a seminal experience for me.
In the last couple of weeks I’ve spent some time with the Purple Sandpipers that spend the winter on our rocky shores down here in South Wales, the wintering population of Britain is roughly estimated at about 16,000. They’re a bird that feeds and roosts in the littoral zone and often as close to the surf as possible, rarely venturing above the high tide line.
