Golden Eagle memories. Nov 2009
12th November 2009
(Above) - The resident female.
Golden eagle days, by James Macdonald, kindly edited for punctuation by Angus Martin.
As I sit here typing on a cold, wet winter’s evening, I find my thoughts drifting ten miles south-west to a wild and lonely part of the south Kintyre coast, a place I call The corrie.
It is a place of huge contrasts, from delicate and rare alpine flowers and beautiful soft evenings alive with singing Ring Ouzels, to tumultuous seas, screaming winds, death and cruelty, all loftily and imperiously presided over by the mighty Golden Eagle.
The corrie is a strange place, remote, desolate, some even say sinister.
Its towering dark slopes of grassy scree, and vast striated sea cliffs, supplemented aurally by the roaring of the wild Atlantic - a ceaseless background accompaniment, only occasionally pierced by the wild echoing cry of a Herring gull or the Raven's harsh croak - can understandably make people uneasy.
It provokes a strong reaction, some love it for its tranquility and its splendid isolation, but others seem to be disturbed by those very qualities.
I, not surprisingly, fall into the first category. I love the fact that the mobile phone is next to useless there, and that the nearest houses visible are in a different country (The north of Ireland), but most of all I love the Corrie because the aforementioned Golden Eagles thrive there.
Ever since I was a child I have been fascinated by birds, but the day I saw my first Golden Eagle somehow everything changed.
I can’t really put into words exactly why I find them so appealing.
Perhaps it’s just the sheer size of the animal.
A large female Golden Eagle can have, and often does have, a wingspan of some seven feet.
That is about the same size - or height, to be more accurate - of the average household front door.
When one of these Titans of the bird world chooses to fly over your head, you can’t fail to be impressed.
However, I think it has more to do with the fact that they happen to live near me; not only that, but live in what is probably my favourite place in Great Britain.
I first visited the area in the mid-eighties as a child.
I was introduced to, it as I was to so many interesting places and ideas, by a family friend who became a huge influence in my life, and to this day continues to be so.
Being very young at the time, I don’t recall a great deal about that first visit.
I do, however, remember being made slightly nervous by the imposing surroundings, and I hazily recall a small black dot high in the sky being pointed out to my eager young eyes, and being told something like, ‘See that wee speck up there? That’s a Golden Eagle, Jimmy.’
The spell had been cast, the fuse of my interest in all things ornithological, already smouldering, had been well and truly ignited.
Over the next thirty or so years, my love of birds would wax and wane but never die completely.
Life is full of distractions.
Family and work, girlfriends, alcohol, and many other (in hindsight) silly things got in the way of my initial passion; but when I reached my late twenties/early thirties, that dormant spark of interest rekindled itself, and I found myself well and truly smitten once more.
I think the main catalyst for my renewed interest probably came with the purchase of a video camera in 2002.
Inspired by nature documentaries, I harboured grand visions of filming wild birds in wild places, but, as I soon found out, doing such a thing isn’t as easy as one would imagine.
Nevertheless, a few days after the camera arrived, I made my way out to the corrie with high hopes of filming a Golden eagle in its native environment.
I remember it being an icy cold and frequently squall-filled sort of morning in early February, admittedly not really the type of day that particular place welcomes you with open arms.
In fact, if I recall correctly, I had to try to seek shelter in the glen, the wind being so strong it threatened to blow me off my feet. Even at a thousand feet or so, and three quarters of a mile from the ocean, errant fragments of sea-foam floated past my head, a reminder, if one were needed, of the sheer raw power of wind and sea on this wild, exposed coast.
As I sat perched uncomfortably on the damp Greater wood rush, miserably eating a sandwich and wondering if it wouldn't be a better idea to turn for home,
I became aware of a movement above me.
When I gazed up into the now brighter sky, a large female Golden Eagle returned my gaze from around fifty feet up. I can’t begin to fathom why this most beautiful and rare of birds sometimes decides that a human being is something of interest and deserves further investigation; after all, our species has ruthlessly persecuted not only Golden Eagles, but many other species of birds and animals for centuries. I can’t explain it, but it is a fact that any Golden Eagle enthusiast will confirm, and a fact that I for one am very grateful for.
With freezing hands, I shakily filmed her for around fifteen minutes, as she wheeled in slow languid circles above my position, sometimes further away and then approaching closer, but always returning to a spot just above.
She was seemingly oblivious to the ferocity of the howling gale that had chased me into the shelter of the glen.
Gusts must have been reaching sixty miles an hour in the squalls, but that didn’t seem to trouble her in the least.
Then, with a scarcely detectable dip of her enormous wings, she tired of her brief fascination with the rather wet earthbound creature below, and was gone, hastening like an avenging angel to the north, perhaps having spied, from her lofty station, something of greater interest than yours truly.
When I finally reached home that night and replayed the tape on the television, I again marvelled at her beauty.
The sail-like mottled tawny brown wings; the huge tail fanning to best adjust her position in the wind; the imperious reptilian head, beautifully streaked with the golden plumage which gives the bird its name, and those incredible amber eyes balefully peering straight into mine.
I returned on a few more occasions with the camcorder, and I actually managed to repeat the success of that wild day in February more than once.
The time which sticks most in my mind, however, was a trip there on a stunning day in early September 2002.
I was accompanied by two good friends, one of whom was visiting the corrie for the first time.
He looked at me sceptically as I made him extravagant promises of Golden Eagle sightings, but, true to form, as we arrived at the cliff edge, batting away millions of midges, it seemed, the female Eagle soon appeared overhead.
She soared effortlessly on the thermals rising from the limestone cliffs below, then, to our delight, and to my sceptical friend’s disbelief, she was joined by an angry and very vocal Peregrine Falcon. This most powerful and rapid of avian killers – reputedly the world’s fastest animal - was made to look cumbersome as the much larger bird easily dodged its frantic efforts to drive her off.
Eventually the Eagle made off northwards towards ''the corrie'' a huge natural amphitheatre gouged from the side of a nearby fifteen hundred foot peak.
Its seemingly effortless turn of speed achieved by using what wildlife author Mike Tomkies described as the ‘golden ball flying technique’ - the spectacular closed winged stoop used in courtship and territorial display, and sometimes apparently just for fun.
That particular day will long live in the memory, for its brilliant sunshine and repeated sightings of Golden Eagles, and also of the many other fascinating birds and animals which inhabit this coast.
Once again, this time owing to work commitments, visits to the corrie were somewhat curtailed for a couple of years.
They started again in earnest, with the purchase of a DSLR camera in 2008.
(Above) - The smaller male Golden eagle.
