Golden Eagle diary summer 2008

(above) the Northern male.


GOLDEN EAGLES IN SOUTH KINTYRE by James MacDonald, kindly edited for punctuation by Angus Martin.

In my spare time over the course of the spring, summer, and autumn of 2008, I have been lucky enough to get to know my local golden eagle population at some length. I certainly don't claim to be an infallible expert on these birds, but my liking for walking in the wild places of south Kintyre allows me to make observations* on Golden eagles, and other birds that the less mobile amateur ornithologist - or photographer probably wouldn't be able to make.

During these observations, I have seen some spectacular and unforgettable sights, always with the dramatic Atlantic coastline of south-west Kintyre as a sometimes peaceful, sometimes hostile background. The following is a short account of this time.


*Never approaching nest sites in breeding season.



PART ONE.

When in the Spring of 2008 whilst accompanied by a good friend I passed through the area the southern pair of Golden Eagles occupy - I suspected from the behaviour of the birds that they had young nearby.
Two years earlier, in July of 2006, and with the same friend, we had been astounded, in that exact area, to see an almost fully-grown eaglet staring avidly down at us from what we had taken to be a long-abandoned eyrie high above the sheep path upon which we walked.
I say astounded, as these particular eagles were not known to have bred successfully.

The adult birds that spring were acting in the same manner as they had been two years before, soaring high above us in great wide arcs, their golden heads gazing down anxiously, seemingly hoping that soon we would depart and leave them and their offspring to their wild and lonely domain.

As we had on the previous occasion, we exited the area very quickly, always mindful that disturbance to such rare and beautiful birds should be kept to an absolute minimum - and that by law a licence is required to observe breeding Golden eagles close to their nest sites.
We made our long weary way eastwards, trying to pick out remnants of an ancient road that wound its way through the rocks and scree, and constantly aware of two sets of eyes scrutinising us from above. We, on the other hand, were scrutinising the ground, for all around us in the short heather and young bracken were piles of white feathers, revealing that these particular Eagles were mainly preying on passing Gulls. This was probably not the best place to be a gull or almost any other bird for that matter.
Eagles will take birds ranging in size from the very small – Thrushes, Pipits and similar species - to the very large, the aforementioned Gulls, Ravens, and even the huge Gannet have all been recorded.
As well as Golden eagles that memorable day, we saw almost every diurnal raptor it is possible to see in Kintyre, Buzzards, Merlin, Hen harriers, Peregrine falcons and Kestrels, all making their presence felt. In fact, only the elusive (in south Kintyre) Sparrowhawk failed to put in an appearance.

As it turned out, with work commitments etc, it would be a while before I got back to this area, almost the end of summer in fact, but we will return to that later in the story.


PART TWO.

In South Kintyre we are very lucky to have at least two sites that support Golden eagles, both of which are wild, untamed places scarcely visited by human beings.

The southern Eagles occupy a large area of moorland and bog ideal for hunting Grouse and Hares, and also fringed with the dramatic sea cliffs which provide them with good safe nest sites.
The northern birds’ territory is much the same, the only difference being that this area is probably even more precipitous and awe-inspiring.

I say ‘birds’ when in fact I should say ‘bird’. One of the northern pair disappeared* a few years ago leaving just a large female alone. This bird would almost always reward the person game enough to make the long and difficult trek there with dramatic close-up views, often circling 100 feet or so above you, and evidently trying to figure out the strange creature below with binoculars trained on her awesome form.
I felt (admittedly foolishly) sorry for her being alone in this remote place. What had happened to her mate? Did she still feel her loss? Did she search the wild sea cliffs and bleak moorland hoping one day to find him?
Probably not, but being a human being, and one with foolish anthropomorthic tendencies, I did wonder.

I visited the Northern site one beautiful late August day, and sweating with the effort of the long walk in and plagued by persistent midges, I made my way to the edge of the great crags which surround the area.
I slowly peered over the edge and there she was circling below me, effortlessly riding the thermals rising from the scree slopes beneath. She quartered the countryside beneath her with her superb vision as I watched her for fully 10 minutes; noting how the sun had bleached her normally tawny plumage a light sandy colour, almost white in places.
It gave her an old, slightly washed out appearance, almost recalling an adult Sea Eagle; then with a great beat of her wings she tired of my observations and disappeared southwards like a golden arrow.

A few days later I returned, and as always made my way carefully to the edge, trying to keep a low profile and so not break the horizon.
Nothing stirred in the air, so I sat myself down in a little sheep-eroded hollow with a superb panoramic view and, as is usually the case, just waited.

There was a rock pinnacle adjacent to where I had settled myself, and as I waited hopefully for the Eagle to appear, and to pick out what I thought was a singing Ring Ouzel amongst the rocks, a female Merlin flew in at speed and landed on the rocky summit; then, seeing me, took off with a frightened squeak. Minutes’ later, the diminutive falcon was followed by a superb male Hen Harrier, almost angel-like against the drab greens and browns of this wild upland area.
Our eyes met, and he did almost exactly the same thing as the Merlin, although he managed to maintain a dignified silence!

Obviously, as these birds were flying in from the south, I was hidden to them, hidden all too briefly, alas, but I enjoyed a thrilling and rare close-up view none the less.
Next to pass were a small flock of Rock Doves flying at great speed, the wind making a strange roaring sound in their feathers.
In all the time that they were visible to me they stayed very close to the cliff faces, and so made themselves less of a target for the formidable Peregrine falcons who share this habitat.
Feral goats were also in evidence, the pungent musky odour of the Billies drifting up to my nostrils on the humid summer breeze.

Hours passed, and then, as is often the case, the harsh annoyed call of a Hooded crow alerted me to the possible appearance of a large raptor.
I scanned the area, and I soon realised that the crow was grounded high on a crag about half a mile away, and there sitting nonchalantly a few feet from the frantic corvid, and causing all the fuss, was a large dark Golden eagle who looked unfamiliar to me.


PART THREE.



A week or two before this I had visited the southern pair's area again.
I was buoyed by the news that the Eagles on Beinn an Tuirc 15 miles to the north had been successful in rearing two chicks.
This in itself was quite unusual as almost always in eagle broods the stronger of the two young will kill the weaker.
It is testament to the efforts of Natural Research Ltd and the Power Company involved, who have spent millions of pounds trying to restore habitat and game lost when the wind farm was established in the area, that this success was achieved. It is easy to be cynical about this venture, calling it an expensive publicity stunt to appease local wildlife enthusiasts or get on side people not in favour of renewable energy, but in my view two young Eagles raised is a success story, and money well spent.
It was a cold, changeable sort of day with mist and low cloud in spells, followed in even briefer spells by brilliant sunshine.
I made my way laboriously across the tussocky moorland to the cliff edges, disturbing yet another Merlin, busy hunting the numerous Meadow pipits and Skylarks, and also a large deer of indeterminate species, possibly one of the Red-Sika crosses that roam the moorland expanses. As I neared the drop-off, I slid on to my belly and crawled slowly to the edge.
There, as if on cue, circling in long sweeping arcs, was an eagle, but not just any eagle.
It had a white tail band and white wing markings - a juvenile bird.......

So, my earlier suspicions had been proved correct, the southern pair had indeed bred this year, to say I was pleased would probably be an understatement.
This meant that at least three young Golden eagles had been raised in Kintyre that summer. Little did I know there was more to come - and from an unexpected source.
As I watched him from at least a kilometre away, his suddenly changed demeanour seemed to indicate that he had spotted me on the horizon.
I had flattered myself that I was invisible to him, but these birds can see a field mouse twitch in the grass from hundreds of feet above so it is fair to say I was deluding myself.
Surprisingly though, instead of fleeing in the opposite direction, as one would expect from such a normally shy creature, he adjusted his sweeping circles, making them bigger, and taking him closer and closer to me.
It seemed he was a curious bird, and over the next week or two he proved this time and again.

As he got nearer to me he started to call.
Now, anyone who has heard a young eagle will be familiar with the sheer thrilling wildness of the sound.
It is not a particularly loud or impressive call, but when you know what is making that sound, and you are hearing it miles from anywhere, echoing off the vast cliffs and crags, the Atlantic ocean crashing in the background, it is truly magical, and so evocative of these wild places.
Soon the eagle’s glides were taking him within 100, 50 then 40 feet of me, always fixing me with his dark inscrutable eyes.
Was I the first human being he had ever seen close up? Quite possibly so. Finally tiring of his game, he alighted on a scree slope just below my position and continued to call plaintively.
After a few minutes, the two adults put in an appearance, and incredibly they too started to circle in a similar fashion to that of their offspring; firstly flying close to the youngster, who yelped all the louder as they passed, then at the other end of the circle passing by me, literally feet away from my precarious perch on the cliff edge.
At one point I attempted a photograph as the big female flew past, only to find she was too close for the zoom lens to focus on her form!
I consoled myself that I had plenty of other pictures taken that day of all the eagles, and, as daylight was now beginning to fade, I decided it was time to make my long way home and leave them in peace.
Unfortunately, being totally absorbed in my close encounter with the birds, I hadn't noticed that the mist had closed in behind me, and I had a few anxious moments on the featureless moorland before I finally gained the safety of the road.


PART FOUR.



As I remarked earlier, the bird sitting on the crag in the northern territory was unfamiliar to me.

This ''new'' Eagle was a uniform dark-brown colour, totally different to the sun- and rain-bleached female I was used to. It was also a sleeker, tidier looking bird. In all the walks I had undertaken here in the recent past, I had only ever seen her, and she was unmistakable, so who was the stranger? As I watched the hooded crows dive-bomb their seemingly impassive nemesis, it occurred to me that this bird could be one of the southern birds cheekily hunting in the residents’ patch; after all, it was only five or six miles to the other territory - a breeze to these masters of the air.
In fact, I had heard whispers about there being more than one eagle present in the north, but I had dismissed the report as relating to sightings of the southern pair hunting a little further north than usual, more fool me.
All of this went through my mind, until the bird, finally having had enough of the hoodies’ incessant harrying, took to the air.
As it spread its almost seven-foot wingspan, I nearly fell off my precarious seat. It too had the white tail-band and wing coverts of a juvenile.
Naturally the first thought to go through my head was - 'Wow, that southern youngster gets about!' ,or something slightly less polite, but as he/she neared me, the smile on my face grew wider and wider.

As well as on the wings and tail, this bird had a large patch of white on its nape and breast. There was no doubt about it - this was a different juvenile from the southern bird. The question remained: where on earth had it come from?
Now, in a perfect world, the old female would appear over the horizon - accompanied by a handsome new mate, and off the three birds would disappear together into the sunset....the end.

Well, unfortunately this didn't happen. Actually, I didn't see her that day at all.

In fact, the youngster flew northwards into the fading blue sky until he was out of sight; he returned ten minutes later, heralded by his escort of corvine tormentors, and accompanied by yet another dark and unfamiliar Goldie.
I looked on as the two birds soared back and forth above the huge natural amphitheatre on the edge of which I was seated. I had so many questions.
Was the old female the mother of this juvenile? Was the other bird her new mate? Or could there possibly be a new pair altogether? From a purely sentimental point of view, I hoped her loneliness was finally over.
As late summer turned to autumn, I continued to visit the area, always hoping to see the three birds together, but never doing so.
In fact, on my last two visits I didn't find any eagles at all.
However, others have, one trusted source claiming to have seen four birds there! An amazing, unexpected and heart-warming turnaround from the situation as I had thought it.

PART FIVE.



On one of my last visits to the southern pair's territory, the young bird again proved he was indeed a very curious and inquisitive individual.
Autumn was now well and truly under way, and I knew that the juvenile would soon be off on his way to look for a territory of his own.
So, when a rare day off during the week dawned warm and dry, I wasn't going to waste the opportunity to get back out there.
I was accompanied by a friend, who had never seen a Golden eagle before, he was in for a treat.
As we hiked to the spot I had visited previously, we startled an adult male eagle from his perch on a large boulder overlooking the moorland.
Golden eagles spend a lot of time just sitting and watching opportunistically from perches like this, and I'm sure the last thing he expected to appear around the corner was a pair of sweaty, slightly breathless human beings. Anyway, this was a good start to the day and I was feeling positive about what else we might see when we finally arrived at the cliffs.

We sighted the juvenile bird moments later; again he was soaring in long slow, and slightly wobbly circles high above our heads.
As we watched, he started to descend more and more, until finally he was close enough for us to hear the air roaring through his huge primaries.
As before he seemed fascinated by these strange intruders into his world, and soon, to our delight, he was grounded on a rock outcrop merely 40 feet or so from us.
We watched, suitably awed, as he sat blinking on his rocky perch, and then - framed by blaeberry bushes and heather - he unconcernedly began to preen, possibly still trying to dislodge any of the white baby down left over from his recent nest days.
We smiled, as with a start - he would pause his careful preening occasionally to look up and make sure we hadn't changed our position.
I knew that I probably would never get closer to a wild Golden eagle, so I didn't waste the opportunity to get a few photographs,
one of which, taken as he finally took to the air, huge wings spread wide and talons hanging, I will treasure for ever.

The journey home in the late evening sunshine was a joy, with more Golden eagles and the seemingly ubiquitous Merlin, well supplemented by a juvenile Hen harrier (ring-tail), and a fine Kestrel, suspended in the air searching the grasslands below for voles.
Stonechat, Twite and Ravens were also seen in abundance.

I visited that area on a few more occasions, but never repeated the magical experiences of late August and September.
On my last two trips, undertaken in the deteriorating early Winter weather, only the adult birds were seen.
It seemed the youngster, who had provided me with so much entertainment over the last three months, had gone on to find his own Kingdom. I wonder where he will end up?



* Around the same time this bird disappeared, a male Golden Eagle was found dead a few miles away.

In an almost unbelievable story, the bird was killed feeding from a sheep and a fox electrocuted by a wind-felled power line. Tempted down by the carrion, he too met the same nasty fate.

This bird’s story was far from over, though. After it was recovered, it was then stuffed - and is now on display in Campbeltown Heritage Centre.

James MacDonald November 2009.

(Above)- The ''new'' northern male glides past a suprised ewe.

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