Handa

The next day's itinerary is less busy: the only item on the agenda is Handa. As a result, the start of the day is a bit more relaxed; there's plenty of time to gawp at the pair of Red-throated Divers looking for their breakfast in the bay.

Pronoun guidance: AB1 is up early enough to spot the divers, as ever. This post covers the events of July 3rd, 2018.

Tarbet

Handa island is just off the coast, ferries sail from Tarbet during the warmer months, which corresponds to the island being full of birds.

After a brief morning constitutional around Scourie, and a minor debate about the level of hurry required (there are only limited boat spaces, AB1 hates queuing, etc), we make it to Tarbet in reasonable time. We won't be on the first ferry of the day, but the second looks hopeful.

As we wait next to the jetty, a Great Skua floats over. That's a bit of an anticlimax; the whole Handa trip is to see Great Skua; they nest there. Still, a tick, can't complain.

The ferry arrives, and we undergo the usual land/sea transition of "it's nice and warm today" to "you know what, with the spray and the wind I'm glad I brought my jacket". A few short minutes later, and we're there.

Handa Island

We arrive on another ridiculously good-looking beach. This does manage to fill our shoes with sand on our way to the information hut, unfortunately.

After a brief use of the facilities and some stashing of unnecessary layers in the hut, we head off on the path towards the centre of the island.

The path is deadly for birders. To stop it interfering too much in the drainage of the island, frequent canals a foot across and deep have been cut into it. I spend the first ten minutes narrowly avoiding them. Finally, with a fit of swearing, a misstep drops me in one. Walking and looking are going to have to be strictly separated activities for a time; and that's difficult given how much is going on.

It's not too long before we're alongside an area that's pockmarked with nesting Skuas. They're highly territorial, but unlike the terns on the Farnes, have managed to work out that nesting right next to the path and that territoriality is incompatible. The sky is full of skuas that look like they could attack at any moment, but they conspicuously don't.

The views are very good. We're both struck by the oddness of going from "never seen this bird before" to "everything I can see is this bird". This includes the birds soaring in the air above us, too. Mad.

We just about manage to tear ourselves away from this area and further up the hill to the West. A cheerful pair of Stonechat accompany us, and another pair of skuas peer down from a rock at the top. Once we're at the top we're probably five or ten minutes from the first cliffs. More skuas. This time having a bit of a barney while floating about on a lake. For variety, one or two Red-throated Divers perform a flyover.

We reach the clifftop. Time for a sit down and a snack. Below us, thousands upon thousands of birds do the same. The smell and the noise is overwhelming. More time is spent taking terrible photos of Fulmar fly-bys.

The scale of the cliff colonies here is hard to describe. We walk around the West side of the island and it's non-stop; the cliffs look like futuristic cityscapes, but the residents are birds and the lighting is mostly guano. This is BBC nature documentary quality wildlife.

Our state of whelmedness is probably not being helped by the continuing unScottish sunshine; it's not a flat walk, and we've been on the go for a couple of hours already. The second half of the walk feels (and is) quicker, to our relief. There's much less to look at - a pod of dolphins offshore is the only event of note. Searches along the coastline for White-tailed Eagle is made rather tricky by the extensive heat haze. We feel like we've seen what we've come here to see, and want to get on.

This isn't helped by us missing a boat back to the shore by about two minutes. Oh well. A brief paddle in the sea from the "no-one will ever believe this is in Scotland" beach won't do us any harm, I suppose.

The boat back cools us down nicely, and we settle down on a picnic bench above the harbour to have lunch proper. The crofts around the picnic area once again fail to contain any Twite, despite Gordon's assurances. We're starting to wonder if they exist at all.

Bits and pieces

The remainder of the day is tickless, but still worthy of comment. Two further Red-throated Divers and a stupendous view are obtained in Kylesku. A pleasant walk in the sun ("I am too hot now; why did you let me wear this outfit?" - AB2) occurs on one of the nature reserves in Little Assynt. Lochinver is roundly ignored (it's neither lunch nor dinnertime) and a herd of cows are the only real impediment to our progress via "the wee mad road".

We exit said road onto the Coigach peninsula and head West. A Short-eared Owl buzzes us as we drive along Loch Osgaig! We just about keep the car on the road surface. A passing caravan driver glares at us from the other side of the road. Ahem.

A little further along, Gordon advises us to scan a pair of Lochs for Black-throated Diver. The nearest one, Loch Ra, delivers. This time the light is behind us, and the plumage is properly on show. What a smart looking bird! One of the main reasons for a Summer trip was to catch the bird in its breeding plumage; this quality of view vindicates that part of the plan, at least. Further admiring oohs and aahs occur once we have the 'scope set up; it's still too far away for decent photos though.

A short drive round to Altandhu, an abortive attempt at seawatching (be warned, Reiff is rife with people who are hostile to anyone not from Reiff ever managing to park there) and a remarkable penalty shoot out victory are all that remain in the day.