![]() The view from the dining room is a lesson in painting perspective. We come across scat that looks like pomegranate seeds and I wonder where I am, this magical place that seems so unreal, then remember J.M. I realise I have not actually heard the squelch of mud before, my foot has not sunk through ground so saturated with water that the very sound of it is comical, the warmth of it hugging my shoes, almost up to my ankle. There is the wet snap of twigs, tree trunks carpeted in plush green moss, the rush of waterfalls. We join in the doing, shake off yawns like errant mosquitos, and hike the island. The mornings are punctuated by the sounds of doing: Vanessa’s Duolingo notifications, bathroom doors opening and closing, five eager dogs scampering about. Clear water will suddenly seem unnatural, an unfortunately wan iteration of something that could be golden. By the end of the week I will find it strange to drink or bathe in water that isn’t ochre. The water goes through the peat, Vanessa tells me, pouring me some. It is tinted a very pale brown, but looks brilliantly gold because of the light shining through the large windows. When I arrive, I think the water is wine. The original pair reared a further two single chicks up until 2017 This was not confirmed as the tree wasn't climbed but the prey remains and activity at the nest suggested that there was a high likelihood that this new pair bred successfully. The original birds paired up in 2010 and I thought that they fledged their first chick that year. As the original female was 'unmarked' it is impossible to say what happened to the original female. The current female is untagged and has no leg rings, as was her predecessor. The tag on the other wing came off completely some years ago. Most of the wing tag has now broken off but in certain lights you can see one small remainder of the tag folded over on the left underwing. The male is wing tagged White 'L' who was hatched on Mull in 2007. In those days there were far fewer sea eagles and the release programme was still underway. The early years of monitoring throughout the 1980s was mainly under contract to RSPB when my 'beat' was from the North coast of Knoydart to the Sound of Mull and into the Great Glen. Instead, I followed a waterfall up the hill, skirting the bulk of pine trees that surrounded the main house, and headed for the highest peak on Sensing that I would be met with something special there, I decided to save them for later - like the last sausage. On the day after arriving on the island - a night’s sleep in a good bed righting the wrongs of the sleeper train - I headed out to see the trees. The second is the opposite that wood is the pine woodland on the hillside of the tidal island, Eilean Shona. An ever-fracturing, ever-changing, morphous world that consumes its visitors, spins them around, then spits them out onto the B-roads. It is home to quick-eyed crows, to fingernail shrimp that sprint silently beneath the waterline. A place where ivy and blackthorn vie for any frond of light, where calamitous trees fall, bridging muddy streams, then lie deathly for weeks before exploding in new growth. The first, Moseley Bog, is a fifteen-minute walk from my home, and one of the most frenetic woodlands around. I have stood in two woods where I have lost my sense of up and down, left and right, forwards and back. My luggage, plus my Morrison’s food order were put onto a small boat and we crossed the Loch to Eilean Shona where I was shown around and introduced to my lovely new home…. ![]() We drove for about an hour through an incredible landscape, all the way to the dock where I was met by Alistair and Boe. ![]() I was greeted at Fort William by Ewen who drives almost everyone to and from the Island. My little cabin was very snug, particularly as it was crowded by my very heavy luggage: a large suitcase full of tools and some clothes, a big rucksack with more tools and more warm clothes and a duffle bag with sundries, plus a big roll of paper. I woke up early to see the beautiful sunrise over the Scottish landscape whizzing by. It was dark when I left Euston Station on Feb 28th on the Caledonian Sleeper. It is a breath-taking place, with so many different landscapes packed close together. I am back from my residency on the small island Eilean Shona off the West Coast of Scotland where I spent the whole month of March.
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