Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts

Monday, 1 August 2022

The Endless Immensity of the Sea - music for National Marine Week 2022

I have a music project that I've been working on for several years, producing mostly instrumental tracks inspired by nature, space, sometimes even by cycling. As a marine biologist, I take a lot of inspiration from the deep blue parts of our one and only home planet Earth. This week (actually being run over two weeks to make use of the differing tide times around the UK) is the UK's Wildlife Trusts' National Marine Week, encouraging awareness and celebration of our fantastic marine environment and its amazingly diverse wildlife.


It seemed an ideal opportunity for me to pull together, into a single playlist, all the music I've produced over the years that has been inspired by the sea, and the wildlife and people in and upon it, and even the exciting possibility of life under the ice on moons of Saturn and Jupiter, out there in the Solar System.







You can listen to the playlist on my Soundcloud site:



Click on the above image or HERE to listen to the playlist.

Monday, 25 July 2022

Tiger Sharks (Dick's tale)

As I’ve restarted my blog (after an absence  of six years) with a shark-related post, here’s another one regarding a piece of music I produced, based around an old sailor's account of an attack by tiger sharks. 

I produced this track about four years ago, and shared it on my Soundcloud site, but my blog was on hold at the time.

On the sound file sharing site Freesound, I came across a remarkable recording of an old sailor telling the tale of the day his captain fell overboard from his sailing ship in the South China Sea (freesound.org/people/dinger154/sounds/396518/ ). 

I contacted the Freesound member who had shared it (dinger154), asking about the sailor and his accent. Dinger 154 replied:

"All the old English sailors had a generic accent that never did identify exactly where they came from. They picked it up over the years of just speaking to each other, similar thing happened in the Army. This old boy's name was Dick. I met him in a pub in Portsmouth 40 years ago when he must have been about 80 years old. One of the last old proper sailors. He had skin burned mahogany colour by the sun and more wrinkles than your grandma."

I found the story incredibly evocative and compelling, and produced this tune incorporating Dick's tale.

https://soundcloud.com/cottishatureboy/tiger-sharks-dicks-tale?utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing









No doubt Dick is long gone (he'd be maybe 120 by now) and I am very grateful to dinger154 for sharing his old recording (with Creative Commons 0 licence) and preserving Dick's voice and story for posterity.

My tune also incorporates a recording of gulls shared by another Freesound member, acclivity, (freesound.org/people/acclivity/sounds/38956/ under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC 3.0) Licence) and another by laurent, of the creaking rope of a moored boat (freesound.org/people/laurent/sounds/15553/ also shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC 3.0) Licence). The Chinese-sounding instrument is a simulated pipa playing a Japanese scale, that I played and recorded through Garageband.

The location that Dick mentions is Zamboanga in the Philippines. I love the way his old sailor's voice pronounces it as 'Zambawanger'.

The story's pretty grim but life was hard before the mast, and full of dangers!

Saturday, 23 July 2022

The Hunting of the Shark, subtitled An Agony in 2 Fits: Fit The First*

FIT THE FIRST*

"We have sailed many months, we have sailed many weeks,
(Four weeks to the month you may mark),
But never as yet ('tis your Captain who speaks)
Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark!"
(From: 'The Hunting of the Snark' by Lewis Carroll)

Where to begin? Perhaps in the words of 'The Sound of Music':

'Let's start at the very beginning, A very good place to start...'

I have never seen a Basking Shark.

I realise I'm not alone in that gap in my experience. After all, the Basking Shark, although the second largest fish and shark species on the planet (after the Whale Shark), is a sea-living giant, often spending winter months offshore or in deeper waters. Even when it comes closer to Britain and Ireland's coasts in summer time, it is usually off less populated parts of our west coasts. But it does sometimes come REALLY close inshore. With a typical adult basking shark reaching 7.9 metres in length (that's 26 feet in old money - longer than four six-foot-tall fridges laid end-to-end!) and the largest being over 12 metres, plus a stonking great big dorsal fin sticking up out of its back, people do often see them as they cruise slowly around, feeding at the surface of the sea. Top spotting locations around the British coast are Devon and Cornwall, around the Isle of Man and up and down the west coast of Scotland, particularly around the Inner Hebrides. But I've never seen one.

A bit of background basking shark biology follows: Basking sharks (given the scientific name Cetorhinus maximus) are found all around the world, generally in the temperate oceans. They, like Whale Sharks and only one other species of shark (the Megamouth Shark), are filter feeders that eat zooplankton, other invertebrates and very small fish. They cruise slowly through denser patches of plankton with their huge mouth open, forcing seawater out through their gills and trapping their tiny prey on specialised structures on their gills, before swallowing them. Their name comes from their habit of swimming slowly at the sea's surface, feeding as they go, thus looking like they are basking in the sun. Of the many other names basking sharks have been given, the  commonly used name ‘sun-fish’ also reflects this habit of surface feeding in sunny, calm weather.

Basking shark filter-feeding near the surface
(Photo via <a href="https://www.goodfreephotos.com/">Good Free Photos</a>)

Basking sharks have a giant liver, running the length of their body, weighing up to 25% of body weight and packed with rich fish oil. For an average adult basking shark, weighing about 4 and a half tons, that makes for a liver weighing over one ton! This huge weight and volume of oil in the body had led to their historical exploitation through harpoon-based (and other) fisheries, as well as for their skin, meat and fins. The oil was largely used for lighting lamps (not unlike the history of whaling for whale oil). The resultant historical killing has led to significant declines in the populations of these slow-growing, slow-maturing, long-lived, gentle, ocean giants.

Globally, the World Conservation Union, the IUCN, has listed the basking shark as an Endangered species since 2018. Basking sharks are still at risk globally because of the value of their fins to shark-fin fisheries (surely one of the most unsustainable catches of all time), for which they are directly targeted. Quoting a BBC article on basking sharks, they are 'also at risk of propeller damage from collision with boats and of entanglement in fishing gear, particularly the lines for static gear such as pots and creels for catching lobsters and crabs'. Concern over their status in Great Britain led to their legal protection under the Wildlife and Countryside Act (in 2000, although basking sharks were first named as a protected species on the Isle of Man under the Manx 1990 Wildlife Act).

Truly one of the most under-appreciated wonders of the seas around these Sceptr'd Isles.

The thing is, I've never seen one. So what? Well, the odds ought really to be skewed in my favour for incidental encounters, and not just on account of their enormous size. I am, by training, a marine biologist who grew up, studied, and have subsequently worked my whole career in Scotland; I've specialised in marine fish ecology; I've travelled extensively on Scotland's west coast and to its islands on the ferries of Caledonian MacBrayne, for work and pleasure; I've spent survey time on boats and on the coast up and down the west coast and on the Hebridean and northern islands; I even travelled right around the north, west and south coasts of Ireland one summer. Every chance I get, I will swim in the sea (for fun).

And I've never run across a basking shark. In fact, I keep missing them. Sometimes by minutes.

Earliest ‘encounter’

I think the first time I came across the basking shark was on television sometime in the 1970s, in the 1969 film 'Ring of Bright Water', starring Bill Travers and Virginia McKenna. 'Ring of Bright Water' is a story about a Londoner and his pet otter living on the Scottish coast. Although the story is fictional, it is is adapted from the 1960 autobiographical book of the same name by British naturalist and author Gavin Maxwell. In his attempt to find food for his ever-hungry otter, the hero harpoons a basking shark, cuts it up and freezes it (only to find that the otter won't touch it). In fact, this storyline echoes Maxwell's actual failed attempt of trying to establish a basking shark fishery based on the Isle of Soay (which he had purchased) near Skye between 1945 and 1948. The experience was described subsequently in his 1952 book: 'Harpoon At A Venture'.

In the film there is actual footage of a basking shark (apparently filmed in the Firth of Lorne), purportedly swimming under the hero's rowing boat.

Screenshot of basking shark from the film 'Ring of Bright Water'

He returns later and harpoons a basking shark, kills it and cuts it up on the beach, before transferring it to an old freezer that he has bought. As a real, dead basking shark was shown (see below) being cut up on the shore (following a close-up shot of a harpoon in a real basking shark), I can only assume it was harpooned and killed for the film company by one of the existing Scottish basking shark fishermen of the time. I remember the sense of unfairness I felt in my boyhood breast at the time about the shark being killed and its flesh wasted for nothing (although a fictional account, a real shark was clearly killed).


Cutting up the poor bloody shark in 'Ring of Bright Water'
(Screenshots from the film)

The tagging of the shark

I actually got my first potential professional involvement in basking sharks off to a nearly-flying start. In 1996, I was working for Scotland's statutory nature conservation agency, Scottish Natural Heritage (SNH), in the marine and coastal conservation section. On the departure of a colleague, I was asked to take over the role of SNH project manager for a proposed project that hadn't begun, namely a collaboration with two academics at Durham University, Drs Mark O'Connell and Tim Thom, to attempt tracking of basking sharks with satellite tags. SNH provided funding to purchase four satellite tags and the darts that would allow them to be attached to basking sharks, with the aim spending an experimental season finding out more about the behaviour and movements of the sharks around the Isle of Arran in the Firth of Clyde. As well as the tagging equipment, access was purchased, at an academic discount rate, to the Argos satellite run from Toulouse in France. My involvement, which commenced with a visit to Durham to meet Mark and Tim in early 1996, promptly ceased when I changed jobs and agencies in July 1996, moving on to the new Scottish Environment Protection Agency, and the project management role passed to one of my friends back in the SNH marine and coastal section. The subsequent field season around Arran in the summer of 1997 is well-described in detail in the lovely 2021 book: 'A Sea Monster's Tale: In search of the basking shark' by Colin Speedie.

Following on from pioneering Scottish basking shark tracking studies by Dr 'Monty' Priede from the Aberdeen Fisheries Laboratory some 14 years earlier, the Durham University/SNH collaboration was only the second attempt to track Scotland's basking sharks. Had I still be employed by SNH in 1997 and managing the contract, there is a great chance that I would have secured my first sightings of basking sharks then; the project used a network of volunteers (mostly Scottish Wildlife Trust members, and mostly based on headlands and promontories) to make 29 shark sightings that summer. The researchers made a total of five approaches by boat to attempt to tag basking sharks and, although there was success at attaching the tags to two sharks, there were problems with the equipment that meant that, ultimately little was learned about the behaviour of the sharks. Useful lessons were learned, though, about the process of approaching and tagging basking sharks.

I was pleased to discover that, many years later, Scottish Natural Heritage was involved in studies that generated much improved understanding of basking shark behaviour. Since 2012, SNH (now called Nature Scot) has been working with the University of Exeter to understand more about basking shark habitat use and behaviour using a variety of tagging technologies. A total of 61 satellite tags have been deployed on basking sharks, as part of the Nature Scot and University of Exeter partnership project to investigate their movements and results were published in Nature Scot's 2016 Research Report, as well as peer-reviewed scientific papers. Nature Scot was also involved in an international collaboration in 2019, using REMUS SharkCam - a sophisticated Autonomous Underwater Vehicle (AUV) designed, built and operated by the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in the USA, which generated some amazing underwater film of basking sharks swimming near the Isles of Coll and Tiree. All of the SNH/Nature Scot basking shark work since 2012 is available here.

Near misses

I think the first time I actually realised that I'd missed a great opportunity to see basking sharks was when my wife and I took our old campervan on the CalMac ferry to the Inner Hebridean islands of Coll and Tiree. This is when I first realised that the waters around these islands in summer are a real hotspot for basking sharks. On our first day on Coll, we visited the Post Office and, while Olivia was in buying postcards and stamps, I chatted in the warm summer sun to the Post Mistress's husband. He told me, unprompted, that there had been 37 basking sharks swimming in the harbour bay the week before. Missed by a week or so. Needless to say, the further pleasant, sunny week we spent on Coll and Tiree, and two further ferry trips, resulted in no shark sightings.

The Isle of Coll Post Office

On another campervan trip, this time in the 
Outer Hebrides, when we travelled in two gloriously sunny, calm and warm weeks from Vatersay in the south, to Lewis in the north, we were on the Barra to Eriskay ferry, and decided to sit on the top deck, leaving our wee terrier Ella in the van down on the vehicle deck. About halfway across, I went down to check on the dog and missed a basking shark which had surfaced briefly and was spotted by my wife (who is also a marine biologist). This one, I missed by about a minute. I should have stayed where I was.

The damned dog was fine. 

On a two week campervan holiday when we travelled around the Irish north-east, north, west and south coasts in high summer, no basking sharks were seen. On Achill Island, however, we took a trip out to the west end, to be informed at the beautiful bay at Keem, that there had been a basking shark swimming around the bay that morning.

But the most frustrating miss was surely on a campervan trip to northwest Scotland, when we were engaged on a seaweed survey for the plant charity, Plantlife Scotland. We were staying one evening in the campsite at the really beautiful Clachtoll Beach, and I donned my wetsuit and went for a late evening swim in the bay, with a beautiful sunset developing on the western horizon. After a great 20 minute swim, I went to the shower block and showered. As I came out of the shower block, a fellow camper approached me from the beach and said highly excitedly, in German-accented English: ‘Did you see the basking shark?’

Me: ???

‘Yes, it swam into the bay just now and swam around. It was wonderful. Amazing!’ It had appeared about five minutes after I got out and went for a shower. My fellow camper had been sitting on the promontory on the right of the above photo and had a great view of the shark. I’m very happy for him.

Clachtoll Bay, Sutherland, Highland Council ((c) Google Earth)

I used to jest that I thought basking sharks were just made up, a work of fiction. My failure to see them, a bit of a standing joke between my wife and me. But, with a fair wind, some sun and a bit of luck, I’m hopeful of a change in my fortunes on that front. My family have given me an amazing gift, in late August, of a three day visit on a boat based on the Isle of Coll, during peak basking shark season, to attempt the spotting of, and potentially swimming with, basking sharks. I’ll be joining a trip with Basking Shark Scotland (an eco-tourism business specialising in marine wildlife watching), and keeping everything crossed, with the aim of breaking my basking shark duck.

"Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice:
That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice:
What I tell you three times is true."
(From: 'The Hunting of the Snark' by Lewis Carroll)

I will find out soon enough if the sea around the Isle of Coll is indeed 'just the place' for a Shark - you'll have to await Fit The Second to find out! There are no guarantees. The trip will be great whatever happens, but we may see basking sharks, we may not. It’s such a beautiful area, with stunning seascapes and beaches, and packed with marine and island wildlife that, whatever happens, it will be an amazing experience and a real privilege to be there. There might be sharks and there might not. Watch this space…

[*Fit The First: in case you are wondering about this unusual phrase, I was tickled to discover that Lewis Carroll had made use of an archaic literary phrase for verses or chapters, namely ‘Fits’, in his poem, ‘The Hunting of the Snark’. I first encountered this use of ‘Fit’ in Douglas Adams’ adaptation of his books, ‘The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, for BBC radio. Each weekly episode was named as Fit The First, Fit The Second, etc. I’d always thought that this was just a conceit of his own but was delighted to learn, in reading around for this blog post, that he actually did it as a tribute to Carroll’s ‘The Hunting of the Snark’! I hope my Fit The Second, to follow my Coll trip, will not be in the nature of the agonies of The Hunting of the Snark!]


Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Happy birthday, Mr Audubon

 John James Audubon (April 26, 1785 – January 27, 1851) was a French-American ornithologist, naturalist, hunter and, most famously nowadays, a painter of birds. He painted, catalogued, and described the birds of North America in a manner far superior to any artist before him. Wikipedia provides a short and interesting summary of his life here.

To celebrate his 226th birthday (not a particularly notable or special anniversary, is it?), Google has produced a Google doodle for its home page today, based on his wonderful paintings (a well done to Google - a gold star for effort and good taste!):



Not sure of the copyright of this - the compilation may be (C) Google,
but may be out of copyright as his paintings are well outside of copyright age!


I used one of Audobon's paintings of the now-extinct North American Passenger Pigeon to illustrate an earlier post, here. I grew up very aware of his special talent and wonderful body of work, as Dad had and still has some modern reproductions of some of Audubon's gorgeous bird paintings. Much of Audubon's work can be viewed and explored online now, as U.S. museums and collections progressively put their collections (or images from them) onto online systems. For example, the Houghton Library at Harvard University has a John James Audubon Collection which can be seen online. An introduction to the collection is provided here, and the details and a view of each painting or drawing can be seen here.

Here's a lovely painting of North American blue jays to whet your appetite (Jono - keep your eyes open for these in Canada!):


Or go and google for images by Audubon and enjoy the feast of visual riches...

Monday, 21 March 2011

"Now is the Solstice of the year..."

[* Silly nature boy - while I was busy blogging about the summer solstice below, it was of course THE VERNAL EQUINOX! The solstices are the longest and shortest days and the equinoxes, as their Latin-originating name suggests, are the two days in Spring and Autumn when the day and night are each 12 hours long. I was wishing away the Spring, clearly, in anticipation of Summer's delights - apologies to any confused readers. In fairness to my friend Mark, it was him who noticed... smarty pants... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the Jethro Tull! *]


"Now is the Solstice of the year": So sang Ian Anderson in Jethro Tull's track "Ring Out Solstice Bells", from their album "Songs from the wood", a pretty unashamed celebration of nature. not surprisingly, it is one of my favourite rock records. As last night was the Summer Solstice, it seems a fitting time to share the video below, even although it is about the Winter Solstice...).

According to the comments about this on YouTube, it was produced by the BBC to support showing of this track on some long-forgotten TV rock show. We, however, can still enjoy the mighty Tull, lie back and think about the increasing day length and encroaching Spring (I heard a chiffchaff this morning, a little summer visiting warbler, fresh arrived from Africa!).
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Saturday, 26 February 2011

It's me sunny disposition wot keeps me sane!

(Image credit: SOHO satellite)

As Douglas Adams had the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy observe wryly, space is really big. You might think it's a long way to the chemist's shop, but that's peanuts compared to space. Or something like that... In that vein, it is likely, without much question, that our Sun really is the biggest thing in your, my and everyone's little lives.


We know that most life on Earth derives its energy ultimately from sunlight. And while the Sun will eventually - a few billion years hence - have consumed too much of its fuel to sustain the outward expansion against gravity, will collapse to a tiny dense dwarf star then, for reasons I cannot be bothered to Google now, expand in size out to the orbit of Jupiter, consuming Earth and the inner planets, for now, we generally have a pretty positive view of how important Sun is for us (sunburn warnings notwithstanding). Therefore, it must have come as a surprise to many to read recently that, on account of a forthcoming solar storm, we were all doomed. What do you mean, what's a solar storm? And why, on its account would doom be forthcoming? Ah, you need to read the most excellent ScienceBlogs article on solar storms:

 

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Monday, 7 February 2011

No more passengers...



Just a quick reminder of the folly of humanity and a burst of Joni Mitchell's sentiment that sometimes you don't know what you've got till it's gone. I have just finished (in 10 days of absorbed reading) "The Neanderthal Parallax", a trilogy of science fiction novels by American author Robert J. Sawyer. I'm not reviewing the books here and I don't wish to provide any spoilers for anyone who wants to read them. Suffice to say, one of the details of the setting is that huge flocks of passenger pigeons are still around due to an interesting plot device - and mammoths and mastodons as it happens, but they're another story.

I learned what extinction of species meant via the obvious examples we all learn as children, i.e. the dinosaurs and the dodo. But my Dad had modern prints of the paintings of the famous French-American artist and naturalist John James Audubon who, in the 19th century, became famous for his amazing paintings of the birds of America, the publication of which is, in itself, a quite remarkable story (for another time perhaps). And it was through those prints that Dad told me the story of the Passenger Pigeon, for Audubon painted this species among many others. The Passenger Pigeon is, however, no more, another extinct species to bring shame on us for our our failed stewardship...

John James Audubon's Passeneger Pigeons
The Passenger Pigeon (Latin name: Ectopistes migratorius) was a native bird of North America that occurred in almost unbelievably large flocks, perhaps up to 2 BILLION individuals at a time. Its migratory movements across North America were recorded by early European settlers as taking place in dense flocks a mile wide that took several HOURS to pass overhead. The sky would literally have been dark with birds.

Bringing safety in numbers against natural predators, such density was to be its downfall when Europeans arrived on the North American continent. A combination of trapping and shooting in huge numbers and, it is now hypothesised, the additive effects of habitat loss from forest clearances along the migration corridors, led to a decline in population size that almost beggars belief. The hunting of passenger pigeons was commercialised principally to provide cheap meat for slaves. The combination of human pressures led to a decline to extinction in the wild by the start of the 20th Century, having been probably the most numerous bird species in the world at the start of the 19th Century. The decline was slow between 1800 and 1870, then catastrophic between 1870 and 1890.

It turned out that the wild population probably became too small to support the communal courting and mating behaviour needed for optimal reproduction. The last authenticated wild bird was seen on March 22nd 1900. Reports of other, unauthenticated, sightings cropped up into the 1930s, but the species really had gone for good.

Unforgiveable folly, heartbreaking loss, irreversible consequences. Extinction really is a one-way trip, whatever the fanciful fiction of Jurassic Park might have suggested. Look at the beautiful painting above by Audubon, of a pair of passenger pigeons, and ask yourself how much you'd give to be able to see a flock of two billion of them today.

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Monday, 18 October 2010

Hubba hubba Hubble!

(This is the kind of post I would expect to see over on e-clecticism, so hopefully jono will forgive me for this parking of scooters on his lawn!)

So, the magnificent Hubble telescope is 20 years old. For me, the Hubble and the images it produces of deep space (and, hence, the distant past) are one of the Wonders of the Modern World. A truly extraordinary technological and scientific feat. The Grauniad newspaper (ok, The Guardian) has an excellent and interesting narrated slideshow (from yesterday) about Hubble and its discoveries here. Apologies that you have to follow a link, but there didn't seem to be an option to embed the article (and I'm ham-fisted about this stuff, if it isn't obvious). But go on, have a look, and gawp, open-mouthed, at the deep space pictures produced by this massive peeping tube in space. It is staggeringly difficult to comprehend the spatial scale of some of these structures in deep space, when the narrator says something about the little blobs on one image being of the order of a light year across.




Screen dump from the Guardian website (Copyright: The Guardian)
 
And if you really like these views of deep space, you can see much, much more here, on the NASA Hubble site.


Credits: X-ray: NASA/CXC/SAO/J.DePasquale; IR: NASA/JPL-Caltech; Optical: NASA/STScI




Tuesday, 9 March 2010

The times, they are a-changing - or are they? (Signs of the times)


I am embarking here on a year-long series of blog posts in the core territory of what this blog is really meant to be about - Scotland's nature. When I was a very small boy, I began to accumulate a collection of Ladybird books, mostly on wildlife topics. I now know from browsing collectors' websites that I was collecting books in the Ladybird series 536, on Nature, illustrated by wildlife artist Charles Tunnicliffe and written by biologist E.L. Grant Watson, but as a small child, all I knew was that Ladybird books were a treasure trove of knowledge about wildlife and I was encouraged by my parents to read them. My favourite books from the beginning were definitely the set of four shown above, the "What To Look For In ..." series covering the four seasons. Together, these paint a fascinating documentary in words and pictures of the great annual cycle of life in Britain's countryside through a year. My Dad worked as Scotland's first Countryside Ranger, a new profession in Scotland in 1970, and I grew up from the earliest age very conscious of the flow of the seasons and the predictable patterns of seasonal change as bird species came and went, flowers appeared, fruit grew, etc. And then, opening these wonderful books, there were all these patterns, and more, in word and picture. As well as wildlife, they also portray the seasonal changes in farming and land management practices, perhaps more than a little romanticised!


But these books, which had a huge influence on my young self, were first written and published between 1959 and 1961, some 50 years ago and I was reading them maybe 10 years later. It occurred to me that there is a great opportunity to use these books, and their marvellous illustrations as the basis for a comparison between then and now, looking at the changes that have taken place in these characteristic illustrations of the British countryside over the last 50 years, a period that more than encompasses my whole lifespan.


Hopefully, therefore, over the next 12 months, I will manage to track the progression through the seasons using these books and, through their pictures and words, try to undertake a comparison with the current state of rural Scotland and its wildlife (and the farming practices it portrays too! At first glance, farming may be the area of greatest change compared to the books!). So, please stick with me for the duration, the posts following this, several per season, will hopefully be more interesting than this one!

Monday, 22 February 2010

Bracklinn Falls (or wandering around in the Giant's Lego box)

Back to the proper business of Scottish Nature Boy…



On Sunday, to do something special for our little dog Ella’s fifth birthday, we drove out to Callendar, a gateway town for the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park (Scotland’s first National Park), to visit the Bracklinn Falls, a popular tourist spot since Victorian times, when Callander itself became a favoured destination for early tourist visitors to the Trossachs, much loved by Queen Victoria, and popularized by Sir Walter Scott and the Romantic movement. The name is thought to derive from the Gaelic words “breac” – speckled or tawny, possibly referring to the colour of the water of the Keltie Burn which flows over the falls, and “linn”, a narrow river gorge.

A fortuitous wrong turn walking out of the visitor car park took us up the hill behind Callander where we came upon a great view of the south face of Stuc a’Chroin (Gaelic: peak of harm or danger), at 975m, one of the southern Munros (Munro number M176) visible from the Forth Valley.




We also found this old Observer Corps bunker (according to a local dog walker), a World War II relic, complete with its original ventilation structures. Probably quite a quiet wartime posting, methinks?




Back on track, the footpath out to Bracklinn Falls runs along the edge of both native woodland (oak and birch) and mature non-native sitka fir plantation. Reflecting the high rainfall and lack of any significant air pollution in this part of Scotland, both the native and sitka trees and woodlands are fairly festooned with so-called lower plants: ferns, lichens, mosses, liverworts and algae.



Scotland, particularly the western highlands and the coastal temperate rainforests of Argyll, away to the west and north-west of Callander, is particularly rich in these groups of plants, being something of a global biodiversity hotspot for them. I am involved in steering a partnership project with Plantlife Scotland to promote awareness, understanding, identification and better management for habitats supporting these plant communities. You can find out more about the project and see all the great materials it is producing here. The cool humid conditions in and around waterfalls and their gorges are ideal for a wide range of these lower plants. And so it is around Bracklinn Falls too.



And what falls these are, although not so much for the actual waterfalls themselves. Admittedly, when the Keltie Burn is in flood or in spate, the falls are pretty spectacular (and the river here actually washed away the footbridge crossing for the falls in 2005). At the moment, however, following the recent weeks of frosty conditions locking up the groundwater, and very little precipitation (much of which is still on the hills upstream as snow), the river’s level is quite low and the waterfalls relatively quiet. But the geology and structure of the falls is pretty amazing.



As you can see from these pictures, the sandstone formations around the falls look like a spillage of great building bricks from a giant’s toy box. The massive square-ish blocks of red sandstone have broad veins of a much softer aggregate, a pudding stone, running through them which have been preferentially eroded away by the water’s steady, relentless efforts. Every litre of water will carry away a few molecules of rock surface, ongoing over millennia, combined with the periodic wearing, grinding, chipping, sanding effects of boulders, pebbles, sand and silt hammered against rock faces during floods, to create an eroded route of least resistance through the gorge, an ultra-slow motion carving out of a stone-washed aquaduct.



These great geometric geological formations induce in the visitor a sense of being somewhat diminished in size, like an ant in a box of Lego – Honey, I shrunk the tourists… The process of erosion continues today. In the following picture, the slow process of leaning over and collapse of these vertical bedding planes in the sandstone due to the undermining effects of erosion put me in mind of sliced bread tipping out of its bag. Notice the heavy growth of mosses on the horizontal slab.



This swirlhole or pot hole in the rock was created by repeated erosive swirling by the river of small stones in a depression in the bedrock, eventually forming this little hole. That fact that it is now about 20 metres downstream of the waterfall that used to fow over this edge and some four metres above the water surface illustrates that waterfalls move slowly upstream with time as they erode into the rock face, and that the river once flowed over this surface, however many years ago it took for the water to carve the adjacent gorge.

As well as the good habitat conditions for lower plant species, Bracklinn Falls also supports dippers, although we didn’t see any yesterday. Dippers (scientific name Cinclus cinclus), those little brown and white birds of Scottish gravel-bed rivers, were badly affected from the 1970's onwards by the acidification of Scotland’s rivers, which affected the little river invertebrates on which the dippers feed with their underwater foraging habits (walking upstream on the river bed, the water current on its sloping back helping to keep it underwater), and they became less common or even disappeared from acidified rivers.


Dipper painting by Raymond Harris Ching (from "AA Book of Birds", 1969)

Dippers are, however, likely to have made a bit of a comeback in recent years, at least in Scotland, as those acidification problems have slowly resolved following tighter legal controls over emissions of sulphur dioxide and other acidifying substances from industry in the past three decades. The presence of dippers is a good indicator of a healthy gravel-bed river ecology and the Keltie Burn and Bracklinn Falls are usually good places to spot them flying up and down the river, or bobbing up and down on favoured boulders in the river. A treat at any time!