we all like a figgy park

18th January Subtitle: Birds with iridescence beginning with P.

Something of a repetitive story. I'd seen quite a few pictures from Figgy (Figgate) Park. Otters and kingfishers. Seems the place is bursting with them. I best go down and scare them away then. Mission accomplished! Here are the details...

Until I looked at the gps output I'd forgotten about the trip there. Maybe another time I'd run down there via Lochend Park, it is less than a handful of miles heading EastNorEast. However I've had something of a mystery running injury that appeared out of nowhere earlier in the week and although it is just a weakness where my hamstring meets my glute (possibly a sciatic thing exactly the same as something I had last year about January as well, most likely a winter weather thing...) I thought I'd go easy on the running for a few days and catch a bus. I forgot to put the gps off for the first bus mile so there is an odd line across town. It might have been a 19 from top of Easter Road towards Portobello. A bit of a walk at the far end done hastily as all those otters and kingfishers were calling to me. Can't wait!

Okay the first major disappointment (other than not being met at the the gate by a friendly otter) was the pond was frozen. Echoes of Valleyfield Pond again. Never mind, the sun is out and there are some garden birds in the trees. It was all very pleasant. Certainly better than working, so I'm not complaining.

I took a slow walk around the pond although when I got to the far side there was a bit of excitement among a couple of long lens dudes, one of whom I know from Waxwing chasing earlier in the season. He hurriedly told me the otter had come up the Figgate Burn and entered the pond through the tunnel that links them. It surfaced in the remaining wet bit that wasn't frozen over and annoyed the swans standing nearby. They are apt to hiss at it when it goes near them. I saw it climb out the pond but it was among the sticks and branches of a pond side tree and impossible to photograph with any success. It got back into the water and disappeared for 15 minutes.

I was not transfixed by this and so went for a wander. I was pretty sure my leaving would induce the otter to get up on the ice and dance gangnam style with a swan, but I am not great at standing doing nothing on a sunny day when there are other things to be photographed. I walked up towards Duddingston as far as the other end of the park in search of dippers. Didn't see any. On my return there was more excitement round the pond and possibly another one or 2 long lens dudes. They act like magnets, attracting and repelling each other. The otter was making appearances but usually only popping a head above water then reversing that move. Rivetting it was not. I shot 2 seconds of video but can't be bothered to process it and post it here. If you want to know what it looked like study the photo below then look at another photo of just water with no otter. It was like that.

someone's dog in the pond

I think maybe because otters have all the visual excitement of someone's dog in the pond I find them not really worth the wait. I have been to this pond several times and not had much joy. I know Richard get lots of great photos and video from here but he maybe has more stomach for putting in the necessary hours of stand-and-wait. I get too itchy standing still, either at bus stops or pond sides. I'd rather keep moving and at least cover some ground.

While there was heehaw happening I turned the camera towards a dunnock in the nearby branches and as I took a photo I thought "That is actually a better photo than any I've taken of the otter this morning." And with that, I left. I didn't have much of a game plan but I'd had it with standing watching nothing happening. I'm out!

I could see Arthur's Seat from Figgy Park and it was calling to me. I knew if I headed towards Duddingston I could get into Holyrood from that side and check out Duddingston Loch and maybe up Crow Hill or Hunter's Bog for stonechats and buntings. I'm wasn't entirely sure but it would burn a few calories before lunch and warm me up. Hup two!

In Duddingston village a crow was lunching on a road kill squirrel in the gutter which I hurried past. I think the journalist in me felt obliged to record it but I'm not sure why, and I won't post the close ups.

Duddingstone was frozen at the edges with a fishing hole out in the middle. A few swans stood about but they don't make the best subjects, being white, boring and ubiquitous. The one above made the grade with an impression of a frilly toilet roll holder but there was little else worth it. I climbed the dreaded Duddingston steps. Instead of rushing them as I am likely to do when wearing running kit I walked up them and found there is much to be recommended doing it this way and you don't arrive at the top gasping and damp.

Duddingston Loch from above.

Going round the road towards Dunsapie Loch I saw a pheasant. Now, while they are pretty low on anyone's wish list (outside the kitchen), not much higher than swans really, they are also exquisitely coloured. I think this confirms I fall more into the artist rather than twitcher camp. I suspect any serious birder would walk past these large stupid game birds scorning their introduction from somewhere in the East no doubt. They eat seeds and berries as well as insects and spiders. There is also the rumour they eat (endangered) adders and lizards although I do wonder if that is some bad marketing so we have a reason to properly dislike them. Wikipedia suggests they do but also puts the note "dubious - discuss" in the way it usually says "needs citation".

Wikipedia also says their call can be recognised "due to the fact it sounds like a rusty sink or valve being turned". Poor English but yes, a rusty faucet or gate screeching. And they have that terrible habit of lying low until you are nearly upon them, then exploding out the long grass beside you and making that rusty gate noise in your face as you shit your pants.

However they have an amazing plumage. The colour range is almost better than a kingfisher dare I say. I'm not saying I'd rather see a pheasant at close quarters but I think the way the colours hang together in proportion and harmony is outstanding. When James MacNeill Whistler got to take over the redecoration of the dining room of shipping magnate Frederick Leyland, he got somewhat carried away. He chose not kingfishers but ...ahem... peacocks. Okay not pheasants but arguably nearer pheasants than kingfishers. I mention it because it is a great tale and well worth looking into. And what can happen if you don't keep a firm grip on your interior decorator - we've all been there!

And a splendid if somewhat over-the-top result. Whistler, the artist, took the reins when the original designer fell ill. He was doing some other painty work in the same place and said hold my beer, running up a huge tab at the gold leaf shop. And going totally off-piste with his own lavish design, painting over the original idea. The owner viewed it as if Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen had done a changing rooms special, and refused to settle up. The room has twice been dismantled and moved, from London to Detroit and from Detroit to Washington where it now lives in an art collection. 

Anyway, so I see a pheasant some distance away and reckon it will be the only iridescence I photograph today (sadly). But can I get closer? I stalked the unsuspecting beast until I got within 20 yards. It was now looking at me suspiciously and I got out my secret weapon. At the first rustle of polythene food bag its ears pricked up. As I casually tossed a handful it practically raced across 20 yards. Initially I was concerned I wouldn't get close enough, but as it rushed over I was concerned it would be so close I'd have trouble standing back enough for a decent shot. I had to fling the bread and seeds in one direction and walk backwards to get it all in frame.

While this is going on I heard the creaking gate of another pheasant up on the small hill behind Dunsapie Loch. I took a load of photos of pheasant number 1 and then seeing pheasant number 2 a bit up the hill and struggling with what looked like a limp, I went over to have a look. Again I approached slowly and with the food thrown in front. It was also familiar with the idea of human hand-outs and soon had plopped down in front of me in a nest-like clump of long grass. I couldn't see what was wrong with its leg and why it was limping but my heart went out to anything having to survive outdoors with an injury. I gave it loads to eat. And in return we sat and chatted and I got better photos than the ones of pheasant number 1. I said thanks, wished it well and a speedy recovery, and quietly went back down the hill.

And that was pretty much that. Except for the pigeons. Going past St Margaret's Loch there were about 20 pigeons in a line right at the water's edge next to the road. They were all sat in a row snoozing, and the light was so great that I had to take a photo or 2. Having done that I couldn't walk away without giving them the mandatory reward of a handful of seeds. Union rules. It was a pain because the waist-strap pockets on the Alpkit backpack (that otherwise gets a four-point-five star review) are not the biggest or easiest to open and close, to remove the bulging bag of sunflower hearts. Before I even get the bag open there is crowd of pigeons at my feet, keenly asking who is getting fed; who, who, who?

taken with the G9

Realising I had opened the door to a mugging by pigeons I threw down some seeds and they quickly went from sleepy sunbathers to frenzied mobsters barging and pecking each other, and me. I quite like them and their colourings despite being right at the bottom of the exotic wish-list birding ladder, the streetsweepers of birdworld.

Every now and again for no specific reason they would all take off, clatter round the loch and return. Recognising me as the foodsource they were very quick to hop up onto an outstretched arm and hand. It reminded me of a trip to the Botanics as a kid - the first time I ever met squirrels and pigeons that were prepared to be your friend for the price of a few nuts. I was very young at the time possibly about 5 or 6 and it stuck in my head as one of my earliest memories. I can also remember my dad (a rare occasion if he was there) laughing at how much I enjoyed it while he was keeping a distance from these creatures he regarded as slightly dirty or like they might be infested or poop on him. So I probably don't get it from his side of the family. Makes sense, my mum's dad used to feed the local birds in Leith by flinging food scraps or old bread out the flat windows to (presumably) gulls.

iPhone photos

Mary makes me wash my hands when I get home these days. 😏🤗