NEW PARENTS

One of the best things about where I live is the amount of bird life in my garden. Over the years I have created a safe haven, with cat proof fencing and lots of places for them to roost and hide. Every morning when I put food down for them it is as if the entire neighbourhood of birds flock to the garden, especially the Sparrows and Starlings.

But over the past few weeks I've noticed the Sparrows are not hanging out as much. Obviously it's mating time, and they're spending most of their time chasing each other, with acrobatic flying through the birch tree. The Starlings too seem busy, carrying thin twigs and feathers in their beaks. But I also started to notice that a Robin was in the garden a lot more than usual, always perched on the same branch.

And then a second one appeared, right beside the first. They were clearly together.

A week passed by and my thought was they were looking for a nest site. What a joy it would be if they settled in my garden.

Little did I know this was old news. They already had!

One morning I noticed they were taking great interest in the ivy right at my back door, where I come and go all the time. A week ago I spotted them both in the birch tree as I went out to feed the birds, and, as I stepped back into the house, I took a quick glance in the ivy, and there was a perfectly made little Robins nest.

Now Pauline and I were keeping our fingers crossed they would be successful. I read up on all the information I could find, about how they usually lay 4 eggs, one per day, then let them cool until all are laid, so that they hatch together.

Would they lay? Would they hatch?

Again, old news!

This morning both parents were out, and almost every time I saw them there was a bug or caterpillar in their beaks. At one moment they both flew off together into next doors garden, and with the back door already open, I sneaked a glance. I have a video camera set up at a distance as well, and was able to get a clear shot by zooming in.

Chicks!

The Robins perch on the birch on the same branch all the time. At first I thought they were staring at me as my kitchen window faces the tree. Clearly they are watching the nest. And they have a routine.

When one flies from the branch the other immediately takes its place. At one point I was watching one of them with a caterpillar, thinking it would fly to the nest. In the birch above it were four Starlings. The Robin flew off in the opposite direction with the bug. After a while it returned, same white bug in its beak. The Starlings were still there. Again it flew off in the opposite direction, eventually returning with the same bug again. This time the Starlings were gone, and the Robin made his delivery. Clearly he was diverting attention away from the nest.

I'm trying not to go out of my back door too much as the nest is inches away. Fingers crossed all continues well. I'm sure before I know it in a few days they will have fledged!

And finally, the Robin chicks are not the only new arrivals, with my friends Craig and Rachel celebrating the arrival of Rose. It will be a lot longer than a few days for them before their new arrival flies the nest.

THE BOULDERS OF NARNAIN!!!!

Did you miss me? No post last week, which is a first for me, but things have been rather hectic on the film side. The good news is though, I did manage to get away with my best friends on an overnight hillwalking adventure a week ago.

Andrew, Pauline and I try to get away together at least twice a year, and our busy lives rarely allow us more than this. Over the Easter holidays we set off  bound for the Arrochar Alps, organised by Pauline as always.

It is fair to say that both Andrew and I may be a little below par on the fitness scale, so spare a thought for our seasoned third team member, Pauline, waiting at every turn for us to catch up, listening to my moans and groans, or having to hurry us up in order to catch a train. Like reluctant teenagers we would regularly just giggle to ourselves in response. Poor Pauline.

The train station sits between the two villages of Arrochar, at the head of Loch Long, and Tarbet, on the shores of Loch Lomond. Having left the train we were faced with a wooden fence barring us from walking the woodland trail to Arrochar, due to the danger of logging activities. But we are seasoned hillwalkers, and laugh in the face of danger.

But it was Sunday, and no loggers were working.

A very pleasant couple of kilometers brought us out at the head of the loch and a view of, well, mountains covered in low cloud. It was a disappointment, as we had hoped to view the famous Cobbler, and summit the nearby peak of Beinn Narnain. The forecast promised that the following day would be clearer and brighter, so instead we headed north up Glen Loin along a forest track.

We were treated to views of various angles of the snow capped summit of Ben Lomond in the distance, with Ben Vane and Ben Vorlich (not the Lochearhead one I was reliably corrected) on our western flank.

The track was almost as good as a main road, but unfortunately that meant it was solid, and thus created a fair amount of pain in my damaged right toe with the repetitive force applied all the way along. This, naturally, fell on deaf ears of my "friends"

Up ahead was the gigantic front of Loch Sloy dam, serving the Loch Lomond-side hydro power station of the same name. As we ate up the kilometers, expecting to arrive at the dam at some point, I was unaware that we were slowly turning to the east. Eventually the track turned back on itself, and a few kilometers more we passed some distance below the dam.

Our plan was now to find a place to camp for the evening and so we headed south, past new born lambs skipping about the hillside and over the pass back toward Arrochar.

I could almost guarantee that the first spot we would stop at we would camp on. But our intrepid leader Pauline insists on scouring the local vicinity in search of that quintessential camp spot, only to always arrive back at the first spot. Confident that my bet was safe, both Andrew and I sat a while and chatted, watching the birds flit about, singing their song, and Pauline, bouncing and leaping from tussock to tussock, every further away, stopping a moment with chin in hand in contemplation, before heading to the next possible site.

Finally, we set up camp for the night, right where we had originally stopped.

Day two we all awoke with eager anticipation for clear tops and blue sky. Instead we had even lower cloud and murk. Packed up early in order to make the summit of Beinn Narnain, we headed off, much to my complaints that I thought it pointless going up in this, well, I can't repeat my comment here.

But Pauline, ever the optimist, drove the merry band on, and before long we were through Arrochar and on the path ascending toward our goal. If all else failed we would be treated to The Boulders of Narnain, Pauline promised.

We had dumped our heaviest gear, and Andrew and I agreed to share carrying the one rucksack with both our kit in. I was quietly delighted when he opted to take it on the way up, and I must have looked rather casual and reckless to others ascending the path, with apparently no gear. The mist kept teasing us, but eventually we accepted it was never going to clear, and so, as we stopped for a snack at the enormous Narnain Boulders, we took the decision to turn around.

But not before Andrew decided that more of a celebration should be made of reaching the boulders. He stood, with arms out in operatic style, and sang, in his baritone voice, as loud as he could muster, "THE BOULDERS OF NARNAIN!" holding "nain" for dramatic effect. What nearby walkers in the mist must have thought is anyone's guess. Not to be outdone, Pauline and I joined in, but with slightly less confidence than Andrew in wanting to look like a tit.

Very happy with ourselves, we descended to a local cafe in Arrochar for our reward, in celebration of our efforts and our musical prowess.

We shall return.

AT A LOSS

In the later years of my mums life, it's fair to say she was suffering from a high level of hearing loss. Though it's no joking matter when one of your main senses starts to degrade, at times it was quite comical. Like most people she denied there was an issue. On occasion answers she would give to a question would come back wrong, because she genuinely hadn't heard you. But at other times she would compensate by trying to guess what someone had just said. I recall well on one occasion, as a late teens young man on my way out for the evening, I said to her; "That's me off now. I'll likely be late", to which the response was "I'm not sure but I think I saw some in the kitchen cupboard".

A good number of years ago I started to notice my brother's hearing was going the same way, and now he is really bad. He tells me he has hearing aids but doesn't use them as "they don't work". I suspect the real reason is the same sort of denial of the problem, because let's be honest, a chunky device sitting visibly on the back of your ear is ageing.

Many of my friends will tell you that my hearing is also becoming quite bad. I'm not in denial, and will happily tell people when I haven' heard them that my hearing is poor. My job is starting to be affected as well. I have a large number of young children in my classes, and their voices are in the higher frequency bracket, and these are the sounds my brain is not processing anymore.

The other down side of this affliction is that some people, probably not meaning to, can be quite hurtful. I rarely say anything in response, but sometimes it is quite upsetting. They will repeat something to me, for say a third time, but in a slow, loud and sarcastic manner. If I was in a wheel chair, or blind, would they be so sarcastic with that disability?

So recently I took the plunge and started the process of having hearing aids fitted. I too am aware of the ageing affect of them, and decided at the outset that I would be going for something that was almost invisible.

The tests took about an hour, during which time a very clever computer programme built up an accurate picture of my hearing abilities, after which the consultant talked me through the various options and models. And there are many. I had no idea what I was looking at. The only parameter I had was that I wanted them to be as discreet as possible, with the added consideration of price, for these devices are expensive.

There were two suggestions, one being double the price of the other, due to being made of titanium. But I still didn't know what I was supposed to choose. All the models had a chart displaying each devices capabilities, but this did little to help my decision.

Finally she attached a demo model to each ear, and programmed them with what the computer had analysed as my needs. She then said she was going to play some bird song. After a few seconds she asked if I could hear it.

Nope. Total silence.

That was because she hadn't turned them on yet.

Then she activated them.

To say it was an emotional experience is the biggest understatement of the year! It was incredible. I could hear so much, and they were only operating at 80% capability. Even the crumpling of my jacket was really noticeable, and my own voice sounded strange, with higher frequency sounds such as a sniff seeming embarrassingly loud. She advised me not to have them at 100% to begin with, as it would be too much too soon. My brain had to have time to readjust to processing sounds it hasn't heard for years.

This time next month I predict the quality of my life is going to improve a great deal. Hopefully the impatience and sarcasm from people around me may also stop. But I'm most looking forward to being able to make out what my students are asking me, hearing the Robin in the garden and geese flying overhead on my adventures in the Scottish wilds.