The Great Skua

The youthful days I spent watching wildlife were passed in the south of the country where birds had a proper respect for youngsters who wished to see them at close quarters. Occasionally the peewits breeding on the slopes of the Pentland hills would make threatening but half hearted passes over an intruder’s head and less frequently but more alarmingly a nesting Tawny Owl would hurtle silently by at head height in the darkening woodlands. It was only when I came to live in Lewis, though, that I learned how dangerous bird-watching can be for the uninitiated.

I had heard of Bonxies, of course, but somehow nothing had really prepared me for the reality of meeting up with them on their own territory at nesting time.

The report of one poor man’s demise in the national press quite recently did little for my confidence. Images from Hitchcock’s “The Birds” came to mind, but my courage soon returned after I discovered that the poor man in question had suffered a heart attack as the birds tried to drive him from their breeding ground.

However, my interest was aroused, and on Monday evening last week camera and binoculars were packed into the car before driving from my home in lochs to the moorland at Gress where I hoped to find these fascinating birds.

I set of down an old rough road that had been formed over the years for tractor and trailer to collect peats from the banks that lay at its end, onto the grass and heather, and along the gentle incline that overlooks the village. As I stood admiring the view, a loud whooshing noise from behind and close to my head caused me to duck and turn at the same time. I was able to identify the assailant as a Great Skua when it wheeled round downwind and displayed its prominent white wing patches before levelling of at head height and charging towards me again at great speed. Fright and terror were words that immediately came to mind as I staggered backwards struggling to maintain some dignity not to mention the beer I had consumed with my dinner and I tripped and landed on my back in the heather. Two black eyes peered at me through the grass, as one of the reasons for the bird’s aggressive behaviour became apparent. A chick almost fully fledged, lay only a few yards from where I fell and as I started to get up it flapped awkwardly and ran a short distance before getting bogged down in a pool of water. I bent down to help it, but my intentions were obviously not clear as it got hold of one of my fingers with its beak and impaled my other hand effortlessly with its sharp claws.

The angry parents were as misled as their ungrateful chick because they bombarded me continually from above as I battled to save their offspring.

Interestingly, while the bird dive-bombs human intruders it soars up from below to attack the terns and smaller gulls offshore in its continual efforts to obtain meals without actually doing any fishing.

Anyway, the message was clear, it was time to leave.