Well, it suddenly seems to be spring in central Scotland, without a doubt. Actually, if there is a doubt, it’s that yesterday – in these parts at least – gave a passable imitation of early summer.
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It was one of those days when you’re not sure until you actually reach the higher, steeper, tucked-away corners whether any ironmongery might be needed, so taking axes felt the right choice even in retrospect. Various people met at the summit, who had come up from the western side, didn’t have them and didn’t need them. It was pleasant to amble back along the high ground in decidedly more amenable conditions than those provided by much of the past 15 months. Although both recent winter clampdowns have been spectacularly impressive and have served up some stunning days, it’s time for something a bit easier, for now at least. It’s such a conflated, fast-change time of year, this. Only last Thursday, I popped out for a late-afternoon scoot up Blairdenon, western outpost of the Ochils – and found myself parking in snow at a mere 300 metres up on the Sheriffmuir road. The whole moorland approach-yomp – and then the main climb itself – was in soft snow that varied between ankle- and calf-deep. It felt decidedly late-winter-ish – except that there was enough daylight to set off just before 5pm, have five minutes on top and still be down before nightfall. Then on Saturday I was on the Ochils again, a traverse along the main spine from Whitewisp to the Nebit with hard hillman Rob Woodall. Again it was arduous: after an hour of trailblazing through calf-deep snow on the Maddy Moss stretch, Woodall paused for a moment, looked across at the unbroken snowfields still to come, gave something approaching a quiet groan and said: “The novelty has worn off now.” It was good, though, in a final-fling-of-winter kind of way – and three days later there were only dregs of snow to be seen on the Ochils. As for the lower, more lived-in levels, it’s certainly not now winter any more. It feels slightly too early for the swallows – but yesterday one was spotted at Fintry and two on Islay. A yellowhammer in a tree near here was giving it laldy this morning, the larks are similarly doing their stuff high above the farmland, while the cheeping of sparrow-chicks is rumoured to have been heard from the pyracantha on the back wall of the house. The once-ubiquitous sparrow is said to be in serious decline in parts of the UK. That’s because something like 90 per cent of the national population has flitted to the east side of Stirling – we have dozens if not hundreds of them, and the local finches and tits can sometimes be seen looking rather beleaguered as they’re mobbed away from the feeders whenever they try and sneak a snack. This is wader country, but the oystercatchers were late coming upriver compared with some years. A colony of 20 or so can currently be seen – and, more to the point, heard – on a riverbank near here most mornings. (Oddly, they tend not to be there later in the day – I’m not sure why.) A few curlews and lapwings have been seen in the local fields, but again it feels slow compared with some years. Most notable river-related sighting of late, however, came a couple of days ago. A group of students armed with camera-phones could be see leaning over the parapet of the Cambuskenneth footbridge that crosses the Forth and leads into central Stirling. “We’ve just seen a seal”, one of the students said, sounding like she wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t been suffering pinniped hallucinations. It had vanished by now, but from previous occasional sightings – I’ve seen three or four in a decade or so of living here – there was little doubt that it had indeed been a seal. It’s a good indication of the improving health of the river, presumably, as the seals wouldn’t come this far upstream unless there were fish to eat. The flora, as with the waders, feels behindhand courtesy of the harsh first half of winter. The long-lasting snowdrops have finally wilted, while the much shorter span of the crocuses is also almost over. The daffodils have only just started flowering, however – it’s exactly a week since I saw the first of the season in Stirling (in our own garden, tucked into a sheltered, south-facing spot), but now there are plenty out – although lots more haven’t quite yet emerged. At this rate, the daffodils will be out at the same time as various of the delicate early summer flowers – the fritillaries and the scilla – if the next couple of weeks stay mild and the annual April whoosh arrives on schedule. Butterflies and various other bugs have been seen – the first butterflies emerged during yesterday’s summer preview. I had originally written that no bees have been seen as yet – but one buzzed past during a garden stroll halfway through writing this piece, and a few minutes later another very large one had to be rescued after it came in through the window of the downstairs loo. As for the grass, it doesn’t seem to have started doing much if anything in the way of growing – but that didn’t stop the council mowermen giving it a first cut earlier this week. So much for sensibly targeted public sector cuts, eh?Donate to us: support independent, intelligent, in-depth Scottish journalism from just 3p a day
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