The bevy of whooper swans were resting on a stubble field at the end of this peninsula. The red and white banded lighthouse at the point seemed to brood over the scene. Beyond lay the vastness of the open sea and as I scanned the swans I knew that for me these whooper swans epitomise all that is the wildness of the Highlands.
Almost certainly the swans I could see in the field had come south from their breeding grounds in Iceland, where I have in the past been fortunate to see their huge nests, conspicuous on raised ground in the vast glacial outwash plains. In Japan the whooper swan is known as the “Angel of Winter”, and they can overwinter on the remotest of large lochs in the open landscape. They have played an important part in mythology, legends and symbolism and have inspired many writers, poets and composers. The legend that they sing only once, just before they die, goes back to the Roman times.
Here, at Tarbat Ness, the young birds were resting with their heads tucked under their wings, whilst the adults were sitting down but, as ever, watchful, and all in a loose group in the centre of the field. Of the 26 birds I counted, only four had the brownish plumage of juveniles; all the others, judging by their yellow beaks, were old enough to breed. So it looks as though they had a poor breeding season this year.
I thought of their journey from the north, perhaps 800 miles non-stop. Their bugle calls, which are reputed to be among the most far-carrying of any birds, would have kept the families together by day and night, whatever the weather.
Many of the whooper swans coming to the Highlands will not stay the whole winter. They will move to Ireland for part of their visit and then return to the Highlands before heading back north. As I left, I bowed my head in respect – birds of the wildness indeed.
