A weasel must eat a least once every 24 hours to survive and routinely consumes a third of its weight daily. In winter, weasels can happily live under snow.
Orcas, or killer whales as they are often known, hunt in groups. Those in Scottish waters that live offshore tend to hunt herring and mackerel, whilst inshore populations will take seals and seabirds.
Tentsmuir, a place of broad horizons and rolling seas, and out on a tidal lagoon a scattering of resting oystercatchers, their long red bills firmly tucked under their wings as they slept.
It was like treading upon a sweeping carpet of copper, such was the burnished tint of the beech leaves covering this track by the River North Esk near Edzell.
The low autumn sun over Loch Leven illuminated this small group of goldeneye ducks in perfect fashion; the rays of light catching every nuance of their green iridescent heads.
It is the lightest of sounds, and even in the stillness of the night air, so delicate I’m not even sure it is there. But I concentrate the mind once more, and yes, I can definitely hear it; a thin wispy ‘seep, seep’ coming from the darkness of the heavens.
It’s those eyes, the large intelligent eyes that are so striking, a piercing concentration that made me wonder whether this octopus was pondering a dilemma; should I stay still and rely on my camouflage for concealment, or perhaps better to make a dash for deeper water?
The difference could hardly have been starker; on my local river in Strathdevon moorhens are the shyest of birds, lurking close beside the lush bankside margins and disappearing like magic at the first whiff of an approaching person.
The buzzard sitting in the grassy field ducked its head, then ducked again, as a procession of red kites swooped down upon it, one after another as if in concerted attack.
Down by the river there is a fallen beech tree of such massive girth that it must have made a most striking impression upon the landscape before it tumbled to the ground a couple of decades or so ago.