The intrepid Autumnwatch team have left the island! After a frantic five days of trying to dodge some serious autumn cloud bursts (not always successfully) and trying to keep cameras steady in severe gale force winds, life on Mull today returned to normal. Except today, something very abnormal happened.
By late afternoon with heavy showers blowing through giving way to brief periods of calm and thin, veiled sunlight I ventured north to the forested shores of Loch Frisa. A favourite spot. A peaceful scene. Ravens and hooded crows were still feeding on what was left of a red deer stag carcase high on the hill. Sometimes the grey clouds darkened further as the gang of corvids rose as one and circled, tumbling and diving on each other and then settling again to feed eagerly before the long, cold night ahead.
As I took a deep breath of spruce and bracken-scented air, I was suddenly aware of an approaching sound like the roar of a Tornado jet fighter. I looked straight up and there high above me an adult sea eagle was soaring which was then immediately joined by another. It was our local pair: 18 year old female Frisa and her faithful mate for the last 13 years, Skye. I've seen them and they've seen me on a regular basis for the last seven years. But the noise of rushing air had not come from them. Here it came again, louder this time, more forceful, more angry. More, well, frightening if I’m honest. Still I could see nothing but Frisa and Skye clearly could. They were nervous too, looking all around, craning their necks up and behind them to try and locate this unnerving, invisble force. Then they started to call. A loud echoing cry of alarm. First Frisa, her call deeper than Skye's which then overlapped with hers.
Photo copyright Iain Erskine
I noticed they were now lower than before. They were still calling. I was standing out in the open in full view and yet they were getting closer ...and closer. Then the noise came again. Now louder still and causing a sudden shiver down my back. And like a torpedo from behind the conifers came the black bullet silhouette of an attacking golden eagle, wings folded back, aiming straight at Frisa and Skye. They were now circling even lower above my head and taking evasive action. As one golden eagle pulled away, a second and then incredibly a third joined in, like Spitfires in a war-time dog fight. Two adults and their summer-fledged youngster were ganging up on the bigger sea eagles...and winning. Where was a cameraman when you needed him?
With every eerie rush of wind through the golden eagle's wings and every bullying stoop, Frisa and Skye got lower and lower above me. Second by second, the aggressors pulled up further away from their intended targets. By the time, the sea eagles were right above my head, the trio had all but given up and the neighbours from hell drifted away together into the clouds.
With the danger gone, the clearly shaken sea eagle pair hang-glided down, legs extended and landed in a flimsy larch just 50m away from me. With a racing heartbeat, I stood for a minute or two to take in the scene. Even when I walked quietly and carefully back to the Landrover, they didn't budge. In fact they were even preening briefly. Relaxed again. At ease. Safe.
What had really gone on here today? We know that despite their smaller size, the golden eagles are still in charge here and rule the skies. Such encounters and disputes must happen on occasion and they can get serious but it felt today like Frisa and Skye had somehow sought me out as a means of actually evading their pursuers. There was no way the goldies would come that close and perhaps the sea eagles knew it. It almost felt in some small, weird way, like they trusted me to keep them safe. As if I was a way out of trouble for them. Who knows? They could also have just flown on once the attacking force had departed but they chose to come and perch nearby to recover.
Or of course, it was all just coincidence. I happened to be in the right place at the right time to witness an amazing piece of eagle action. I probably never was part of the plan. Maybe I was losing the plot after nearly a week of frenzied Autumnwatch activity and beginning to sound like an associate of St Francis of Assisi. Yes that was it. Nature just doesn’t work like that in real life – does it?
Then a buzzard decided to join in the fun - photo copyright Iain Erskine
As dusk was now falling fast, first Frisa and then Skye took off as another heavy rain shower engulfed us. They followed each other into the forest to their sheltered roost for the night and I lost them in the gloom. Then I got that chill down my spine again and knew it was time to head home to roost myself. Just another extraordinary day on Eagle Island.
Dave Sexton
Mull Officer
Thanks a lot, Dave. I had wondered if Breagha was off on her travels north again.