Sleeping on the job

We haven't seen much of the sun lately but in one break in the deluge I watched Frisa and Skye relaxing and unwinding after their busy summer. I gently pulled the landrover in, switched off the engine and rolled quietly to a halt. Frisa was to my left high in the sitkas; Skye was on my right in a larch. I panned from one to the other just enjoying them as they preened their soft plumage in the brief warm, sunny spell. Both looked regal and composed and somehow proud of their achievements this year. Somewhere nearby Heather was perched safely out of sight, probably drying off too. She was leaving her parents in peace, for now at least. As the sun's warmth penetrated their soggy feathers for the first time in days, first Frisa and then Skye half opened their broad, mighty wings and allowed them to droop a little. They just looked so chilled out. They deserved this moment. Then they went one step further, something I've never seen before. I thought I noticed Frisa's eyes were closed. I zoomed the scope in but they were open again. Then slowly but surely like someone after a heavy meal, her eyes closed completely and her noble head tilted slightly to one side. I looked across to Skye and he was doing the same! It was siesta time; I felt quite honoured that they felt so relaxed with me just 100m away that they could completely switch off. As I watched Skye, he did what people do when you watch someone drifting off on the train. Every now and then, as he snoozed, his head fell forward  and he'd then jolt himself upright again, eyes wide open for a few seconds as if he'd been awake all along, only to slowly doze off again in the late afternoon sun. I looked back to Frisa and sure enough she was doing the same. They both just seemed overwhelmed by the stresses and strains of the last few months; maybe the heady cocktail of  sunshine, warmth and the scent of spruce was just more than they could resist. It was certainly working on me! This afternoon nap business was catching.

As the sun slipped lower behind the trees, that slight chill which tells you it's no longer high summer, rippled through the larches and both birds gave themselves a good shake and a ruffle of their feathers. I don't know if they roosted there that night; I had to head off but I left with a sense of peace and calm. For birds which sometimes have to face such severe conditions in the wild, which can show such strength and at times such gentleness, I'd witnessed another new side to them: chilled, relaxed 'empty-nesters'. They both half-watched me drive off down the track and they were alone again - together in their domain.

Dave Sexton RSPB Scotland Mull Officer