Bog Myrtle & Peat

The red grouse territories on the Chayne are necessarily massive. The heather quality is so poor that pairs of birds need a great deal of space to rear their broods, and while this is in the process of changing, it limits my ability to learn about the birds. Driving south of Edinburgh this morning, I had a rare opportunity to watch red grouse settle a territorial dispute just a few feet from the car, and although I nearly caused a major car accident by slamming my brakes on suddenly to take photographs, I was well satisfied by the event.

One grouse cock was throwing his weight around, yammering constantly like a stuttering two-stroke engine, and he was quickly joined by a second. Although there was no direct physical violence, a direct linguistic translation from grouse into English would have had to be broadcast after the watershed. They were clearly furious, and they devised numerous methods of showing it without ever coming within two feet of one another. They cocked their tails and becked, then trailed their wings like blackcock and walked back and forth as if there was glass between them and they were trying to find a way around it to launch a fatal attack.

At length, a hen flew over them from behind, and the bird I that I judged had got the worst of the encounter flew off behind her smugly. The remaining cock looked bemused for a little while, then wandered into a patch of blaeberry as if he had never had all that much invested in the outcome of the engagement anyway. As he vanished after a further few minutes, I reopened the blocked road by driving on.