K'Beak K'Beak!

Haematopus ostralegus

Over the past couple of years I've become very fond of oystercatchers. From the illicit smoky-hole in my department, we have a wonderful view of the university rooftops, the closest of which acts as home to (usually) two pairs of oystercatchers during the spring and summer. Initially my affection for these birds was due to their perpetually depressed expressions. Oystercatchers just have a 'look' about them which indicates chronic low self-esteem. I imagine them being quite serious birds, who spend most of their days being embarrassed by their ludicrously flamboyant beaks, and thus becoming bitter, resentful and suspiciously jealous of creatures with a more subdued and subtle appearance.

Our university oystercatchers have other reasons to be miserable. The flat roof that I gaze upon while smoking is not ideal territory in which to raise one's brood. Predators abound, in the shape of magpies and herring gulls. Last year's baby oystercatchers all fell prey to these vicious brutes. This year, so far I've only seen one tiny oystercatcher, running around happily under the watchful beady eyes of his harried and harassed parents. But he seems to have vanished now, and although I'm being uncharacteristically optimistic and willing myself to believe he's hiding round the back of some chimneys out of my sight, in my more realistic moments I give in to my worst fears, and start plotting revenge on the bloody sadistic gulls. I'm smoking more frequently in order to keep a look out. If that's the best place available for a nest, it's desperately unfair, but I suspect that oystercatchers have self-destructive tendencies.

Yesterday I was chauffeuring my father to a piping job - a wedding at Cluny Church. It was a wee village church in the midst of some very attractive farmland, and I had an unexpectedly entertaining afternoon. Firstly, there was the spectacle of the arrival of the wedding guests, decked to the nines in offensively floaty frocks and strappy sandals. Ho ho, thought I, sitting shabbily in the car, waiting to see how they'd manage to negotiate the rough car park. Sadly no one fell, but the occasional shrieks, and ill-advised chiffon florals stretched over weighty arses, drew the attention of some neighbouring cows, who all strolled down to the fence that bordered the car park, and mooed mockingly. Up beside the church wall, the wifies peched for a bit, then set about wiping their shoes with paper hankies, while glaring at their partners (who were clearly solely responsible for the state of the ground surface). Then I heard the familiar sound of K'Beak, K'Beak. Oystercatchers. Stressed oystercatchers. Four of them, flying round overhead, k'beaking like fury. I assumed initially that they'd merely taken exception (like myself) to the fashion crimes on show below, but after the company had wandered inside, the bride turned up and the ceremony was well underway, dad came to inform me about the oystercatcher situation. Right at the side of the wall of the church oystercatchers had laid two eggs. The minister had been a tad concerned about the safety of the nest during the wedding, and had helpfully placed a traffic cone at the side to keep blundering guests at bay. Round the other side of the church, at the war memorial, directly in front of two poppy wreaths, there was another nest, this time with three eggs. I was delighted.

'Delighted' is not the word I'd use to describe the Cluny oystercatchers, who obviously deeply resented their Saturday afternoon being disturbed by rabble celebrating their nuptials. The four parents sat on the roof throughout the ceremony, k'beaking their dissatisfaction and outrage at the interlopers. The limousine drivers, the photographer, my father and I all had great amusement in observing the oystercatchers' behaviour, the climax of which was during the signing of the register. We could hear a soprano voice wailing out an aria inside the kirk, and this racket brought another two oystercatchers to the roof. All six birds gravely bent their beaks to the slates, and screeched their disgust vehemently throughout the whole song. There's no way their noise couldn't be heard inside, and I sincerely hope that their whole performance was captured for posterity on the wedding video.

Well done Cluny oystercatchers, you made my day. May all your troubles be little Haematopus ostralegus-es.