It’s been a while since I last shared a recording of the waves from Nairn beach. Frothy, snowy, cold fingered morning. An invigorating swim in between the blizzards and Mallards by the shore.

Susie Dent’s writing introduced me to the word Confelicity. The pleasure in another’s happiness. A lovely word. Confelicity, feels good saying it. Feeling good about someone else’s happiness is a key feature of staying mentally well. It is also the foundation of the volunteering community.

These nature notes are often intentionally not personally focused, but every now and then something personal happens that is very much worth sharing. Mum, Dee to many, is an inspiration. Almost ten years ago to the day she had a lung removed due to lung cancer. She is already five years past the prognosis given to her by the medical team back in Essex.

Mum and dad moved with us when we relocated to Scotland back in 2019. You can read about my ten lessons from moving to the coast with my extended family here. It was amazing that they chose to relocate with us at their stage of life. Then Covid came and mum has been on the shielding list ever since.

We can be guilty of taking Spring for granted when we are young. The Daffodils come and go and we might see them en route to somewhere. Mum has been looking forward to seeing the Daffodils in a way many of us will not understand.

She mentioned that one of her bucket list dreams was to stroke a baby lamb. After a couple of calls, we found ourselves on a remote hillside in a blizzard and there they were. Two week-old baby lambs.

To see mum feeding a bottle of milk to the baby lamb, shivering on the snowy hilltop, was the epitome of confelicity. “I’ll never get this chance again,” she said as she stroked and hugged the lamb, full of love.

Confelicity. How can you bring happiness into the life of another? There are countless ways. It can be a bucket list dream or a simple random act of kindness. Try it tomorrow, it makes you feel good.

I managed to get to the beach late last night for my first full moon swim, you can check it out here. It was scary and gorgeous at the same time.

A hazy overcast start to the beach this morning. Ridges in the sand are sculpted by the receding waves being met by those coming in. Cold still just now with frosty patches on the northern sides of the links by the beach. The lightest of pink clouds above the Ben across the firth.

The oil rig has inched closer to Cromarty, definitely going into port. More boats with oil rigging equipment following it on the horizon, an industrious scene. The developments at Whiteness and Port of Cromarty respectively will mean more boats to watch. Amazing how they safely transport such gigantic structures.

The rolling sounds of the surf captured on audio. Regular, familiar and predictable. Something deeply soothing about the sound of the waves today.

What sounds can you bring into your day to soothe? Maybe it is birdsong or some other natural feature. Perhaps simply the purring of a cat. Think of your soothing sound and bring it into your day for a few minutes of sound bathing meditation.

Passing through the trees on the links, leafless but full of bird song this morning. Zeee peee zeee peee. Still chilly but the sounds pull me toward Spring. A scent of salt on the breeze as I near the sea. Wagtails waving hello arriving on the rocks above the water’s edge. Soft wet sand underfoot.

Knee-deep piles of stones are now high up the beach after successive high tides. Shaping the stones in natural sweeping arches. Rowers out on the firth again enjoying the high tide, minus one rower by the looks of things, but making way anyway. Seven swimmers swimming on Saturday.

Waist-high rollers land on the beach with reassuring regularity. I thought I would bend down and take a portrait shot capturing the wave to match the audio. Just as I take the shot a wedge of geese photobomb the shot. Resulting in a photo that I couldn’t have made however much I tried for it. Nature’s timing is perfect as ever.

Has good fortune smiled on you recently? Has a positive coincidence come knocking? Are you in the right place at the right time?

Tide is just about turning to retreat down the beach. Wind at my back heading East to the groyne. 9C but the wind makes it feel colder. Flag on the horizon flapping in the sunrise. Pink clouds towards Brora across the firth. The sounds of shrieking cold water swimmer friends in the big blue and crows making car-like noises. Birds back today with Oystercatchers and Wagtails flitting about. But it is a crow that catches my attention and I manage to get close enough to capture it on the podcast audio.

I stop to watch our smart jet black bird. Amongst the seaweed that has collected on the ever-accumulating sand by the groyne, it has found a bite to eat. A shell containing some sort of morsel, a muscle perhaps? The crow proceeds to fly high up in the air before dropping it’s catch and then chasing close behind it to the beach. Like skydivers flying after one another in formation. The bird does this once more after the shell landing on the soft sand does not break it open to reveal the fleshy reward. Once again it rises high, releases the shell and skydives after it to the sand. Again and again, the bird persists until finally it breaks and the bird has breakfast.

Biomimicry is a term more of us are now familiar with, essentially being inspired by nature to solve humanity’s biggest challenges. By observing, understanding and copying nature potentially any problem can be solved.

Is there a problem or challenge in your life which needs your persistence? Is there a problem at work perhaps which you have to keep finding the energy to persist in solving? What can you learn from the persistence of a crow? What will keep you finding the energy to persist?

Turning the corner the lampost lights on the prom turn off. I guess that means it is officially daytime. Earlier to the beach today. I have to double-check my watch that I haven’t come down at some ridiculous hour by mistake. A feeling of being in the middle of the night at the start of the day.

Car headlights on full beam in the half-light. Lights flicker from the lighthouse across the firth and on the early flight coming into Inverness. Warmer today, 6C, no need for gloves. Gulls laughing and whirling up above. A single Oystercatcher in search of his mates, flying fast, just feet from the waves.

No one on the beach this Monday morning. The families of yesterday now departed. Just me and a pair of crows watching the tide. The crow has placed itself on a seaweed capped rock, just above the approaching wave. The water circles underneath the crow’s feet as he cocks his head to see what the tide has brought in for breakfast. It signals a warning at me, defending the prime location rock pool. Waiting for crabs.

Is there something you are waiting for? Is there something you previously wanted, which after some waiting, came into your life?

Wait and see by the sea.

Hard frost. Cold night. The prom with a snow layer, very light. We gingerly tiptoe to the beach. Mum and I arm in arm stepping across the slippery stones in search of the freshest cool air. We stand in the one tiny patch of sun to reach the beach. The air right next to the waves feels different somehow. Looking back down the sand people hug the water’s edge. Are they unknowingly drawn to the air quality next to the waves perhaps?

Listening to the waves there seems to be a slowness to them. Long periods between the occasional roller. The sea is in a calm, relaxed state. An electric blue colour to the firth. Paddleboarders out, families on the sand for Sunday strolls.

No birds. None at all. Searching for feathered friends and eventually, I find one gull flying up to avoid the rolling surf before settling back on the water. Maybe they are all keeping warm somewhere together. Where do they go? A birdless boatless sea. Feels a bit odd. A stunning cold day with a crispness to the light looking across to the snowy Ben.

After dropping mum home I return to the beach for sunset, for my first Ice Swim of the year. Water temperature is now below 5C and submerging myself in the rising tide the cold painfully numbs everything it touches. Diving forward and front crawling towards the groyne it feels like my face is in the freezer. I can feel the blood in my jugular, face and neck draining away, contracting to the heart. Swimming becomes survival at such temperatures.

It requires all my mental focus simply to keep my crawl stroke going. After a little over ten minutes, my hands and feet are like blocks of ice and I stagger out of the sea hunting for my flask of tea, like a drunkard. Drunk on the joy of cold water swimming. Drunk on the sunset over the cold calm water. Somehow the cold swim clears the slate. Cleanses. Cold to the bone, yet buzzing, I stagger home. Internally and externally fresh and clean.

Join me for a slow Beach run.

Deeply inhale and then a long slow exhale, feeling much better already. Avoiding barking dogs and rolling stones as the tide begins to rise, subtly reaching up the beach. A large flock of Oystercatchers are back together. Gulls bob about safely out of reach of the dogs. Gentle breeze at my back as I trot along the sand towards East beach. Overcast skies and grey sea but clearing with a hint of blue skies to come later.

Fishing boats in the harbour, creels waiting on the pontoon. A flock of Knot whirl from the river wall out along the river popping out by the lighthouse. They create a dazzling flick flack display flying in close formation around the edge of the harbour wall.

Running on past the sand dunes and the deadwood on East beach. Out towards the Old bar, a large sand bar doubling up as a bird sanctuary. A feeling of remoteness, dog walkers slowly fade away the further East I go.

I was only meant to go for a three-mile run, but the beach kind of pulled me along. Calling me to go further, reaching wilder shores by the Culbin forest. An hour and a half later and I am back at home, transformed. Feeling alive and healthy. Full of beach goodness.

Have you started running this year? Here is a selection of my running stories to help you find inspiration, motivation, and consistency.

Do you have days when you could have easily stayed in bed? A duvet day. Today was that day for me, but I got up and headed down to the beach. Another great sunrise this morning. Low tide and the sun low in the sky. A metallic blue hue to the sea towards Cromarty. Like my wife’s nail varnish.

I seem to tire of quite a few things more easily just recently, but I never get tired of the beach. Dogs never appear to tire of chasing the Oystercatchers and splashing in the cold edges of the water. Running for pleasure.

Empty benches overlooking the sand wait for visitors with ice creams.

Like the ripples on the beach my energy since being ill before Christmas comes and goes in waves. Fine fluctuations up and down. But after a few minutes in the light cool breeze, I am lifted and feeling much better. Glad I got up.

What do you never get tired of? What could you do every day without fail, that you would endlessly enjoy and be fascinated by? Are you doing it today?

A boisterous beach. Cold snap in the wind, biting the fingers. Snowcap back on the Ben. The beach is a frothy turbulent transition space. Life on the edge, with a very different sea world meeting the land. A large log, previous buried high up on the sand, is now alive and rolling about in the surf like a large happy dog. Big sky and unusual cloud formations today.

The tide reaches the large rocks protecting the prom. It has created a steep bank of pebbles under the rocks. As the waves come in small pebbles are deposited on the bank. The water retreats causing the pebbles to roll down the stony back, creating a delightfully reassuring marble run sound.

A single gull hangs in the wind balancing its effort scoping the rocks for food. A pair of pied wagtails flit about the grass on the links. Tiny cheerful tame birds not far from our feet. Wag wagging their tails.

We are very visually dominant as a species. Yet it is the sounds of the beach, frothy waves and stony cascades, I find deeply nourishing. The smell of the sea, more subtle than the sounds, also feels nutritious. A healthful start to the day.

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Greeted by a flat calm icy blue sea today. A whiteness to the water. Our eyes are drawn out to the paddle boarder by the harbour and the industrious shipping taking oil rig equipment out to sea. A wet beach and a falling tide have once again left behind rock pools for investigating. Seawater meanders down the sand and cascades over tiny rock edges, making its way back to the mother. I find it fascinating how water gravitates back to itself, more than simple gravity itself. Water seeks and finds water. In much the same way I am drawn to the water each day. Made up as I am from mostly water.

Barely a wave on the sea today. Just an occasional small roller as the tide goes out past the stony shelf. The waves themselves look and sound longer today. I listen to them again wondering if it is just me, slowing down after a week off work. No, they are certainly slower, crawling their way up the sand and dampening the fronts of my trainers. A diving bird just beyond the roller. A large oyster shell with purple rings at its base. The snow of a few days ago all but melted on the Ben, a few small patches remain.

Leaving the beach I find my Oystercatchers and smile as they dig in the grass turning the leaves for grubs. Like tuxedoed dinner guests walking through to dinner, they parade across the grass. I wonder if they will have a party to mark Hogmanay tonight? Perhaps they will find a quiet corner of the beach and reel and jig the last few minutes of this year away. If you are at the beach near midnight you might just hear them piping with delight to bring in the New Year.

Happy Hogmanay everyone :)

Warm southerly winds at my back as I set foot on the beach. Jackets are no longer needed and it feels very Spring-like after the sub-zero temperatures just days ago. Sand sitting above the high tide line and gathering at the groyne. A pebbly stony beach. The wave eroded red rocks looking like a mountain range in miniature. My smart Oystercatchers, disturbed by barking dogs, land right in front of me.

No other birds, nor boats, are out on the firth today. A peaceful quiet air about the day, even the sea is quieter today. The sun is still very low for this latitude at this time of year. A hint of warmth from the southern sun just making it over the links to the groyne edge of the beach.

Reading about the sextant today and how it was only relatively recently that navigation on the high seas was conducted with any accuracy. Often we are disconnected from our place on the globe in terms of latitude and longitude. The Natural Navigator is a must-read for folks interested in making more of their daily walk with the simple question “Which way am I looking?”

Bonus points for the direction we are looking in the photo above.

Walk-on friends.

Frosty clear morning, crashing waves. Approaching the beach sounds like an aeroplane taking off. The roar increases our pace, stepping beach-bound. Sunlight clipping the waves, a half-moon in a swimming pool sky over the Soutars. A stunning Christmas day.

Families frolicking along the prom. Froth bubbling among the rockpools. Hands frozen in the wind. Long shadows on the beach.

Tragedy unfolds. A fellow beachgoer rescues one of my Oystercatchers. Half drowned in the waves with frozen encrusted wings. Carrying and resting the poor soul on the rocks. We stand over the young one, hoping it will recover and spark into life. Especially today we want this bird to live. But we look on forlornly as its beak, so useful in life, weighs it down in distress. Our bird’s future looks bleak.

Why today? Dying on Christmas day. Perhaps it may recover. I leave the beach, turning my head, looking back to the black and white feathers. Unmoving depsite the dogs approaching. Sand has been stripped from the stones overnight. Another tough night for nature whilst we have been warm in our beds.

A solitary Oystercatcher flies on.

Poetry corner: The Wilderness by Suzi Mapes (11 years old)

Listen

The wild is calling

Quench the thirst

Be instilled to the rugged landscape

Feel the burst

Of hope.

Listen

The forests are calling

Redwoods tower and cast

Their shadows

As we walk past

Enjoying the relaxing meadows.

Listen

The hills are calling

Sleeping giants are among us

A thousand year old rocks

Bursting from the Earth’s crust

The doors are open with no locks.

Listen

The coast is calling

Cliff edges are battered

By the constant storm

Clatter!

Clatter!

This is far from your norm.

Listen

A new life is calling

Answer the urge

Leave the rations

Feel the surge

Of passion.

Friday 24th December 2021 - Christmas Eve

Two degrees again, onto the sand with frozen fingers. An active beach with runners trotting and chatting amongst the barking dogs. A sea kayaker heading out past the winter swimmers preparing to submerge. Some still swimming in skins others in full neoprene, the balaclava brigade. Shrieks echo across the water as they get in. Frothy frilly edge to the sea today, reminding me of my nan’s lemon meringue pie.

Oystercatchers joyfully in larger numbers, possibly twenty-six. They look so stunning in flight and come to rest like planes landing on an aircraft carrier. Single grey goose heading purposefully East and a blob of a boat far out to sea. Metallic look about the water. Hint of a rainbow, half-formed, above the swimmers over Cromarty.

A day of hope and joy this Christmas eve.

Misty threatening dampness. Feels like a living Turner painting today. Faint flickers of gulls out in the grey. A solitary duck dives. Crows caw and strut on the sand. Are they saying hello or warding me off?

Low tide, just turning to head back up and submerge the exposed wide beach. Rock pooling before breakfast. Waves gently breaking on submerged rocks offshore, hinting at sea creatures and folklore. Intrigued by the sounds of the gently rising waves. Subtle gurgling noises. In the half-light half a sense that nature is speaking to me. If only I could be a better listener, I might be able to know what she is saying.

Maybe you would like to listen to the waves with me?