There are few birds more shrouded in folklore than the raven. I am not just talking about characters in Norse mythology – the two ravens Huginn and Muninn being Odin’s eyes and ears – or the role the raven plays as both creator and trickster in the legends of the Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast.
Obsession
Tales of raven sightings haunted my waking hours, and stories from other photographers of their encounters with these intelligent birds filled my dreams. A species I admired in my pagan past (yes, I was a teenage witch…and still am at heart) became an obsession when I picked up my first DSLR.
But not for long. I spent a good couple of years trying to catch a glimpse of a raven when I first took up wildlife photography. There were regular sightings of a pair in Bedfordshire; despite repeated visits to the RSPB’s headquarters, I never clapped eyes or even ears on them. I pondered a trip to Avon Gorge but couldn’t find the time to get away. Time passed, discouragement set in, and I consoled myself with carrion crows.
Resignation
By the time I made the move to Scotland – ironically when raven numbers were steadily beginning to grow in the south – a certain stoicism had developed. I still adored ravens but was not expecting to photograph them any time soon. That was until I realised that, up here, the common raven is indeed pretty common. Well, on the higher ground anyway. Luckily for me, Glasgow is surrounded by hills and is close to coastal cliffs where these birds make their home. It wasn’t long before I first heard them, and then saw them. I wept with joy during the first encounter. Spotting them in numerous locations followed – cronking tantalisingly but soaring frustratingly out of reach from my long lens. I finally posted my first set of raven images in April 2021, although they were not exactly what I had hoped for. Since then, I managed one usable image, despite seeing and hearing these longed-for birds many times.
That was until the start of this month when we decided to take a walk along the coast at Hunterston. It had been one of those walks that I am sure many amateur wildlife photographers who are desperate to capture some images on the weekend will relate to. The tide was out, and any wading birds were dots on the horizon. Only resting gulls filled the foreground. I had briefly heard a raven calling, but it was flying away into the distance. The skies were quiet, apart from the odd gliding herring gull.
Elation
As we began our walk, I heard the raven again. This time, announcing its presence close by. It became apparent that a buzzard had ruffled the feathers of the local breeding pair as it flew over the clifftop. Cue the ravens making patrol flights along the cliff face, their cronking calls echoing off the rocks as they passed by. In bright sunlight, they repeated the behaviour – one landing on a crag while the other took to the skies in a flurry of black fury. There is no doubt what they were saying – this is our space, we are breeding here, buzzards are not welcome. The fact that ravens are vocal is helpful for photographing them. I often hear them before seeing them, allowing me to prepare as much as possible for their arrival in the frame.
All this territorial behaviour took place while I stood in the field below the cliffs, desperately trying to capture them in flight as, for once, they were flying low enough. Saltwater stung my eyes from having my face turned up towards the sun and the cold air rushing over my skin, but I stayed there for as long as possible, knowing that even if it seemed like they had disappeared, they were likely to display on repeat.
I captured a few images I was delighted with – dark beauties against a bright blue background, beaks wide open in cronks of defiance. The ravens were worth the wait. Since this first sighting, I have seen them at the same spot carrying nesting materials up to the cliffs. Hopefully, there will be more opportunities to follow their progress during the coming months. Whatever happens now, nevermore will I have a feeling of despondency thinking about photographing this iconic and intelligent species.
