Ospreyitis Part 2

 I first encountered ospreys - well a single osprey - in about 1965 or 66 when parents drove us to Aviemore for a summer holiday. As a moody teenager all I wanted to do was wander around on my own (certainly not with younger brothers!) or stay at the ice-rink where a few cool guys might be found. However on one particular day we were all piled, partly against our wills, into the car, and driven to Loch Garten where, father claimed, we would see the only ospreys nesting in the UK at that time.

I remember a slightly misty, tree-lined loch and eventually, after much scanning with binoculars, a bird flying in the far distance which father was certain was an osprey. I had no reason to doubt him, he was a twitcher before it was so named and knew his birds. This experience made an impression, I never forgot it or the story of the Loch Garten ospreys, whose nesting location was kept secret and guarded by devotees to prevent peculiarly-minded people from stealing their eggs.

Stealing eggs from wild birds was made illegal in 1954, which didn't stop certain avid collectors who cared not a jot for the actual birds, from continuing to take them.  

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