Things have been quiet on the building and landscaping front since the onset of the laying season and the urgency of the biological imperative to reproduce - even though the prospect of ducklings is sadly unlikely in an all-female community.

The forewoman of works, aka the little brown duck, presented one morning a few weeks ago with a bad limp, and immediately sequestered herself in the small enclosure built by a non-duck last autumn. A trip to the vet produced a diagnosis of either a sprain or a break, so the forewoman of works was sent home following a shot of anti-inflammatories and another one of antibiotics.

The ducks have proved themselves to be amenable tenants on the hill, sharing their nesting facilities with the hens - there are two handsome nests, one at either side of the entrance - and mucking in at feeding time with both hens and geese. Our initial worries that the lame duck - sorry - might become a target of unkind interest proved unfounded.

The invalid settled herself near the shed and the pond and trusted us to provide food while she healed.  She had company - the hens pecked by, the geese regularly inspected the facilities, and all her sisters came to visit and keep watch.

A formidable nurse/bodyguard combo emerged in the black duck, who sat with her more often than the others, saw off anyone who came too close, and generally watched over her, especially when she was moving around and testing the injured leg.

Nobody messes with the black duck. At egg-collecting time, the other ducks flee the nest at the first sight of a human hand. The black duck doesn’t. On the one occasion we tried to move her, she launched a spitfire pecking attack and performed an aggressive whirling action on the nest with all her feathers standing on end. Having assumed the proportions of a capercaillie and the demeanour of a Ninja, we backed off respectfully and conceded the eggs. Her feathers subsided, but she kept up the glare until we crept away.

Thanks to the support of her community, the forewoman of works has now made a full recovery. She is back at the head of the charge for breakfast, leads the chorus, and is obviously planning a winter schedule of project improvements to the secondary pond by the willows, and the stepped bathing areas in the ditch, currently screened by attractive ferns.

The wildlife is one of the greatest attractions the Outer Hebrides has to offer. While walking in the hills presents great opportunities, it occurred to me the other day that, even allowing for the easy access to wild landscapes and nature on foot, some of the best wildlife sightings we’ve had have been from the car, often just a few miles from the house.

Driving between Gravir and Garyvard on our way to town last week, we saw a merlin close to the road, in aggressive pursuit of a skylark. It was diving at its target, trying to drive it down to the ground, swooping up and down, and the two birds were caught in a flying spiral before the skylark managed to dart away. A few seconds later, the skylark shot over the car, right in front of us, and a second later the merlin followed, and we watched another display of superb flying skills in a life and death battle, before the skylark took a sharp right and flew straight into a crevice in a rock outcrop on the road. The merlin parked on top of the outcrop.

And that was it - we were driving away. It was all over in less than half a minute, I was behind the wheel and the camera was on the back seat. Those moments happen so suddenly that they can’t be captured.  

A few days before the merlin and skylark, I was collecting my son from work when a sea eagle flying low, a few feet off the ground, came straight towards the car; you have no idea how large and powerful they are until you see them in motion at such close range. Although the beat of the wings was steady and its flight past us unhurried, we’re talking about a moment of unforgettable wildlife magic that was over in seconds.

Sometime last year, in exactly the same spot, we spotted a sea eagle parked on a rock right by the road. We pulled over to watch it, expecting it to take off at any moment. But no - this bird was totally unperturbed about being watched and merely stared coolly back at us. Even when another car pulled in behind us, it wasn’t phased.

I know, though, that if we had been out of the car, the flying sea eagle would have been much higher, and the parked one would have been off in a flash. If you're in a car, the Whooper swans don't swim away quite so quickly, the herons don't startle, and the stags don't automatically bolt.

At the moment, our best chance of seeing stags is in the garden; getting up early this morning to write this blog, I was treated to the sight of two of them, who have been regular springtime visitors for the past three years, grazing by the willow trees. They are still very wild and cautious, but I am allowed to come quietly out of the house now and take my photos, and even take a few steps towards them.

We heard of an enthusiastic birdwatcher whose mission in life was to see a corncrake. He packed a rucksack with provisions, wet weather gear, camera and tripod, researched the best area for seeing them and set off, anticipating a long day of watching and waiting. Miles from his destination, he saw a shape standing at the side of the road, plain as day ... it was a corncrake. I often wonder what went through his mind - if he felt robbed of his adventure, or delighted at the unexpected sighting. So if you're headed out on a wildlife trip, it doesn't hurt to keep your eyes open on the journey!