We’re walking the coast of Westray when I see it perched there. “There!” I say to the Puffin Whisperer, as I crouch so it won’t see me and fly. There’s a Peregrine Falcon just in front of us on the cliffs. I lie on the grass near the age of the cliff. “Peregrine”.

“Where?” she says, joining me on the cliff edge. “There!” I say.

Peregrine - The Hall of Einar - photograph (c) David Bailey (not the)

We lie watching it as it shakes its head and readjusts its feet. We both have cameras and long lenses trained on it. It has no intention of going anywhere. It’s obviously between pigeon-dinners.

As we adjust our settings, check the backs of our cameras and discuss getting a clearer view, a couple of walkers come along the coastal path behind us. The Peregrine takes flight with a swoop downwards and circles over the water. “Porca vacca!” says the Puffin Whisperer, who hasn’t seen the walkers, which loosely translates as “Holy Cow!”

Then they continue on their peregrination.

Porca vacca, indeed.

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