Field naturalist and wildlife photographer Polly Pullar grew up surrounded by the Atlantic oak woods of the Ardnamurchan peninsula. Pine martens, once persecuted to the verge of extinction, were rare. Her new book tells the fascinating tale of a resurgent species and a special relationship that has evolved in a Highland garden, as well as her own very personal story of this remote peninsula and its diverse natural history

When my family moved to the hotel in Kilchoan in the 1960s, I could often earn a little extra pocket money by washing up the glasses in the deep sink beneath the public bar. The bar counter was very high so if I kept quiet no one on the other side even knew I was there. It was a job I really quite liked, for I could hear the soft Gaelic voices of many of the local regulars, and best of all loved to listen to their Gaelic singing on Friday and Saturday nights. Often someone played a fiddle or a squeezebox too.

One evening the door blew open and a man came in carrying a large fishing bag. In it there was a salmon wrapped in newspaper that he gave to Mum with a big wink. I could hear much laughing and joking, this time in English, and lots of questions about the origins of the freshly caught, gleaming silvered beauty. Some questions are best left unanswered, besides, the truth would have been elastic anyway. But he had something else in the bag too, also wrapped up in newspaper. He put it on one of the bar tables for everyone to see. It was about the size of a large ferret – I knew about ferrets as I had been out rabbiting with two polecat ferrets – but this animal had a luxuriant cocoa-coloured pelt and a creamy patch beneath its throat.

Its eyes were glazed over and dull, and its mouth was slightly open, revealing sharp little teeth, its lips curled back in a macabre death smirk. I didn’t know what it was, and neither did any of the other occupants of the bar, although someone said it was a mink. The unfortunate beast had been caught in a snare. I was devastated and almost burst into tears for it seemed so perfect, and now it was ruined. It was described as a marten cat, a rare creature that was seldom seen in Ardnamurchan at the end of the 1960s. Given that the stunted Atlantic oak woods that form the wooded fringe around large areas of the peninsula provide such ideal habitat, it is likely that it was previously here in healthy numbers.

I stood, and stared and stared. There were many comments about its thick fur, and I noticed that, unlike the dead foxes I had seen in the back of crofters’ vans, and the ferrets I had handled, this animal had no smell. I was later to learn that the pine marten was nicknamed "sweet mart", while the polecat was nicknamed "fou mart" because it stinks so badly.

After that initial unforgettable but unfortunate encounter, my views of pine martens were sporadic. I had little more than the occasional fleeting glimpse of this mercurial mustelid. A hasty dash across the road, or on very rare occasions the dogs might put one out of a den close to the shore, and that was really the sum total. However, even a dead pine marten can stay in the memory; it became yet another animal about which I yearned to learn more, but there were few books on the subject and I did not see them often enough to learn about them in the field.

I was devastated when my family decided to move away from Ardnamurchan, but unlike them, I have continued to spend as much time as possible there ever since, and when I do the hamlet of Ockle becomes my base. It was during one of my stays that the cottage owner, my close friend Sue Cameron, said; "You have to meet the Humphreys at Glenmore. Not only would you have much in common with them, but you would absolutely love to see the pine martens that come into their house every night."

Shortly after this I found myself sitting in Les and Chris Humphreys’ beautiful house overlooking Loch Sunart, drinking tea while eating a slab of cake large enough to fob off a pack of wolves. We chatted as we sat looking out of the large windows on to the bay. Within minutes an otter and cubs drifted into view, swimming effortlessly through the flat grey sea with only their heads, rounded backs and tail tips visible. They emerged wetly on a weed-embellished rock and disappeared over the other side. I could also see a great northern diver in the bay, its distinctive large head and stocky body making its outline easy to recognise. A ministerial heron stood in his grey vestments, his eyes missing nothing, waiting patiently to stab the next meal, a sentient being on the russet-coloured shoreline.

There was a flurry of excitement and the announcement of the first arrival. A pine marten had come to the feed table situated against the open study window in the next room. Now I only had to look at a massive screen at the side of the room. It was linked to a camera outside so that all the activity there could be easily viewed. "Oh, it’s Graham, he’ll be in shortly. Polly, take this egg and just sit still holding out your hand," Chris said. I sat motionless, grasping the egg in my hand and scarcely daring to breathe.

Shortly, a sharp little face with a dapper creamy-coloured cravat peeped around the sitting-room door and Graham came over towards me, hesitating to sniff the air while giving me an intense visual examination. Then he tentatively got on to the sofa beside me, before politely taking the egg from me, ensuring he slotted it crossways across his open mouth to avoid breaking it. I noted how gentle and careful he was, so much so that it made a great impression on me; I wanted the moment to last. He gave me another quick once-over and then bounced off the sofa and bounced back out again. His aroma seemed almost sweet, akin to damp leaf litter on the woodland floor.

This was an astonishing experience, so different from the fleeting ones I had had previously. It literally opened a door on to an entirely new view of the pine marten, and was the beginning of an extraordinary foray into their world. Ever since that first intimate experience I have been enjoying these wonderful interludes with Les and Chris at their home, which since their retirement has been turned over entirely to the rich diversity of wildlife that frequents this maritime habitat. It is the pine martens, however, that are the dominant feature as, without planning it, the Humphreys’ lives have become deeply entwined with theirs, and a remarkable saga has been playing out ever since.

In 14 years of studying and enjoying martens, Les and Chris have made some revealing discoveries and have had dozens of different animals coming to their garden, some for years, others for mere fleeting visits. They have watched and recorded a fascinating range of marten behaviour, most never previously witnessed. Mothers visit with kits, and there is much interaction with other wildlife, including foxes, otters, badgers and hedgehogs.

Their garden has been bugged from end to end with camera traps. It doesn’t matter at what unearthly hour the visits happen, the moment will be captured and is monitored and recorded on Les’s state-of-the-art gear. Every morning the night’s footage is minutely studied over tea and toast as more revelations unfold. A combination of the perfect surrounding habitat, a garden packed with wildlife-friendly plants and shrubs, and the lure of peanuts, jam, grapes, eggs, day-old-chicks and digestive biscuits, makes this a pine marten paradise. And let’s not forget Chris’s Victoria sponge cake, or the fact that martens have an insatiable sweet tooth.

A Richness of Martens: Wildlife Tales from Ardnamurchan by Polly Pullar is published by Birlinn, £12.99. She will be appearing at the Wigtown Book Festival on 26 September.