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Puffin with sand eels
this wee guy stood here for about 10 minutes happy to have his photo taken The weather was inclement, a 5am rising had helped to develop a distinctly foul taint to the moods of our heroes, and the entire centre (in the direct path of travel) of the country was underwater. However, valiantly they pressed on to the wilds of Northumberland to seek the fabled puffin bird... and they were not to be disappointed…………….
After suffering through a night of dodgy bedsprings care of the Newcastle YHA, and an even dodgier breakfast, we headed north under threatening clouds (the previous day had seen a very wet dash to stand on Hadrian’s wall which we were not keen to repeat). However, we arrived in the aptly named Seahouses (yes it is a lot of houses by the sea) to find the clouds parting and the fresh breeze dropping. We got ourselves a filter coffee in a café smelling of old deep fat fryers (the quintessential English seaside experience) and then toddled off to the not so aptly named ‘Glad Tidings no4’. Once on board the tub our worst fears were confirmed; our apparatus were significantly smaller and of lesser quality than everyone else’s. Yes, we were in fact caught in the middle of the highly
competitive sporting event that is amateur wildlife photography. The entire boat was filled with middle aged hobby photographers with zoom lenses to make paparazzi green with envy (one was so big it had camouflage painted on it - I kid you not). The conversation around us was something to behold, as 50 year old men with little goatee beards wearing brand new high alpine trekking gear (not quite sure what mountain they were climbing) were heard to say “yes, well I find the canon 3.0 digital simply pixelates out when I need those really detailed shots of snails humping,”. However, Paul at least could hold his head a little way above the water as he had an SLR with him, me I had a snippy and unimportant little digital automatic-not good when faced with the kind of stiff competition that was present on that boat.
However, we got over our inferiority complex and off we set rolling through the swell towards the Farne Islands. Fours miles out to sea off the Northumberland coast a rocky collection of islands where hundreds of thousands of seabirds come to nest every year, and where more importantly there were 100, 000 pairs of
Jess & Puffins
At last I really got to see them! nesting PUFFINS!
The sun came out as we stepped on shore and it was everything I expected (I had been going on for months about seeing Puffins and was determined I was not going to leave the country till I had). Puffins whirred through the air like oversized bumble bees landing very inelegantly with a thump and often a tumble next to their (or in fact any other Puffin’s) burrows. Funnily enough puffins don’t stink like other bird colonies, I think because they live in burrows underground, which they clean out on a regular basis. They live at sea for about 9 months and then come into shore to lay their eggs and feed up their pufflings on sand eels. They were just so cool, and well worth being muscled out of every good viewing spot by competitive amateur photographers (you got the feeling you would be shoved off a cliff face without hesitation if you were in the way of a good shot). Anyway we spent a very nice morning watching the antics of the Puffins in the sun, mid air collisions were not always avoided as 100,000 birds frantically flew out to sea and back in again
with mouthfuls of sand eels. There were heaps of other nesting birds on the islands too: Razorbills, Guillemots, Kittiwakes and Shags (and they all stink by the way). As we were leaving Paul and I both got pooed on by a Puffin (amazing it had not happened before really considering we were standing underneath so many airborne birds for a good few hours). We figure being pooed on by the coolest looking bird in the world brings extra good luck.
In the afternoon we got back on the Glad Tidings (number 55) and poottled off to the inner Farne Island, where St Cuthbert had lived for many years. Off the boat we stepped and were promptly attacked by the nesting arctic terns. They lay their eggs on the ground pretty much anywhere and leave their babies just wandering around all over the show, so get pretty aggressive about anyone going near them. However, while attempting to peck the top of your head into submission it does not occur to them that you might inadvertently stand on one of their babies in an attempt to avoid their protective manoeuvres- I guess that is bird brains for you. The island wardens
wore hats covered in bird pooh sort of like badges of honour. We speculated that the more bird shit on your hat the harder and cooler you are in the world of National Trust bird wardens.
Having held off all day, the rain finally came in the last 15 minutes and we arrived back in Seahouses having had a pretty ace day, even getting lost in the one way systems of Newcastle could not put a dampener on it (note to self guidebook maps not so good to try and navigate your way around a city when in a car).
Final Score
FARNE ISLAND PUFFINS: 10
Amateur wildlife photographers: 0
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