Tales From the Bush
A WILD WORLD OF RIPPING YARNS
Searching for eiders on storm-tossed seas
I’ve never suffered from full-blown seasickness. But today, 6km out to sea from the island of Smøla in western Norway, it feels like I’m pushing my luck. As the small fishing boat Havsula – meaning ‘gannet’ – approaches a whaleback of wave-pounded rock, the queasiness is hard to quell.
My companions, Duncan and Ingrid, seem glued to their binoculars as they scan the turbulent waters for signs of eiders. All of us are rocking our hips out on the open deck as the boat sways, trying to stay in one position.
“Ten birds beyond the left-hand side,” says Duncan, without lowering his field glasses.
“I can see eight… maybe nine,” replies Ingrid, after a pause.
I see nothing and say nothing, still trying to cope with the movement. It’s my first trip out to help with the research, while the others have been doing this for days. But that’s small consolation. By now I’m struggling even to hold my binoculars steady on what feels like an ocean-going bucking bronco. Dots appear, far off, then vanish in a mass of wavelet shadows, reflections and patterns.
Spatters of rain fog the optics, adding yet more complication. These birds seem to have almost uncanny powers of hiding in open water. Even Duncan and Ingrid admit that the morning’s conditions are really tricky.
However, there’s a serious purpose to our wild-duck chase. Offshore windfarms could be built in these waters, and the Norwegian Institute for Nature Research is keen to learn more about how they could affect coastal birds. Part of the research aims to see how flocks of moulting, temporarily flightless eiders react to the nearby passage of boats.
Duncan goes into the wheelhouse and re-emerges after a chat with skipper Kjartan. “There’s another group of skerries to the south that might be calmer in this wind. We could get there in about half an hour.”
I try not to seem too pleased, but I’m mightily relieved. As we travel south the wind eases and the sea even begins to settle. There’s scope to drink in aspects of this amazing coast, where some of the islands have brightly painted houses perched so close to the shore that they too seem to be riding the waves.
It’s also enough for all of us to see flocks more clearly. After hours of frustration we can at last count, approach, re-count and watch. The data starts to build up as we move from flock to flock.
When we head back to a snug cove to spend an evening in bunkhouse warmth, I think of the eiders. Their apparent cuddliness in Britain – all soft feathers and cooing drakes – seems utterly alien to their hard life here.
That night I drift to sleep with thoughts of them riding the waves like extremesports veterans, cresting the surge then vanishing in turmoils of white and blue-green water. The down-filled duvet’s cosiness doesn’t fool me any more.
A PROJECT THAT AIMS TO HELP CONSERVE EIDERS TOOK KENNY TO THE MIDDLE OF A STORM IN THE NORWEGIAN SEA.
“I’M STRUGGLING EVEN TO HOLD MY BINOCULARS STEADY ON WHAT FEELS LIKE AN OCEANGOING BUCKING BRONCO.”