ISLE OF BIRDS
Exploring the incredible bird population on the Isle of May
Early summer is the perfect time for a visit to the Isle of May, an emerald island barely more than a mile in length which sits sentinel at the mouth of the Firth of Forth. Though small in stature it is a cornerstone of the Scottish natural world, playing host to a grey seal colony and a veritable metropolis of migratory seabirds.
At this time of year, the south cliffs are heaving with birdlife: every rock ledge colonised and whitewashed by guano, the air cacophonous with the squalling and squealing and keening of the birds. Half a million seabirds choose to breed upon this small outpost each year. And every species takes up a place in the strata of life, a multi-storey settlement that rises vertically from the waves.
Down on the rocks by the water’s edge are the shags, who bed down on heaps of rotting seaweed. Dark and rather dowdy at first glance, on closer inspection their petroleum-green iridescence, feathered quiffs and gold-streaked bills offer an air of low-key glamour.
Above them are the razorbills with their snubnosed beaks. Gnomish and oddly proportioned, they squat like penguins but with the delicate wings of terns, and lay their eggs directly on the ledges and terraces of the lower cliff.
Then come the sleek guillemots in their evening wear: silky black-brown heads and necks set apart from starchwhite breasts by a sweetheart neckline and winged eyeliner carefully picked out in silver. Higher up are the greytone kittiwakes with their pretty, scalloped wings, and then the greedy herring gulls – strident and bullying, identifiable by the red spots on their beaks – who hang around the precipice like teenagers and scrounge for eggs or lonely chicks.
But the main attraction is to be found on the grassy slopes above: a 40,000strong colony of those buxom, colourful clowns of the coastline: puffins. These charming little birds are highly loyal, returning every year to their birthplace to breed. Although they spend most of the year apart on the open ocean, they breed for life.
At the start of the breeding season in April, they can be spotted seeking out their spouse and knocking together bills in an eskimo kiss. Those unmistakeable bills (candy-striped in primrose, blood orange and blue-grey) are shed when
the season is over, as are the triangular eye ornaments that give them that facepainted look.
The wintering puffin with its dark beak and sooty cheeks is so different in appearance that for many years it was assumed it was a different species altogether. One might watch them by following one of the many paths that lace the island-top, before settling down to see the mouths of burrows.
The parents will bustle in and out once their chicks are hatched, bearing eels. But watch where you step. Scottish
“These charming little birds are highly loyal, returning every year to their birthplace to breed and mating for life
Natural Heritage, which runs the island nature reserve, advises visitors to stick to the paths: some areas, riddled with puffin burrows and rabbit warrens, can give way suddenly underfoot.
And keep a watchful eye out for female eider ducks, who are quite literally underfoot. Well camouflaged by their brindle feathers and flattening their bodies to the ground, they will not be moved from their nests until their chicks are ready to leave.
Over the nesting period the females can lose around a third of their bodyweight, while the feckless fathers – flashy in their black and white plumage – splash carefree on the waves. The puffins here are a rare success story. A decade ago, a pattern of extreme weather caused a dramatic population crash, which wiped out around half of the May colony.
Starting in 2008, puffin ‘wrecks’ – when dead birds are washed up on beaches in great numbers – started to be reported with alarming frequency around the British coast, and then in the spring of 2014 as many as 28,000 were found washed up in the Bay of Biscay – many whose rings identified them as being from the colonies of Scotland and Wales. However, a survey on the Isle of May last season found reason for optimism: record success rates among breeding puffins (87% of pairs managing to rear a chick), suggesting that their comeback may already have begun here, while in other sites across the country (including St Kilda) they continue to suffer.
The island is accessible between April and September. Keep an eye on the sea too, for groups of minke whales which are often seen close to shore on sunny days. After that, late summer to early autumn is a good time to spot butterflies (painted ladies, peacocks and red admirals) and moths (silver Ys), who can arrive in great numbers – thousands at a time – during migration.
During the open season, rangers are present to supervise visitors and offer guidance; and from March to early November, the bird observatory – based out of ‘the low light’, a former lighthouse – is also staffed by voluntary ornithologists.
Their online logs, which have the calm and careful tone of the shipping forecast, make for a satisfying evening’s read: the entry for 23 April, for example,
notes the weather (‘SW4/5 decreasing 2 late afternoon. Clear morning…’) and that ‘the mallard pair were again prospecting. Light hirundine passage’.
Then comes the careful rollcall of the day: ‘Shelduck four, mallard two, purple sandpiper eight, turnstone 12, curlew one, snipe one, kestrel one…’ If a week or more spent birdspotting sounds like a holiday well spent, working stays start from £135 including the boat transfer but must be booked a year in advance (see isleofmaybirdobs.org for more details).
The observatory was established in 1934, but its staff were far from the Isle of May’s first residents. A priory was first established on the island by St Ethernan in the seventh century but these monks were killed by Viking raiders.
Later, it was resettled and the very ill were sent there for healing. It is thought that the monks were treating their patients with medicinal herbs like greater celadine, which can still be found on the island. The ruins of the later priory are still visible and an easy walk from the boat landing.
In winter, the island is uninhabited and the grey seals come into ascendance. Thousands return to breed and haul themselves out of the water to take over the island completely.
Around 2,000 pups are born there each year but you can’t land on the island during this period. Solar-powered cameras broadcast images every five seconds to the Scottish Seabird Centre (seabird.org). But there’s plenty of time before then.
Trips to the island can still be arranged from Anstruther harbour on the Fife coast (£30 on the Osprey rib, or £26 by the May Princess pleasure cruiser) or from North Berwick in East Lothian (£48), the latter including a loop of the stunning Bass Rock, the world’s largest gannet colony. Don’t miss out.