Nearly Missing the Puffins on Lundy

I have been a little late going to see the puffins this year.

It is a bit like when you live near somewhere special and keep telling yourself that one day you will visit. I hear it often when I am home in North Devon, people say to me, ‘I’ve always meant to visit to Lundy.’ Meanwhile visitors travel from all over the UK, Europe and even further afield to visit here.

Last Saturday, with the Oldenburg and many small boats day tripping, there was a constant stream of people coming into the shop with a mission. Every few minutes someone would ask, ‘Where can we see the puffins?’ They had travelled purposely to see these little birds.

I started to feel slightly guilty.

Here I was, living on Lundy, and I hadn’t yet gone to see them this breeding season.

Time is running out

I also knew that time was running out. The pufflings will soon leave their burrows during the first weeks of July. The adults will follow shortly afterwards, heading back out into the vastness of the Atlantic. Before long the burrows will be empty.

The puffins will return next year.

It is quite possible that I won’t.

So, with breakfast packed and a book tucked under my arm, I headed to the Battery.

I like reading outdoors, especially books that fit the location. Today’s choice was a fitting one, a book by Adam Nicolson – ‘The Seabirds Cry’. Sitting amongst the seabirds, seemed the perfect place to read and eat breakfast.

The Commute

As I sat on the edge of the Battery, the cliffs below were alive with movement. Birds darted out to sea others swept back towards the island. Guilllemots, Razorbills, Fulmars, Herring gulls and of course Puffins. All who seemed to be travelling along the same invisible aerial highway. Quietly watched by a Shag, preening itself on the rock below me.

The whole scene felt frantic, like a busy motorway.

Watching them, I found myself remembering my own commuting days. In the 1980s I worked as a sales representative for IBM, driving from Portsmouth to Basingstoke each day. It was the era of the yuppie. I had a power suit, a red Peugeot 205 GTI and a belief that success lay somewhere further down the road.

Like the seabirds, I spent much of my time travelling between destinations.

As I sat, I wondered whether in my ‘Shoulder padded Power Suit’ I looked as smart as the puffins, who stand outside their burrows in neat rows, upright and alert, like sentinels on parade.

According to Nicolson, Puffins come ashore each year to reunite with their mate, raise a chick and repeat a cycle that has been happening for generations. Reading this, I was reminded of the summer when Lundy became the location for a television dating programme. Human beings, it seems, are not so different. Islands have always been places where relationships begin. Lundy is no different.

As I watched the puffins disappear and reappear around the cliffs, I realised that much of island life revolves around seasons. Birds arrive. Birds leave. People arrive. People leave.

Every year visitors ask me where to find the puffins. Every year the puffins faithfully return.

This year I almost missed them

Living somewhere extraordinary can sometimes make you forget just how extraordinary it is. You assume there will always be another opportunity. Another walk. Another sunset. Another chance to visit a favourite place.

But seasons move on.

The pufflings leave their burrows.

The adults head back out to sea.

And before you know it, another season is drawing to a close.

As I packed away my breakfast things and closed my book, I was glad I had finally made the time. Not because I learnt anything new about puffins, but because I had remembered to notice them.

Sometimes the things we tell visitors not to miss are the very things we need reminding to see ourselves.

Acknowledgment

Thank you to Paul Dean who took the Puffin Photos just last week. I only have an Iphone, sadly it does not do the Smart puffins justice. Paul shot these photos, using a long lens with a 1.4x extender fitted to a full frame R5 Mkii and then cropped. He did this as he was mindful of protecting both Nature and Heritage at the Fog Battery on Lundy.

Reference

Nicolson, A., (2018). The seabird’s cry. London, England: William Collins.