Deep-sea birding
by Anthony McGeehan
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Great Shearwater , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). Back in the late 1980s – yes, the last millennium – offshore waters were terra incognita as far as our knowledge of seabirds went. Wilson’s Petrels were mythical, a creature that was not known to grace Irish territorial waters. Moreover, thinking back, there was another worry. Short of seeing its yellow foot-webs, could the species even be identified? For all we knew, telling Wilson’s Petrel from Storm Petrel might be on a par with separating Wilson’s Snipe from Common Snipe. Maybe Wilson was a museum taxonomist, an over-zealous splitter high on formaldehyde? Today, knowledge of what is ‘out there’ has been assimilated into the birding calendar. The whereabouts of Fea’s Petrels apart, a dazzling cross-section of ocean-dwelling seabirds can be encountered if all goes well on a pelagic trip. If only it was that easy. The rewards are well worth exaggerating, especially to landlubbers who don’t go.
Fulmar, off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). Weather is the eternal pain. Once a date has been picked the worry countdown begins. To secure a departure requires rolling two sixes: the first is a benign weather forecast for the day; the second is a skipper who is prepared to believe the weather forecast. For me, August 2007 was a month of two contrasting trips. The first from Magheraroarty in Donegal to roughly 12km north of Tory Island; the other from Dingle in Kerry to seas 10km west of The Tearaght. Both trips were blessed with almost calm conditions but were comparatively birdless. Thanks to the discovery of a Wilson’s Petrel, the Kerry trip received a hefty stamp of approval from all on board. The difference between the two voyages was, however, much more than Wilson’s-deep. The big factor was chum, its composition and tactical deployment. In this department, Kerry was king. Ed Carty had procured WMD. Or, in equivalent chum terms, DMS (Di-methyl Sulphide). Carty had turned pot-luck and Hemingway stoicism into rocket science. Off Donegal, we poured fish oil and gutted fish at sea. Strangely, few birds were attracted. Compared to vintage chums of yesteryear – vegetable oil, medallions of mackerel, pizza anchovies and breakfast – the Donegal elixir was about as deodorised as Simon King. Carty’s concoction reeked. DMS is a vegetable preservative and its odour has a vaporous kick like ammonia coupled with an ability to linger in the air. Once drawn to the smell, the seabirds are able to feed on conventional oily chum. Ever Mohammed, Ed’s strategy was to remain with the chum and wait on. It worked. Eventually the birds came to him. With two trips down, a Henmanian sense of anticlimax was looking like the epitaph for the 2007 pelagic season. August was spent, but not quite some stalwart observers. Encouraged by Brad Robson, I geared up for one last try. September is usually the best month for land-based seawatching but a dodgy one to put to sea. A date was agreed – 10th September – and, weather permitting, a course west of Tory was mooted. The route was a minor change in tactics (betting that there might be a stream of seabirds west, rather than north, of Tory). Short of adding shampoo and teeth whitener, chum was given a rejuvenating makeover. With Bilbo Baggins aplomb, Ed had bequeathed the remaining phial of DMS for use off Donegal. Getting the material across Middle Ireland was difficult. The glass vessel’s lid did not seal all the vapours inside and, by the time Dublin was reached in an air-conditioned car, both Eric Dempsey and I were succumbing to the early stages of solvent abuse. Hopes of intoxicating views of a different sort led to a rethink of the chum’s constituents. We bought cod liver oil and crumbled canned sardines into the mixture. Fishy, but so wholesome that you could pour it on pasta. Nail bitingly, the weather showed signs of holding. High pressure remained settled over Ireland but north of us, strong westerly winds and foul weather poured thousands of Great Shearwaters past Atlantic coasts of Scotland. On 8th September, a staggering 7114 passed Butt of Lewis in 12 hours, more than ten times the historic combined total for Scotland. Next day, roughly 3000 were off Tory. Based on satellite tracking, Great Shearwaters cover in the region of 300 miles a day. If large numbers were on the move between the Outer Hebrides and Donegal, surely we could expect to encounter some? Almost inevitably, there was a cliffhanger. The bad weather had accompanied the Great Shearwaters south. Gazing out from Magheraroarty pier on the early morning of 10th September, the sea state was drunk and disorderly. The shipping forecast predicted winds of NW force 5-6. It looked every bit of that. There followed the usual attempt at a mutiny. By the skipper, of course. He didn’t fancy it. Besides, he said, we would all be sick. Luckily, we had been out with him in marginally worse weather last year, so he relented when I asked for a crack at the trip, even if it meant going no further out than Tory Sound. Phew! We executed the ritual untying of ropes and hauling of bouncy buoys to exhibit nautical competence and impress the skipper that we were fit for purpose. For most, that purpose was to try and not throw up. Steering NW slammed us straight into incoming waves. Better that, than to be rocked from the side. Spirits were high, especially since three Great Shearwaters had been ‘scoped from shore just before we left. Although we did not know what lay ahead, we did have a plan. That was, to plough out beyond Tory and drop DMS, lay a chum slick and wait for at least an hour. Well before that there would, for sure, be plenty to see. Or would there? Wrong. As can happen, surges of Great Shearwaters may quickly turn from a feast to a famine. We were drawing a complete blank. The boat was making heavy weather of it, the skipper resorting to cutting the engine to reduce the pounding as she plunged from crest heights into troughs. Clutching wet rails required both hands, so birding was best done naked eye. With over two hours under our belt, we had seen very little. Numbering about a dozen, Sooty Shearwaters were the commonest bird. Each sped down the valleys between the waves, their silver-leaf underwings glinting in the morning sunlight. Beautiful, but was that going to be it?
Sooty Shearwater , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan).
Great Shearwater , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan).
After lurching, and bobbling and slobbering around for the guts of an hour, the rising seabird tallies were a testament to the chum, but still lacked a star guest. Two adult Long-tailed Skuas drifted past at sea but quickly turned to become shadows.
Sooty Shearwater , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan).
Where would you rather be: on that wallowing ship or doing the ironing? By Irish pelagic standards, we had not seen much but anything could happen. A Fea’s Petrel could appear and people would die happy. Those that could ate lunch and we motored on. A distant column of Gannets circled high against puffy white clouds. We speculated that there might be unseen birds beneath them and diverted. Another Long-tailed Skua, this time a juvenile, appeared. Views were hopeless yet its identity was clinched thanks to the ability of digital cameras to wring blurry field marks from pixels. Our choice of second chum spot was as random as the first. Once again, there was a rapid response from Fulmars and Storm Petrels. This time Great Skuas launched raids, and among more and more Fulmars no less than three blue phase birds were found – a sign that ghosts from Greenland were present in our midst.
'Blue Fulmar' , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). A few Arctic Terns flickered close; on seawatches, a talisman that can presage Sabine’s Gulls. Rightly so! In short order, a juvenile and then a hooded adult Sabine’s Gull flew back and forth over the boat. Binoculars were handy but not essential for knockout looks.
Sabine's Gull , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan).
Great Skuas , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). What next? We were in the thick of it and everything was hanging around. Great Skuas were chasing Great Shearwaters and a Blue Fulmar was swimming beside Sooty Shearwaters. We heaved the rest of the chum overboard, deciding that we would stay with this slick until we had to return to port. A score of Storm Petrels were dispersed up and down the 200m line of the chum, dancing in and out of view at all ranges.
Great Shearwater , off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). Built up over the last two decades, current knowledge of the status of Wilson’s Petrel suggests that it is a scarce summer visitor off the western seaboard of Ireland, and that it is present mainly in July and August. Seawatches record them then, but seldom after late August. Consequently, our chances were thought to be slim. At first, an impression of a pale upperwing panel on one petrel was just that – a fleeting glimpse. Some Storm Petrels had worn plumage and the interplay of sunlit upperwings and incessant movement meant that three possibilities existed. First, a badly seen Storm Petrel; second, a Leach’s (two had been seen by now); third, The Boy! Like a scrunched-up winning lottery ticket, it played a frustrating game of cat-and-mouse before it showed its winning combination of features. It took a while, yet not only did everyone get great views but Mick the skipper was actively involved in the thrill of the hunt as he manoeuvred the boat to achieve best alignment: sun, boat, bird.
Wilson's Petrel, off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). Like others before, this individual was completing the moult of its wing feathers. The outer three primaries were old, their longer length against the new – but slightly shorter – inner primaries producing a raked-back hook to the wing tip. Not just the Wilson’s, all of the petrels were walking on the sea. Each had wings aloft. Although the leading edge of the Wilson’s wings was unangled and there was a definite ‘wrist’ to the Storm Petrels’ wings, all the birds fanned their wings while dip-feeding and wing-shape differences could be hard to see. Then, when the Wilson’s broke into a power glide, its wing shape looked bizarre; like a pair of clip-on black fins.
Wilson's Petrel, off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). Yes, it is the ultimate puppet petrel, but those legs surely belong to a Dunlin? The yellow foot-webs were easy to see when the bird pushed with its feet off the sea’s surface tension. That came as no surprise. More fascinating was the loose, dangling carriage of the legs. Untidy even. However, there might have been a point to this. Each leg functioned like a hinged chopstick. As soon as the bird’s foot made contact with the sea, the long gangly legs flexed in a knee-jerk reaction and gave the bird instant control. Shades of Peter Crouch, but not such a good header of a football.
Wilson's Petrel, off Tory Island, Co.Donegal, 10th September 2007 (Photo: Anthony McGeehan). God knows what appeared after we left. All but the Sabine’s were still there. Two magnificent adult Pomarine Skuas with full ‘silver service’ tail extensions gave us a final salute. It was a great day. VCs (non-posthumous, thank goodness) were handed out for birding in the face of seasickness. Everyone had seen everything well, despite the conditions. The wind was still in the northwest, although now rocking us gently home. People settled into a haze of exhausted bliss. Next time someone should pack cigars, just in case. Anthony
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