Long before our expedition reached Skomer in
March, the guillemots and razorbills had returned to the island.
They were there to welcome us with their rough cries and to make
the wild scene more friendly with their comings and goings between
cliff and sea, lending thereto almost the plebeian air of a joyous
holiday crowd at a Lilliputian seaside resort. But they had not
properly settled in before we had done so. From our knowledge
(earlier acquired) of their habits we knew that they had made many
previous visits to the cliffs. We had once smiled incredulously
when local fishermen had told us, when we first came to
Pembrokeshire twenty years ago, that the guillemots always arrive
home for Christmas. Then one morning in mid-December we happened to
visit the famous Stack Rocks on the southern cliffs of
Pembrokeshire, and found these pinnacles of limestone covered with
groaning, squabbling, excited adult guillemots.
We understand now that this early visiting of the breeding ground
is common to several colonial nesting birds; and not only to
seabirds, but to some species of land-birds. In Britain the rook is
a familiar example. The fulmar petrel, so rapidly increasing on our
coasts, returns to the breeding ledges even in November, but only
at those cliffs and islands where it is a numerous breeder; to its
small new colonies it returns much later, well after the New Year,
and where it is attempting a new colonisation it may not appear
until March or April. This early return of colonial nesting
seabirds has been instanced in the description of the Manx
shearwater; it occurs in the gannet, cormorant, guillemot and
razorbill. Gannets return to Grassholm's 7,000 nests in February,
cormorants to large colonies in January and February (we have found
eggs laid early in March, but small colonies may be two months
later), guillemots in December, and razorbills early in February.
It is a general rule that the larger the community of one species
the earlier the individuals return, suggesting that competition for
the best nest sites, and the desire to stake a claim and retain it
at the breeding ground, induces this early arrival. But, probably
because food is not plentiful in the waters inshore, the ledges are
not continuously occupied during those early months. There are
days, even weeks, when no visit is made, when scarcely a single
guillemot or razorbill can be observed in the neighbourhood of the
islands. These disappearances are not regularly correlated with
definite phases of the weather - although very cold winds from
north and east do sometimes occur at the times when the settlers
make one of their temporary disappearances. Thus, from April 5th to
7th inclusive in 1946, there were fresh winds alternating with
calms at Skomer, and no guillemots or puffins appeared and hardly
any razorbills were seen; on the 8th none was seen on the land and
only a few on the sea. A like scarcity occurred on April 18th
(fresh north wind) and 19th (south breeze or calm); after that the
colonies of these seabirds fluctuated numerically, but by early May
some birds were continuously present on the island, and the ledges
and holes remained occupied until the August leave-taking. We can
only attribute the disappearances in the early part of the season
to the already-mentioned scarcity of food in the waters immediately
around the island: a conjecture which is strengthened by the fact
that none of these birds is seen to be feeding when assembled in
rafts on the sea at that time.
They are occupied rather with the affairs of courtship, display and
mating. Each species adopts its special pattern. The razorbills
seem to enjoy forming a kind of water-dance together: a dozen or so
will swim in single file for a very short distance, then quietly
turn and face together with beaks and tails elevated, sometimes
pairing off and swimming away in different directions, only to
alter course and form a rough - but sometimes very straight - line
ahead again. The whole manoeuvre is pretty to watch, and is varied
considerably.
Guillemots are more individual in their behaviour on the water.
They do not dance distinct chain dances, although like the
razorbills they often perform a concerted panic dive, or rush over
the surface together, half-flying, half- swimming, with breasts
raised and feet threshing the top of the water. These infectious
mass 'alarms' are sometimes due to the appearance of a boat or a
predatory gull, but they also occur without these causes and seem
to be, like the 'dread' mass flights of terns, due to the general
nervous stimulation of the breeding season, and are set in motion
by the least untoward movement of an excited individual.
Guillemot and razorbill mate on the ledges of their cliff and
boulder homes. But the puffin, perhaps because the interior space
of its under ground home is so limited, mates freely on the water.
We watched individual males on several occasions, and found that
the cock (recognisable both by his larger head and his behaviour)
would pursue one female after another until at last he found one
who neither swam away nor dived to escape him, but submitted. In
coition the male held position by rapidly vibrating his wings but
without holding the female's nape in his bill. This promiscuous
behaviour is quite at variance with the behaviour of the male on
land. At the burrow (as we found by marking several pairs with
rings) the male remained faithful to one mate, one nest, egg and
chick, and appeared to be then a model husband.
Skomer's cliffs were exciting and beautiful for the bird- watcher
in May, June and July. The three auks filled their ecological
niches with a pleasing nicety. The groaning gesticulating
guillemots occupied the narrow ledges in open situations on the
sheer cliff face, the more silent reserved razorbills mingled with
them on the broader rock shelves but preferred the shelter of
fissures and broken rock masses, even at times using the entrance
to a rabbit or puffin hole in the cliff top. In this way the
razorbill formed a link between the extremes of habitat: the open
dangerous ledge of the guillemot and the safe dark burrow occupied
by the puffin. It was not unusual to find all three birds living
very close together. We recollect one such spot in Skomer's cliffs
where guillemots occupied the narrow front 'veranda' upon which
puffins and razorbills alighted on their way to their respective
homes, the razorbills under slabs of basalt, and the puffins deep
in crevices behind the same slabs. Below all, on the narrowest
finger-holds of rock close to the sea, the kittiwakes had built
their nests.
The complex scene was at its best in the late afternoon when the
puffins were gathered outside their burrows for the flighting or
general assembly which took place regularly at that time of day.
Even during the height of incubation both the hen and her mate
would leave the burrow and the egg for an hour or so in order to
take part in this communal gathering. What useful biological
purpose this assembly served in the life of the puffin was, at
first, not easy to see we ourselves were convinced that, as the
birds did no work (that is, did not dig, feed or mate) but simply
sat about or indulged in short circling flights together, they were
merely enjoying each other's company, and in an idle manner which
was divertingly if unconsciously human. Strolling visits by
individuals across the carpet of the sea-pinks to burrows other
than their own were a feature of this assembly. As the puffin is
almost a silent bird communication by touch and look may be
important; certainly there were frequent bill-to-bill rubbings and
shakings, and occasional but not serious scuffles and scrimmages.
Bits of grass and seaweed would be carried about, sometimes taken
into a burrow, but often dropped haphazardly. A large feather
seemed to be a special toy, to be carried about with an air of
pride, to be stolen from a neighbour, to be used as a line is used
in a tug-o'-war. The look of apparent serious purpose in all these
seemingly aimless employments was, to the human watcher, extremely
comical. It appeared that the puffins were really enjoying this
period of relaxation in spite of their preoccupied appearance,
which has a certain resemblance to the mien of a pompous alderman
at a civic function.
Yet as a result of the wanderings on foot over several square yards
of ground the puffin becomes familiar with the terrain in the
vicinity of the burrow; and this familiarity must in some degree
always be useful to the adult bird. Moreover, the assembly has
another function: it attracts to it later in the summer younger
birds which reach the island then, birds which were born in the
previous summer but which will not breed until the following year.
These sexually immature puffins are in adult plumage and are not
easy to detect except by their more timid behaviour, which is not
like that of the old confident adult in possession of a mate and a
burrow; at present, therefore, the proportion of visiting immatures
is not known. Occasionally (as in the razorbill and guillemot too)
an immature puffin turns up in summer still wearing the first
winter plumage, and with the dark face and very pale lemon-coloured
legs of winter. We caught one such on July 3rd, 1946; it had no
brood spots, but had the usual yellow false 'lips' (the rictal
rosette) and blue-grey orbital decorations.
The puffins were the most amusing as well as by their vast numbers
the most spectacular of the auks which thronged Skomer's
magnificent cliffs. There too we observed the more sober behaviour
of the razorbill and guillemot which, talkative perhaps but not
willing to wander, each stayed guarding its single egg or chick
until relieved by its mate. This watchfulness in such an exposed
site was, of course, essential for the survival of the species. The
predatory great blackbacked and herring gulls were constantly
patrolling the face of the cliff, waiting the opportunity to snatch
an unguarded egg or young chick. Certain 'rogue' herring gulls
seemed to live by egg-snatching in the season; they became expert
at teasing the sitting guillemot, by lunging at it with yellow
scarlet-marked bill until the egg was sufficiently exposed (by the
sitting bird's defensive movements) to be seized, either whole or,
perhaps more often, by a vigorous blow which cracked it and so gave
the robber an edge by which it could be gripped and carried off.
The great black- backed gull was more dangerous to the young chick,
which it snatched up and often swallowed whole, sometimes at the
ledge, sometimes gulping it down in the air, and sometimes taking
it to the cliff-top or to the sea to devour. These great gulls,
too, were the severest enemies to the puffin, which they watched
for and seized as it left its burrow.
Man has ceased (on Skomer) to prey directly upon the auks. No
longer do the fishermen set their nets at night to catch them for
bait for their lines and lobster-pots or for human food; and their
eggs are no longer collected for any purpose - they were once used
for human and pig consumption. In spite of this there is no
evidence of increase in any of the three species. We have shown
that the predatory gulls have increased, and what harm they do.
There are no comparative figures to show that the vast numbers of
the puffins have changed within the last century. But we ourselves
noticed a very definite decrease in the numbers of guillemots
inhabiting the main ledges of the Wick in 1946. When we had last
seen these ledges in the summer of 1939 there had been no gaps in
that long line of breeding guillemots; but in 1946 there were three
distinct gaps of unused ledge, marked plainly by a green growth of
some sort, probably the nitrogen-loving Stellaria media. For want
of a better explanation we were inclined to blame these reductions
in the ranks of the guillemots to losses at sea through waste bilge
oil from oil-burning and oil-carrying ships. The beaches and rocks
along the whole coast of south-west Wales were in I946 (and each
year after, to the date of this book going to press) smirched with
this tarry residue; one could not circumnavigate Skomer in a small
boat without seeing numbers of seabirds (but auks especially) dead,
dying, or badly contaminated by this horrible filth. The guillemot
appeared to be the most frequent victim of the three auks.
It was estimated that there were in 1946 5,000 guillemots on Skomer
cliffs at one time, or approximately that number of pairs. Of 47346
guillemots examined (through binoculars) at the ledges, 14 were
seen to carry the white bridle or spectacle on the face. This gives
a percentage of .32, confirming the figure (0.3) given for
Pembrokeshire in the Handbook of British Birds (V, page 156); the
lowest for the whole of the British Isles. (The percentage rises in
colonies north of Pembrokeshire, reaching over 25 per cent. in the
Shetland Isles.)
June was the month of general hatching of auk chicks. In spite of
being laid a few weeks earlier than the eggs of the guillemot and
razorbill, the egg of the puffin does not hatch very much earlier.
It is incubated for six weeks, principally by the female, and the
chick grows slowly compared with the chicks of the other two auks,
which we found were ready to go to sea after two weeks on the
cliffs. The young puffin, however, remains in the burrow for seven
weeks.
There were differences in feeding methods too. Although all three
auks fed their young on raw fish, the puffin always carried into
the depths of its burrow a considerable bundle of small fish
crosswise in the bill, but the razorbill more often carried home a
single rather larger fish lengthwise, or two or three smaller fish
crosswise, in the bill, and the guillemot usually (but not always)
brought to the ledge a single largish fish lengthwise in the bill.
These fish were caught by pursuit under water, the auk swimming by
a series of jerks with wings partly extended, but the primaries
were closed and used as paddles, with the webbed feet spread to
assist the tail as a rudder in turning and twisting movements.
These actions of diving auks could be watched through the clear
water by the observer on the rocks above the sea. Small and large
sand-eels and the young 'fry' of herring, mackerel and other fish
which swam near the surface of the sea in summer were the principal
food of the auks. Sometimes a puffin would be surprised into
dropping its catch outside the burrow, and we could count as many
as 20 or more small fish in one bundle (actual counts of 23, 28 and
29 recorded), far more than had been evident to the observer trying
to estimate the number of fish held in one bird's bill. It might be
added here that puffins certainly do not hold fish exactly, with
tails all to starboard (or to port) of the bill, as some writers on
natural history have recorded from loose observation or
imagination. We have never recorded such precision; on all
occasions when we have tried to count a beakload of fish some tails
were showing each side of the puffin's bill. What is, however,
remarkable is the ability of the puffin to catch and hold in its
bill under the water such a number of fish at one time. It is
obvious that its bill is adapted for this purpose. Large, powerful
and slightly hooked at the tip, it is a natural gripping tool;
there are slight serrations within the upper mandible which must
assist it to hold the fish when captured. The throat is
comparatively small and narrow, not adapted for the swallowing of
bulky food which may account for the fact that no large fish are
fed to the chick. The guillemot, with its long pointed bill and
more elastic gullet, is able to swallow quite large fish. The
razorbill has a bill which might be said to be in size and shape a
cross between the pointed bill of the guillemot and the parrot bill
of the puffin, hence its ability to capture and hold small fish
across, and larger fish along, its bill. These adaptations probably
enable the three auks to share out the fish supply without undue
competition, but in considering the ecological niches occupied in
so vast and rich a feeding area as the sea there are many other and
complex factors to be reckoned with, such as distances which the
auks fly from land, their respective diving limits when fishing,
seasonal and daily movements of fish, and the competition of other
species (including fish). The examination of these factors, many
unknown or scarcely studied, however, leads to speculation on the
dynamics of marine biology. We prefer to return to the factual
record.
As there was some disparity between the records of the fledging
periods for the razorbill and guillemot given by various observers
and quoted in the Handbook, observations on the fledging periods of
these birds were carried out in 1946. Joan Keighley made a daily
round of the breeding sites of 24 razorbills and 20 guillemots, as
well as of 1O kittiwakes. In 1947 she studied 50 breeding sites of
the razorbill on Skokholm.
The razorbill thus takes fifty days from the date of egg- laying to
the day the chick leaves the ledge. The guillemot probably does the
same; although the incubation period of the guillemot is not yet
accurately measured, it is known that this auk lays and hatches its
egg at the same time as the razorbill. There is an interesting
explanation for the very much longer fledging period of the puffin,
although it is not quite so clear why the egg should take an extra
week to hatch. We can postulate that the earliest hatched egg and
the earliest fledged (i.e. strong, fast-growing) chicks of the
cliff- nesting auks are best able to survive the hazards of their
exposed situation because they are open to its dangers for a
shorter period. Therefore these two auks tend to evolve short
incubation and fledging periods. This has been achieved in the
so-called 'fledging' period by the device of the young birds
leaving the cliff (and its dangers of exposure to predators and to
accidental falls) long before they are full-grown and before they
are independent of their parents. In order to fit themselves for so
early a contact with the sea they grow a thick coat of feathers
during the first ten days after hatching, and even at that tender
age some of the chicks under observation were seen to make a
successful 'flight' to the sea, but the average fledging-period, as
the tables show, was just over a fortnight. The young birds become
restless for a day or so before leaving, and walk up and down the
ledge, calling to, and being called by, an adult swimming on the
sea below. At last the young bird jumps into space, and, although
its primaries are quite undeveloped, it manages to flutter down
with the aid of its secondaries and wing- coverts on a long plane
to the sea. It may hit a boulder or projection of rock, but its
fluttering descent, and its thick wad of feathers and the down
beneath them, check momentum and enable it to bounce off unhurt.
Once in the sea, even in a heavy surf, it is able to dive deep when
threatened by wave or by gull. It quickly reaches an anxious adult
(presumed by the observer to be its legitimate parent) which
convoys it to the open sea. The adult - usually one but sometimes
the pair - will accompany it, protect it from attack by other
birds, feed it and help it to find fish. The chick learns to follow
its guardian, and we have often seen one of these young birds, now
apparently fullgrown, still following an adult as late as November,
and have recognised it by its juvenile plumage and, in the
guillemot, by its characteristic loud juvenile call-note which it
reiterates with monotonous effect.
Very different is the story of the young puffin. In the safety of
the burrow there seems to be no such haste to hatch and grow and be
off to sea. The long incubation period is followed by a leisurely
fledging period during which the young puffin has time to grow to
its full size; and actually it becomes fatter and heavier than the
adult before it leaves the burrow. So long is this period in fact
that the adults seem gradually to lose interest in the chick which
they have fed on small raw fishes with such liberality during the
earlier weeks of its life. About the fortieth day of its existence
it is finally deserted by the old birds, which are probably
troubled by the next important physiological change in their annual
cycle- the onset of the moult. In late July and early August the
adult puffins gradually abandoned Skomer. The young birds remained
fasting in their burrows. At night they came out to exercise their
wings, as we discovered on our night patrols then. And it was at
night (thus avoiding the diurnally active gulls) that the young
birds eventually moved independently to the cliff edge and
fluttered down to the sea - to swim alone into the wilderness of
ocean, and to live there on the reserves of their 'baby' fat until
hunger taught them to fish for themselves. Unguided except by that
sure and wonderful sense of geographical position which seems to be
inherited in this and other species of seabirds, these young birds
would find the wintering grounds of the adults and, as ringing has
proved, return with them to the islands in the following
spring.
With the disappearance of the auks, when the last puffins left in
August, Skomer, losing more than half its number of birds, seemed
to lose more than half its life and attractiveness