Troup Head

July 14, 2020September 8, 2020 | Rebecca Gibson

I had seen gannets a few times before; on a trip to the Isles of Scilly they had flown over the boat, and more recently I’d enjoyed watching them dive for fish near where I live in Moray. However, nothing could have prepared me for Troup Head. This RSPB site in Banff, about an hour’s drive from Aberdeen, provides nesting grounds for two thousand pairs of gannets, as well as thousands of other seabirds. During the short walk from the car park to the cliffs, both sounds and smells intensified until they reached a crescendo of squawks and guano pongs.

There were gannets everywhere. Without wanting to make them sound like flies, they swarmed around the cliff, gliding in deep circles as they came into land on the rocks. Many of them had chicks – currently clouds of white down with black reptilian heads. Dotted among them were the auks: guillemots, razorbills and the occasional puffin all grappling for a bit of wing room in the tight squeeze. Peering carefully down, I noticed just how high up we were. The swan-sized gannets – Britain’s largest seabird – looked like sparrows at sea level. Even the coastguard helicopter that passed by was below us. Troup Head really was a bird’s eye view.

The site became a significant birdwatching spot when gannets began to colonise it in 1988. Troup Head is now Scotland’s largest mainland gannet colony. We spent seven hours wandering along the track, shuffling across the tussocks to get the right vantage point for photos. Gannets came sweeping in to land in an endless queue, many suspended in mid-air and bobbing in the wind. There was something very duck-like about the way their webbed feet stuck out to the sides, and more than once a bird would crash-land quite unceremoniously with a ruffle of the feathers.

It was interesting to see lots of gannet behaviours up close. The birds pair for life and return to the same nest site each year with the same partner. To cement their pair bond, males and females will ‘fence’ together, clicking their bills from side to side and mutually grooming one another.

To ensure that one parent remains on the nest at all times, a gannet will stretch its neck and stare straight upwards in a pose called ‘sky pointing’, which signals to its mate that it is about to take off.

With so many birds on one cliff, it’s inevitable that there will be disputes over space. If a gannet gets too close to a neighbour’s nest, there is a display called ‘menacing’, where the birds will open their bills and lock them together in an attempt to jostle each other off the cliff.

While some quarrels are short-lived, others develop into full-blown fights, and with such formidable bills these can be aggressive.

Gannets have been a favourite of mine for many years, so to see such a vast colony so full of activity was a real treat. I was even more impressed that I didn’t get pooed on once!

The Red Rut

September 15, 2019May 3, 2022 | Rebecca Gibson

As the mornings grow gradually colder, signs of autumn such as emerging fungi, clusters of conkers and grass crunchy with frost can now be seen. A seasonal highlight among wildlife during this colourful season is the deer rut, where red stags and roe bucks compete with each other for the right to breed with hinds and does respectively.

The deer rut is regarded as one of British wildlife’s most impressive spectacles, especially that of the red deer – the UK’s largest land mammal, reaching over one metre at the shoulder. From late September to early November, testosterone-charged stags spend many weeks bellowing at dawn and dusk in an attempt to ward off rivals and also to bring hinds into heat (oestrus). They will often thrash in vegetation, gathering foliage into their antlers to increase their size. A slightly less glamorous habit is wallowing in their own urine. This olfactory stimulus also triggers oestrus among the females.

If two stags are equally matched, they will parallel walk alongside each other to assess size and strength. Stags will also clash antlers and shove each other – the victor of these battles will claim his harem of females and win mating rights. Due to its high risk of injury, physical contact is often only a last resort, carried out towards the end of the rut when the dominant male is near exhaustion. The rut is a huge physical drain for stags and they can lose up to 20% of their body weight as a result of being on constant guard of their harem and therefore not eating or resting.

A red stag grazing in Woburn Abbey Deer Park earlier this month – in a few weeks’ time his strength and endurance will be put to the test to win a harem of females

If watching red deer during the rutting season, it’s important to take care and keep a respectable distance. Stags can be aggressive and unpredictable, so it is essential not to get too close when watching the event. This autumn I would love to witness my first red deer rut. After my incredible encounter with a roe deer at Tring Park recently, I’m keen to continue learning about these often under-appreciated animals and witness more of their natural behaviour out in the field. While many good spots for deer rutting are in the wilds of Scotland, more accessible locations include Richmond Park, where over six hundred deer can be found.

The usual suspect, work, has meant that I’ve only managed to snatch the occasional walk outside in nature over the past few weeks. It’s been a while since I’ve been up with the dawn for a wildlife watch and it’s high time I got back into it. For the deer rut especially, it’s the early bird that gets the reward.

A Day at Sea

May 4, 2018 | Rebecca Gibson

Like almost every other visitor to the Isles of Scilly, I had my sights set on puffins during my stay, not to mention razorbill, guillemot and perhaps a seal or two. I’d planned on joining the afternoon Sea Safari around Annet, known as the bird sanctuary island, and the Western Rocks.

I wandered down to St Mary’s Quay to check it was going ahead and saw there was a trip to Annet in the morning too. I stood at the harbour and pondered what to do. The weather didn’t look promising – the looming clouds threatened to burst at any moment. So, somewhat recklessly, I bought a ticket for the morning trip and boarded the Sea King. As St Mary’s drifted slowly out of view, I hoped I’d made the right decision.

By the time we reached St Agnes the sun was doing its best to break through. As we headed out towards Annet, our guide pointed out the rock called the Cow, a smaller rock named the Calf beside it. When the tide came up, the Calf disappeared completely, only emphasising the fact that boatmen on Scilly needed their wits about them when navigating such challenging waters. Shags were perched on the Cow with wings held wide. The structure of their wings reduced buoyancy, which made it easier for the birds to chase fish underwater. As a result of this adaptation, however, their feathers were not truly water-repellent, so they needed to hold them up to dry them. Although, I doubted these shags would have much luck drying them in the current temperature. Perhaps it was for another reason; spread-wing postures aid digestion. Birds that adopt this position have low metabolic rates and high rates of heat loss. By positioning themselves with their backs to the sun, shags could increase the rate of thermoregulation, absorbing solar energy to increase their metabolic rate.

Lesser black-backed and great black-backed gulls wheeled overhead, mouths open as they wailed at us. I had my binoculars scanning the rocks and nearby surf for a glimpse of vibrant, toucan-like beaks and droopy, clown eyes. The skipper slowed the boat suddenly and I sat up straight – a sure sign he’d seen something. A pair of great northern divers cruised into view when a wave subsided – beautiful grey birds not yet in their summer plumage. The divers, as a group, were extremely glamorous, with sleek heads and slender necks and bills.

A while after our divers had swum further away, I suddenly found myself looking at my first puffins. Two of them, perhaps a breeding pair. Down the binoculars, all concept of scale was warped, and it was impossible to see how small they were – just 12 inches tall! After a few moments they took to the air and, flapping rather ungainly, they gathered enough momentum to carry them off across the water. I was thrilled.

Leaving Annet behind, we moved into choppier water, the boat swaying beneath us as it negotiated unsteady waves. I was reminded again of how wild and isolated Scilly was, and it was this seclusion that protected and enhanced its flora and fauna. It was an island paradise.

A razorbill – a member of the puffin family – flew into view, wings beating rapidly either side of a stout, monochrome body. It wheeled in a wide circle, zooming back around the boat and away again; a bird’s second glance, too quick to photograph.

Just before it was time to turn back, a vast herd of forty grey seals appeared, some sprawled across the rocks and others bobbing in the water, long dog-like noses pointing in our direction. There were a range of ages, with some of the seals still sporting very lightly coloured coats and juvenile, inquisitive expressions. They continued to gaze after us until the rocks obscured us from their view, and the skipper took us back to St Agnes.

Once we had all disembarked from the Sea King, it wasn’t long before the Spirit of St Agnes had taken its place, ready to take more eager birdwatchers out to sea. I decided that I rarely had the opportunity to go looking for puffins, so I bought a ticket and left dry land again, excited to be back out on open water.

Amongst the blue-green waves were the white outlines of gannets, looking like swans of the sea with their slender necks and stocky bodies. Britain’s largest seabird, with a formidable wingspan of six feet; not only did they have beautiful plumage and facial markings, but they were truly built for a life at sea. Gannets can dive into the ocean from heights of 40 metres, hitting the water at speeds of almost 60mph. To withstand the pressure of such a dive, gannets have “airbags” that protect their organs on impact. They also breathe through slits, situated where the upper mandible meets the head, which are covered by flaps of hard tissue that prevent water from entering them.

These gannets weren’t diving, but they were soaring low over the boat, providing beautiful photo opportunities. It was always a challenge trying to focus a fully extended 400mm lens on a rocking boat, but I kept the camera as steady as possible and followed the birds as they glided majestically overhead.

The last bird to make an appearance was a special one; the Manx shearwater. Belonging to the order Procellariiformes along with albatrosses, these birds can live for some sixty years. They only produce one egg a year, so are highly susceptible to predation by rats. To combat this, the Isles of Scilly Seabird Recovery Project was established to eradicate rats from St Agnes, as it was suspected that they could swim the reasonably short distance to Annet, where the Manx shearwater bred. The project was successful, St Agnes was declared rat-free and the birds are now breeding successfully. In 2015, a total of 28 Manxie chicks were seen to be fledging from St Agnes and Gugh. These birds only breed on Scilly and Lundy in the UK, emphasising the importance of protecting the Scillonian population.

Before long it was time to leave rugged Annet behind and return to (scarcely) populated St Agnes. Although we’d had Manxies and gannets on this trip, the puffins had eluded us. I spoke to the guide on the journey back and she said they didn’t like bright sunlight. As the clouds had shifted and it had turned into another beautiful day, the puffins were obviously finding shade elsewhere. Later, as I looked through my photos, I felt very fortunate to have gone down to the harbour earlier than planned.

Spring Beginnings

March 10, 2018March 4, 2018 | Rebecca Gibson

For many wildlife enthusiasts, spring is perhaps the most eagerly anticipated season of the year, especially for birdwatchers. Migrants arrive from their wintering areas and settle back into their breeding grounds. After the cold of winter there is suddenly a buzz of activity, especially for males hoping to attract a female.

While some bird displays leave something to be desired, other individuals put in great effort. As we move into March, birdsong is elevated both in volume and intensity. Greenfinches have a particularly impressive display that involves large bursts of activity. The male, dressed in his finest vivid green plumage, circles in wide loops with emphasised slow wing beats, looking more like a butterfly or a bat than a bird. During these theatrical acrobatics, the males constantly call out to the females with twittering phrases that finish with a long, nasal “dzweee”. If the female is won over, the new pair often perch high in the trees, with the male always in the open to ward off any other potential new suitors.

The arrival of March also brings in the sand martins, one of the UK’s earliest arriving migrants. The smallest of the European hirundines (swallows and martins), sand martins have arrived from Africa, crossing the Sahara desert to reach their nesting colonies and excavate tunnels in sandy vertical banks. Over the past fifty years, populations of sand martins have crashed twice because of drought in their African wintering grounds, which makes protecting their breeding sites in Britain even more important.

Elsewhere in the arrivals gate are chiffchaffs, and from late March to April these plain-looking birds can be heard calling their name in woodland copses and shrubby undergrowth. A tiny warbler no larger than a blue tit, chiffchaffs have spent the winter in the Mediterranean and western Africa. Breeding begins in April to May, when the female builds a domed nest that lies very close to the ground. Incubating eggs and rearing the chicks are solely the female’s responsibility. Chiffchaffs usually leave the UK in September, heading south towards France and occasionally on to West Africa.

Despite the recent snowfall that has smothered the emerging snowdrops and crocuses, keep an eye and ear out for the arrival of spring migrants who will hopefully find some warmth as they prepare to settle in for the breeding season.

Tales of Inspiration

January 4, 2016 | Rebecca Gibson

Most people have seen the incredible photos by Canadian biologist and photographer Paul Nicklen, but some may not have heard the whole story behind the shots. I watched a Ted Talk entitled “Tales of Icebound Wonderlands”, which told the story of his trip to the Antarctic, where he had a close encounter with a fearsome predator.

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Leopard seals (Hydrurga leptonyx) are formidable predators that can reach up to 12ft in length. Similar to the cat they’re named after, they have thick spotted coats and a mouthful of long teeth.

In his conference talk in 2011, Paul Nicklen explained how leopard seals have received a bad reputation in recent years, quite unjustly. Just like lions, bears and wolves, they hunt to survive. He made a quip that the reason leopard seals were given a bad press was that they ate Happy Feet. Yet, the lion prides of the Serengeti live off Bambi.

Nicklen was travelling with a Swedish companion, and whilst on the boat they experienced a hit to the hull by a leopard seal. Naturally, the first thing the photographer did was dive straight in the water. As Nicklen rightly pointed out, National Geographic don’t print excuses.

The seal, a high-spirited female, swam straight over, and proceeded to give Nicklen a close-up of her open maw, displaying a set of savage teeth. However, it seemed the seal was smiling instead of growling, as she proceeded to bring Nicklen a penguin to snack on.

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Unfortunately, Nicklen was untrained in the hunting of penguins, so the bird had a lucky escape. Unfazed, the seal returned with another, and another. When each followed the last in its escape, the seal presumed Nicklen a poor hunter, so instead brought him dead individuals. Nicklen began to fear he would offend the seal and make her aggressive, but she continued to work tirelessly, despite her attempts being fruitless.

Leopard Seal Story

Finally, the seal flipped onto her back and bared her teeth once again, this time making a concerning clicking noise. Nicklen began to fear the worst when the female darted straight past him. The photographer turned to witness her seeing off another seal, and returning with yet another penguin. This behaviour made my jaw drop – a predator competing with thousands of others for sustenance spent four days’ worth of hunting time feeding this strange creature in her territory. The animal’s compassion and dedication was awe-inspiring.

By the end of his speech, Paul Nicklen was fighting back tears. Seeing his passion and visible emotion was incredible to witness. It makes me proud to be a wildlife photographer, and inspires me to work as hard as I can to achieve a fraction of what Paul Nicklen has in his career so far.

None of these images are mine – watch the story behind them at Ted2011.