Noss

The alarm goes off at 4.45am. Time to get ready for our early morning boat trip to Noss cliffs. Billed as an ideal opportunity to photograph seabirds in the superb morning light, it seemed an unmissable opportunity. To be honest, I really am a wimp when it comes to small boats and any kind of swell, but I’ve decided that I’ll miss out on too much if I keep refusing to go on trips such as this.

Phil, the skipper, sent out texts last night warning that fog might cause the trip to be cancelled. As it is, the morning’s clear but cloudy,and the sea is currently calm, but with increasing winds forecast for later, he cancels the remaining trips for today. 

Having donned life jackets we board the small RIB, and set off for Noss. It’s fairly smooth, but when Phil tells me I can kneel or even stand on my seat to take my photos, I smile weakly, thinking I’m going to struggle to even move from my current position. 

Yet as we reach the cliffs everything changes. Towering above us are ledge after ledge of gannets and guillemots, and the air is thick with shrieks and cries while the that pungent odour which is unmistakably seabird permeates. Stationary, the boat rocks back and forth, but somehow the proximity of all thus action makes me forget my nervousness and there I am, standing on my chair, balancing while trying to focus a 600mm lens on a fluffy gannet chick being preened by its mum. The cuteness factor is definitely there, with little guillemots being nuzzled by their parents, waddling along with their white-rimmed eyes, looking for all the world like bespectacled boffins. But it’s not all sweetness and light. One makes a kamikaze jump into the water - as apparently  they’re prone to do - and is immediately pounced upon by a great skua, and from a nest halfway up the cliff hangs the body of a beautiful gannet, garrotted by some fishing line. 

We move away, Phil steering the boat into the wind so the birds that follow us soar above us, beautiful aerial acrobats seemingly floating without effort.

And then, out come the fish.  By now, I’m at the back of the boat, ready for the action. I really have no idea how to cope with this. It’s mayhem. Gannets float on the water, fighting over food, while others perform their magnificent dart-like dives, plummeting down from all directions. The sea becomes a churning mass of foam and for a while I just stare mesmerised. But then I start to shoot, trying to focus on specific action, rather than turning from one area to another, scared of missing the best shot.  Skuas arrive too, keen not to miss out, but generally the gannets hold their own. I’m loving every minute. 

Of course, this can’t go on for ever, and eventually we turn to head back into Lerwick, the boat’s wake reflecting the light that’s appeared below the lifting clouds as the silhouette of Noss retreats into the distance and the last few hopeful birds become weary of following us. What an amazing experience. 

We spend the rest of the day exploring the north west area of mainland Shetland, but with gannets galore, our land explorations will have to wait until tomorrow’s journal. 

More than ever, it’s difficult to choose a main today. I’m torn between the three gannets diving one after another, the two apparently in a synchronised dive, and the two with mouths full of fish. I like them all. My aim today was to at least attempt to capture their incredible streamlined efficiency, but aesthetically, I prefer the greedy gannets. I’ll be interested to know what people think! The others join some additional shots in extras. 

Thanks for your lovely responses to my recent posts, and your understanding of my tardiness.