British Sea Birds

by Charles Dixon

FULMAR PETREL.

This Petrel, the Fulmarus glacialis of ornithologists, is very like a small gull in appearance, and is one of the largest representatives of its family in the northern hemisphere. Although it abounds in various parts of the British seas, and was said by Darwin to be the most numerous bird in the world, so oceanic is it in its habits, that the wanderer by the shore might not catch a glimpse of a single example during the course of an entire year. Perhaps this Petrel is more frequently observed off our eastern coasts than anywhere else, except in the vicinity of its breeding place; it is often caught in the flight-nets on the Wash, and is said to be a common frequenter of the deep-sea fishing grounds in the North Sea. Occasionally storm-driven birds may be met with close inshore. The Fulmar Petrel is one of the most familiar birds of high latitudes, following in the wake of whaling vessels and sealers, and known to the sailors by the name of “Molly Mawk.” In its actions above the sea, the Fulmar very closely resembles a Gull, beating about in the same dilatory manner, and searching for any food chancing to float upon the surface, following in the wake of vessels for miles to pick up the scraps thrown overboard. Its usual food, however, appears to be cuttlefish and sorrel. It is also very partial to whale blubber. It often alights upon the sea, either to rest or sleep, or to eat its food; whilst its flight is not only powerful, but capable of being sustained for long periods. When searching for food, this bird flies close to the waves, every now and then gliding along with wings nearly motionless, maintaining its speed with a few vigorous beats from time to time.

The Fulmar Petrel becomes by far the most interesting at its breeding stations. These, however, are isolated and few. In the British area there is only one important nesting place of this species, and that is at St. Kilda—a group of rocky turf-covered islets, that form an ideal haunt for every species of Petrel that frequents the British seas, or even a considerable portion of the North Atlantic. A fortnight’s sojourn on St. Kilda has made me familiar with many of the Fulmar’s habits during the breeding season. It is the bird of all others characteristic of the place; one is reminded of its presence in many ways, but most persistently by the strong smell emitted by this and all birds of the Petrel family, and which scents everything and every person on the islands. The Fulmar is extremely gregarious during the breeding season, and many thousands of birds congregate here during the summer. It is also exceedingly attached to its breeding places, visiting them season by season, for time out of mind, and very probably pairs for life. At St. Kilda, its favourite nesting places are on the downlike cliffs, places where the soil is deep and loamy, and allows the bird to excavate a hollow of varying depth. But there is not sufficient accommodation of this kind for all, and great numbers have to resort to the ledges, crevices, and hollows on the face of the beetling cliffs, or find a site in some cranny amongst the rough piled-up masses of rock. Wherever possible, the Fulmar evidently likes to burrow into the ground, but the hole in most cases is not big enough to conceal the bird. These hollows are lined with a little dry grass, but in many instances a nest of no kind is made. Some of the nests I examined on the bare ledges of the cliffs, were made of small bits of rock. Vast numbers of nests are made close together, and from a distance the sitting birds—all blended together—look like patches of snow. The Fulmar lays but a single egg each season, white in colour, rough and chalky in texture, and with a strong pungent smell, which is retained by the shell for years after the egg has been taken. This egg is laid in May.

There are few more stirring sights in the bird world, than a colony of Fulmars. Time can never efface the vivid scene that was presented to me, as for the first time I peered over the mighty cliff Connacher, and viewed the countless hosts of Fulmars at their nesting-places. Just before the summit was reached, a few Fulmars could be seen flying above the cliff, then dropping behind the ridge out of sight. When I got to the top and looked over, the scene became grand, imposing, indescribable. The suddenness of it all was well-nigh overpowering. One moment, not a bird to be seen; the next, countless thousands of drifting birds flying about in all directions along the face of the cliffs, passing to and fro, backwards and forwards, like snow-flakes in a gentle breeze, far as the eye could follow them! All the Fulmars drifted to and fro in silence; not a single bird uttered a cry. No bird flies more gracefully than this Petrel; it seems to float in the air without effort, often passing to and fro for minutes together without perceptibly moving its wings. They are remarkably tame and confiding birds, flying past one at arm’s-length, the bright-black eye contrasting strongly with the snowy plumage. When disturbed by the firing of a gun, the Fulmars and other sea-birds leave the rocks in masses so dense, that one is apt to think the entire face of the cliffs is crumbling away. Large numbers of Fulmars are snared by the natives, and upwards of 20,000 young birds are killed every season at St. Kilda, which, after the fat and oil are extracted from them, are salted and kept for food. When caught, the Fulmar vomits a quantity of clear amber-coloured oil, and a little flows from the nostrils. During the Fulmar harvest in autumn, the birds, as they are taken, are made to vomit this oil into dried gullets of the Gannet, which the fowler carries for the purpose hung round his waist. This oil is valued as a sheep dressing, and is said to be a sovereign remedy for rheumatism. The typical race of the Fulmar is an inhabitant of the North Atlantic basin, ranging southwards in winter as low as the latitude of New York in the west, and Gibraltar in the east.