British Sea Birds

by Charles Dixon

This bird, the Alca torda of Linnæus and ornithologists generally, is widely confused with the Common Guillemot, and many local names refer indiscriminately to each—such as Murre, Marrot, and Diver. It is readily distinguished from the Guillemots by its much deeper bill, crossed by a white line at its centre, and by a narrow yet very conspicuous white stripe, extending from the base of the bill to the eye. Otherwise, the Razorbill closely resembles the Guillemot in appearance, both in its summer and winter plumage. It is widely distributed round the British coasts, breeding in most situations where the cliffs are sufficiently suitable, but is much less abundant in the south, and is nowhere, perhaps, so numerous as the Guillemot. During the non-breeding season it becomes more generally scattered, and may then be met with, although ever sparingly, in the seas round most parts of the British coastline. Its actions in the water are almost precisely the same as those of the Guillemot. Like that bird it may be seen swimming to and fro, sitting highly and lightly on the water, often permitting a very close approach, especially in districts where it is not much harassed by the shooter. It dives with the same marvellous celerity as the Guillemot, pursuing its prey through the water, often at a considerable depth, as readily as the swallows chase an insect through the air. It is a very pretty sight to watch the Razorbill in quest of food. This may often be done from the summits of the cliffs, but certainly to better advantage from a boat, in which the birds can be more closely approached, and consequently better observed. A Razorbill in the water is a remarkably striking, if not an actually pretty bird. He sits so lightly, riding buoyantly as a cork on the swell, turning his head from side to side as the boat approaches, swimming rapidly before it, and often nonchalantly dipping his head into the water and throwing a shower over his upper plumage. The boat comes too near at last, and the bird, with a scarcely audible or perceptible splash, disappears into the water. Several moments afterwards he rises again to the right or left, ahead or astern, and the salt spray rolls off his plumage glinting like diamonds in the sun. Should fish be plentiful the birds are diving and rising again incessantly, the time of absence depending upon the depth descended or the length of the chase. The Razorbill ever seems to use its wings with reluctance on these occasions, always keeping out of harm’s way by diving or swimming. It is capable of rapid flight though, and may often be seen in strings or skeins, hastening along just above the waves to or from a favourite fishing place. The Razorbill is gregarious enough during summer, but in winter it is most frequently seen in small parties, or often alone. It also goes some distance from land, where, should a gale overtake it, great numbers often perish, as their dead bodies washed up on the coast sadly testify. The food of the Razorbill is largely composed of fry, especially of the herring, but many other small fishes are captured, together with crustaceans and other small marine creatures. The bird, so far as my experience extends, never seeks its food upon the shore, and obtains most, if not all, of it by diving. The Razorbill is a remarkably silent bird; the only sound I have ever heard it utter has been a low grunting. This note is uttered both in summer and winter, on the rocks as well as on the sea.

In May the Razorbill gives up its roaming, nomad life upon the sea, and collects in numbers at the old-accustomed breeding-places. These are situated on the ocean cliffs, such as contain plenty of nooks and crannies being preferred to those of a more wall-like character. It is possibly due to this that the Razorbill’s colonies are never so crowded as those of the Guillemot, and that the birds are more scattered along the coastline. There can be little doubt that the Razorbill pairs for life. As a proof of this I have known a Puffin burrow resorted to yearly, whilst eggs possessing certain peculiarities of form and colour have repeatedly been taken from one nook in the cliffs, years and years in succession. Like the Guillemot the Razorbill makes no nest, but lays its single egg in a crevice or hole in the cliffs, or far under stacks of rock, poised one upon another, where to reach it is an utter impossibility. Like most birds that breed in such situations, the Razorbill is much more loth to quit its egg than the Guillemot, often remaining upon it until captured. When alarmed by man the birds may be heard scrambling amongst the crevices, and uttering their grunting cries of remonstrance.

The single egg of the Razorbill, though not displaying a tithe of the variety observed in that of the Guillemot, is a remarkably handsome object. The ground colour varies through every tint between white and reddish-brown, and the handsome large blotches and spots are dark liver-brown, reddish-brown, gray, or grayish-brown. No shade of green or blue is ever apparent upon them externally, but the shells, when held up to the light, have the interior of a clear pea-green tint—a character which readily serves to distinguish them from such eggs of the Guillemot that resemble them in external colour. If the first egg be taken the bird will lay another, and this process may be repeated several times, but on no occasion is more than one chick reared in the season. It is said that the young of this species remain upon the cliffs for a much longer period than the chicks of the Guillemot, and that they eventually fly or flutter down to the sea, never revisiting the rocks. The parent will sometimes dive with its offspring, just as the Little Grebe will do.

LITTLE AUK.

This species, the Rotche of Arctic navigators, and the Mergulus alle of ornithology, is but an irregular visitor to British seas during autumn and winter, and as it seldom comes near the land under ordinary circumstances, is not a very familiar bird to the seaside observer. Exceptionally severe weather not unfrequently drives this little bird far inland. In its general colouration the Little Auk closely resembles the Razorbill, but it is less than half the size, and has a considerable amount of white on the wings. This curious little species congregates in incredible numbers at certain spots in the Arctic regions, to breed. Beechey, at the beginning of the present century, records that he has seen nearly four millions of these birds on the wing at one time. Colonies of the Little Auk are known in Nova Zembla, Franz-Josef Land (?), Spitzbergen, Grimsey Island (to the north of Iceland), and the coasts of Greenland. Like all its larger allies, the Little Auk is thoroughly pelagic in its habits, apparently only visiting the land to breed, living on the sea for the remainder of the year. It is well adapted for its lengthened sojourn upon the waters. It swims well and buoyantly, sitting rather low, flies rapidly when inclined, dives with as much ease as a fish, and sleeps quite safely and comfortably upon the waves. Voyagers in the Arctic regions have met with flocks of Little Auks at most times of the year, often far from land, and occasionally crowding upon the masses of floating ice. All observers agree in describing it as a somewhat noisy bird, and its specific name of alle is said to resemble its ordinary note. There is scarcely a winter that the Little Auk is not obtained in varying numbers off the British coasts, more frequently, of course, in the northern districts, but under ordinary circumstances it keeps too far off the land to be observed, and occurs most plentifully during periods of continued storm. Where the uncounted millions of Little Auks winter, that are known to breed in the Arctic regions, washed by the Atlantic, is still an unsolved problem. The few that are observed are as nothing in comparison with the numbers that crowd at certain spots during summer. Perhaps it is because the area of distribution is so wide in winter, and, comparatively speaking, so restricted during summer. The food of the Little Auk consists largely of minute crustaceans, and possibly of small fish. The bird is said to resort to the vicinity of fishing fleets, to pick up the refuse thrown overboard.

In May, the Little Auk resorts to the land to breed. It is eminently gregarious, and some of its colonies consist of an almost incredible number of birds. Curiously enough, its breeding places are not always by the sea, some of them being situated a considerable distance from the coast. Sloping rock-covered banks at the foot of the cliffs, seem to be preferred to the cliff themselves. A favourite situation is on the sloping ground below a range of cliffs, where the surface is covered with stones and rock fragments that have, during succeeding ages, crumbled from the precipices towering above. Here, in cavities, worn by wind and storm, beneath large stones and rock fragments, or in various hollows and holes under the fallen débris, the Little Auk deposits its single pale greenish-blue egg, out of reach of the Arctic foxes that prowl about the colony in quest of prey. The actions of the Little Auk at its nesting colony, seem to be very similar to those of the Puffin when breeding on slopes, as, for instance, on the island of Doon, one of the St. Kilda group.

PUFFIN.

Of all the Auks the present species, the Alca arctica of Linnæus, and the Fratercula arctica of modern ornithologists, is not only the best known, but the most readily distinguished. The Puffin cannot readily be mistaken for any other bird along the coast, his big brightly coloured beak and comical facial expression, being never failing marks of his identity. In the colour of its plumage the Puffin somewhat closely resembles the Guillemot or the Little Auk, only the throat and the sides of the head are white. The most striking feature in the Puffin is its beak—a deep, laterally flattened, coulter-shaped organ, banded with blue, yellow, and red, singularly grooved and embossed with horny excrescences, although these latter are only assumed for the pairing season, and are cast again when the breeding period is over! Unlike most birds, therefore, the Puffin displays his wedding ornaments on his beak! And this singular peculiarity appears to be common to various other species, more distantly allied, yet undoubtedly of close affinity with the English Puffin. Many local names have been applied to the Puffin in consequence of its singular bill. Bottlenose, Coulterneb, and Sea Parrot, may be mentioned as the most commonly used. Like most, if not all, members of the Auk family, the Puffin is not seen much near the land after the breeding season has passed. Indeed, it is very doubtful whether the bird ever voluntarily seeks the coast after it leaves it in early autumn with its young; continued gales and storms will occasionally drive a bird even far inland, whilst rough weather often causes it to perish at sea, its remains being sometimes washed up in quantities. Its actions on the water are almost precisely the same as those of the Guillemot and Razorbill. It is an adept swimmer, a marvellous diver; it flies well and strongly, especially during the summer, where I have seen it in swarms, drifting round and round the highest peaks of its island haunt on apparently never-tiring-wing. At the summit of the cliffs its powers of flight may often be witnessed to perfection. At St. Kilda, I have watched it gracefully poising itself in the air, its narrow wings beating rapidly, and its two orange-coloured legs spread out behind acting as a rudder. Of all the Auk tribe, so far as my experience goes, the Puffin flies the most. The Puffin feeds principally upon small fish, especially sprats and the fry of larger fishes; it also eats crustaceans, and various marine insects. It dives often to a great depth, and is remarkably active beneath the surface; when on the water it generally tries to escape from danger by diving. Sometimes the Puffin may be seen close ashore during winter, but never in any abundance.

The Puffin becomes by far the most interesting at its breeding places. The regularity of its appearance at these has often been remarked. In many localities it not only arrives punctually on a certain day, but retires from them in autumn with its young almost as regularly! In some places Puffins arrive on the land to breed as early as March; in others, not before April; in others, yet again, not before the beginning of May. With the exception of the south and east coasts of England—where it is only sparingly and locally distributed—the Puffin, from Flamborough northwards, is widely and generally dispersed. In some places its numbers are almost incredible, as for instance, at Lundy Island, the Farne Islands, on some of the Hebrides, and St. Kilda. There is a very interesting colony of Puffins established amongst the walls of the ancient fortress on the Bass Rock, but so far as my experience goes the colony on St. Kilda stands unrivalled, and, at a very moderate computation, must consist of many millions of birds! The Puffin most probably pairs for life, and returns time out of mind to certain familiar spots to rear its offspring. In most places the bird makes its scanty nest in a burrow which it excavates itself, but in some localities rabbit holes are frequently made use of. In some localities, however, the bird makes a nest in a crevice of the cliffs or beneath heaps of rocks. By the end of April both birds are engaged in scraping out this burrow, if circumstances demand it, which often extends for several yards in the loamy soil, sometimes sloping downwards, sometimes tortuous, sometimes nearly straight. At the end, or elsewhere in some cases, the slight nest of dry grass and a few feathers is formed. Occasionally several pairs occupy one burrow, each pair enlarging a portion of it for their own requirements into a kind of chamber; whilst many of the burrows have several openings, and are evidently the work of successive years. In this rude nest the hen Puffin lays a single egg, dull white, sometimes tinged with blue or gray, and obscurely spotted with pale brown and gray. Contact with the earth in the burrow and with the wet feet of the sitting bird, soon discolours this egg, and renders it almost like a ball of peat in appearance. When disturbed at their breeding places, such Puffins as may chance to be outside the holes soon fly off to the sea, and join the hosts of birds that swarm in the water near every breeding station. Those in the burrows, however, remain, allowing themselves to be dragged out without making any attempt to escape. Great caution and gloves are recommended, for the Puffin resents intrusion and bites fiercely, being able to inflict a nasty cut with its powerful beak and sharp claws.

I still retain the most vivid impressions on my visit to the grand colony of Puffins on Doon, one of the St. Kilda group. Every available place is honeycombed with their holes; the ground cannot afford accommodation for all, and numbers of birds have to seek nesting places under the masses of rock lying on the grass-covered hillsides, or in the crannies of the cliffs at the summit of the island. As soon as we had fairly got ashore, and begun to walk up the slopes, the Puffins, in a dense whirling bewildering host, swept downwards to the sea, or rose high in air to circle above our heads, in the direst alarm. It seemed as if the whole face of the island were slipping away from under me, just like flakes of shale down a quarry side! Not a single bird, so far as I could ascertain, uttered a note, but the whirring noise of the millions of rapidly beating wings sounded like the distant rush of wind! But even Doon does not harbour so many Puffins as find a home on the face of the mighty cliff Connacher; and when we fired a gun and disturbed them from this noble precipice, it seemed as though the face of the entire cliff was falling outwards into the Atlantic, the enormous cloud of birds overpowering one with its magnificence! As soon as the young are reared the land is deserted, and the wandering pelagic life resumed.