Puffin (Fratercula arctica). Photo: J. Álvarez
To us birders, the Farne Islands, off the coast of Northumberland, is "seabird city", "birding heaven", or "the Galapagos of the north" - which may give you some idea of the sheer spectacle of seabirds found here.This little archipelago, about an hour's drive north of Newcastle, provides what for me is the most memorable birding experience in the whole of Britain.
Even though I've been here several times before, nothing quite prepares me for the sheer assault on my senses as soon as I step off the ferry on Inner Farne. Sight, hearing and smell are the first to be triggered, as Arctic terns line up along the path up from the quay like a row of taxis. As I walk up to the top I run the risk of a fourth sense - touch - coming into play, as the terns jealously guard their young by dipping down and attacking me. Once I'm past this initial attack, I have time to stand back and enjoy these elegant creatures - so close it's often hard to focus my binoculars without taking a step backwards.
They truly are quite beautiful: a dusky blue-grey above, shading paler below, with a neat black cap and blood-red, dagger-like bill. On the ground, their short red legs give them a comical appearance; but when they take to the air their graceful, buoyant flight brings to mind the name given by the ancient sailors: sea swallows.
It's now getting late in what has been a pretty good breeding season, and many tern chicks have left the bare scrape that passes for a nest and started to go walkabout. Some chicks have gone flyabout, too: taking to the air on "test flights" on their short, stubby wings in a clumsy parody of their parents.But soon they'll have to learn to fly for real. In a month or so, every one of these two thousand or so pairs of Arctic terns - and all their offspring - will leave the Farne Islands. Like many of our breeding seabirds, they head out to sea.
Arctic terns are the world's greatest avian voyager. This little chick in front of me will fly on and on, right down to the far reaches of the southern hemisphere, to spend the winter in the oceans off Australia or even Antarctica.
Just think about it - a bird barely larger than a pigeon, with a wingspan of 80cm and weighing a shade over 100g, will travel more than 30,000 km on its round trip. One bird caught here recently was ringed as a chick here in 1981, which means that so far it has clocked up at least 800,000 air miles.
Away from the terns are the cliff-nesting birds of Farne - guillemots, razorbills, puffins, shags and my favourite, the delicate little gull known from its characteristic call as the kittiwake.
Later, as I get ready to leave, a real bonus - amongst the Arctic, Sandwich and common terns on the beach are a couple of pairs of Britain's rarest breeding tern, the roseate. Roseate terns can be told apart from their commoner relatives by their jet black bills, paler plumage and longer tail. As I watch, one pair is engaged in a courtship ritual, pirouetting around each other like a couple of ballet dancers.
Their elegance and beauty reminds me of my favourite description of terns - "gulls that have died and gone to heaven". And as I leave these enchanted islands, and board the boat for the short journey back to the mainland, I feel that I have too (Stephen Moss, THE GUARDIAN).
