Life and Death on Bird Island

One of the many pleasures of working here on Bird Island is the view from my office window.  Facing South West over Freshwater Inlet I can see across the beach towards Round How. Unfortunately this piece of high ground obscures the full drama of the southern sunsets, but as the sky is set alight each night I can still enjoy the wheeling silhouettes of the many Black-Browed and Wandering albatrosses that nest along its slopes.  At present the beach remains packed with fur seals who keep up a constant and noisy cacophony as they squabble and bicker amongst themselves. Mothers call for their pups as they return from feeding at sea and screech at any other seal that gets too close. Males ‘choof’ and roar at each other as they defend their territories and harems while puppies constantly bleat for their absent parents. This vocal dissonance provides the background to our every waking (and sleeping) hour. It becomes easy to tune it out, noticing it only when we have been enjoying the relative peace of the hilltops.  When we return over the ridge our senses are immediately assaulted by the sheer density of the seal population.  The air is thick with musk which clings to our clothes and hair, so pungent that we can almost taste it. To me, the roar of the beach sounds like a football crowd with individual voices only occasionally rising out of the din.

The seals are joined on the beach by birds arriving by both sea and air. The Giant Petrels fight amongst themselves for the choicest cuts from the freshly (and not so freshly) deceased pups. These tiny corpses litter the beach as they fall victim to infection, starvation and occasionally violence. Should an unsuspecting pup find itself between two opposing bulls it will be afforded no quarter. The pups are often crushed beneath the bulls’ flippers and if they are lucky death will be swift.  After the Petrels have picked open the cadaver they are joined by the Skuas who hover in the background before using their powerful beaks to dissect the remains further. In addition to these unfortunate pups, the bodies of adult males litter the stream beds around the base. These victims of the constant conflict provide a welcome source of food for the birds who are raising families of their own on the slopes above. These birds include Pintail ducks, whose attractive plumage and timid behaviour belie their carnivorous and bloodthirsty nature. Unable to open a carcass with their rounded bill, they wait until it has been ripped apart by other birds before gorging on the fleshy remains.

Penguins arrive by sea to find themselves stranded amongst the seething mass of fur seals that dominate the shore. Visitors from the nearby Gentoo colony often arrive in groups. It is hard to tell whether their presence on Freshwater Beach is a result of curiosity or of some unfortunate navigational error. Perhaps they are simply parents seeking respite from the demands of their ravenous chicks. They carefully pick their way between the seals, occasionally stopping to watch as if they were tourists taking in the spectacle of some new and exotic culture.  King Penguins arrive alone or occasionally in pairs wearing the slightly baffled expression of someone who has arrived at a quiet holiday resort to find that it has been overrun with rowdy lager-louts. For penguins to stay on a beach so crowded with fur seals is to take a grave risk to life and limb as birds are often killed or seriously wounded. These attacks may be deliberate or occasionally the accidental result of fighting amongst the seals.  Quite recently I was standing in the kitchen doorway enjoying the view of a particularly spectacular sunset when I saw a solitary King Penguin making its way slowly and deliberately towards the base. It soon became clear that it was mortally wounded, probably the result of a Fur Seal attack. Despite its injuries the bird continued its way up the beach and stood at the bottom of the kitchen steps looking at me impassively. I am not sure why I was the focus of its attention, but as we made eye contact I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. This bird was clearly close to death, yet still it had made its perilous way through the seals towards me. Perhaps it was simply looking for a quiet place to die, but I was disturbed by the thought that it might be looking to me to provide shelter from the noisy hoards that surrounded it. The extent of the injuries was horrific and I wondered if perhaps there was something I could do to ease its misery. A little soul-searching quickly showed that I did not have the stomach to dispatch this beautiful creature despite its obvious suffering. As I watched it slowly turned from me and shuffled under the walkway. It stayed there all evening, quiet and immobile and in the morning it was gone.

This constant cycle of life and death that surrounds the base serves to constantly remind us how temporary our presence is. 9 people surrounded by many thousands of birds and seals puts life very much into perspective for the human residents of Bird Island. We may like to think that we have made this place our home but it is very clear that no matter how comfortable we become we will only ever be here as guests.