Life, around the clock

Storm Petrels are ideally camouflaged for their environment. From above their plumage is the same steel-grey of the Southern Ocean and when observed from the cliff tops around Bird Island they become all but invisible as they skim the surface of the waves. From below their white bellies blend perfectly with the clouds above them and only their characteristic undulating flight pattern identifies them amongst the swirling mist. These birds are some of our most elusive island residents, largely because most of their lives are spent at sea, coming ashore only to breed and to feed their chicks, usually at night. Monitoring the population therefore presents something of a challenge to our bird biologists and it was this challenge that found us making our way up the rocky stream bed away from the base late on Friday evening.  Armed with powerful torches and what looked like a couple of overgrown butterfly nets we were heading up to Gazella peak in search of ‘Stormies’. 

The long summer days here on Bird Island mean that twilight doesn’t arrive until late in the evening so we had plenty of time to enjoy our usual communal dinner before we packed up some warm clothes and headed out into the dark. The weather was perfect – usually still and relatively warm even for the middle of the austral summer. Through a break in the clouds the moon shone brightly over Willis Islands, too brightly in fact as darkness provides the best chance of catching birds. It did however serve to illuminate our path up the hillside as we negotiated our way amongst the many Fur Seals that have taken up residence for the duration of the breeding season. These seals are not generally that welcoming to their human neighbours and we found that night-time proved to be no exception. However as we slipped past them in the dark it seemed to me their growls and snarls had a greater element of surprise than of aggression and our passage through the rocks and tussock proceeded uninterrupted.

Arriving at the top of Gazella Peak, somewhat out of breath, we selected a broad rib of rock protruding from the gravelled slopes and settled down to wait. As if on cue, the moon slid behind a cloud and the darkness fell heavy about us. Gradually, as our eyes adjusted, we could make out the pale shapes of Antarctic Prions swooping above. These birds, slightly larger than the Storm Petrels, displayed the same characteristic flight pattern. They flitted like bats above us and as we illuminated them in our torch-beams they shone white against the darkening sky, lending a ghostly atmosphere to the proceedings.

As we perched on our rocky bench, occasionally shuffling and stamping to keep warm, I realised that I was about to witness an entirely new aspect of life here on Bird Island. On the grassy slopes below us the Wandering Albatrosses were settling down for the night, the Giant Petrels were quietly watching over their chicks and even the Skuas, usually so quick to screech their disapproval, seemed remarkably tolerant of our presence. But here on the scree-strewn slopes of Gazella Peak things were about to get busy. The first indication that something was afoot was a low ‘churring’ sound that seemed to be emanating from the ground beneath our feet. As I listened I found that I could distinguish the individual voices of birds that were stirring in their burrows. Gradually the noise increased and an occasional scuffling sound could be heard as the birds emerged into the night. We gathered our equipment and set off across the hillside in search of Petrels.

Jon soon proved himself to be an excellent bird-catcher. I watched as he chose a likely looking spot amongst the rubble that covered the hillside and waited patiently for the birds to show themselves. His tactic was to wait until the birds appeared at the mouth of their burrows and to illuminate them as they paused to assess their surroundings before taking to the air. This temporarily confused the birds and allowed him to descend upon them with his net. Once the birds were untangled from the net they soon became calm and submissive, allowing me to admire their delicate plumage and striking blue legs and feet. We transported them in cotton bags to the other members of the bird team who ringed and recorded them before taking feather samples and then releasing them back into the night.  Jon’s status as bird-catcher supremo remained unrivalled as I stumbled about in the dark in an extraordinarily unsuccessful attempt to help. The first bird that I caught turned out to be one that had only just been released, probably still a little shell-shocked form its experience and therefore an easy target for an amateur like myself. I apologised to the poor bird and sent it on its way. I moved too slowly in the next encounter and the bird had time enough to recover its wits aand take to the air. Still disorientated by my torch beam it flew straight into my legs and was soon scooped up, unharmed, by Jon.  Embarrassment prevented me from taking credit for its capture.  Despite some pretty enthusiastic net-waving I managed to catch nothing more than a few rocks and some bits of moss for the next couple of hours. At one point my net became entangled in the straps of my rucksack and I realised that I had managed to catch myself, but still no birds. Finally I was successful and carried my prize triumphantly back to the ringing station. ‘Great’ said Ruth ‘That’s 15 birds now, we are almost done.’ Jon had clearly been busy.

The mood of the group was light hearted as we made our way back down the hill towards base in the early hours of the morning. The moon remained hidden behind the clouds but by the light of our head torches we could make out the shapes of startled seals that we passed along our way.  As we got closer to the base we could clearly hear the calls of White-chinned Petrels in their burrows amongst the tussock. Often drowned out by the harsher shrieking of female Sur Seals and the pitiful replies of their pups I find this a soothing, almost musical sound. It is yet another reminder that the business of life on Bird Island continues around the clock.