Among the Birds in Northern Shires

Next to the Lesser Black-backed Gull the Terns are certainly the most numerous and most interesting birds. Three out of the five British species return each spring to these famous islands to breed. The Roseate Tern, rarest of all the indigenous species, used formerly to breed here, but it eventually became extinct, although from time to time an odd pair or so are observed in their old-time haunts, so that the bird may re-establish itself in them, more especially as the sea-birds are now so strictly preserved there. The three regular breeding species are the Sandwich Tern, the Common Tern, and the Arctic Tern. All are summer migrants only to the British Islands. The Sandwich Tern, by far the largest of the three species, arrives at the islands during the last half of April, as a rule, but some seasons is not seen until the beginning of May. There is much in their early movements that reminds us of the actions of Rooks just previous to nesting. Every morning for perhaps a month after their arrival they assemble at the islands and stay for a short time, previous to dispersing over the surrounding sea to search for food, lingering longer and longer as the actual breeding time approaches, until they finally decide upon a spot to nest, and about a week after this the first eggs are laid. The laying season lasts a month, say from the middle of May until the middle of June. The earliest young may be remarked about the latter date, and from that time onwards rapidly increase in numbers from day to day. July is a busy month indeed for the parent birds. In exceptionally early seasons some of the young are able to fly by the beginning of August, and by the end of the month the birds quit the breeding-place, and finally desert the vicinity of the islands during the first week in September. Sometimes the autumn exodus is made, but the birds return in a day or so and linger about the islands before finally taking their departure south. The Sandwich Terns do not always breed in exactly the same spot every season. Sometimes an exceptionally high spring-tide will wash away most of the eggs, and then the poor birds move to another situation, perhaps to another island, and try again. This happened in the summer of 1883, and we saw the beach literally strewn with broken egg-shells, the sole remains of the wrecked colony. On our way from the beach towards the barer rising ground in the centre, where the main colony chances to be established, we pass many outlying nests, not only of this Tern, but of Gulls and Eiders. Birds are rising from all parts of the ground, and gradually congregating into a dense bewildering, drifting, noisy throng above our heads. At last we reach the colony of Sandwich Terns, and there we find for an area of many square yards the ground literally covered so closely with eggs that to walk amongst them without breaking them is almost an impossible feat, not only because the nests are but a few feet apart, but because the eggs themselves so closely resemble the ground in colour. The nests are slight enough, many of them nothing but hollows in the ground, some of them with a few bits of weed and grass loosely arranged, and chiefly round the margin. The two, or less frequently three, eggs are very beautiful objects, and vary enormously in the character of the markings. The ground colour may be any shade between rich buff and dull white; the markings are brown of many shades, and ink-gray. These latter vary considerably in shape and size, from large irregular blotches that conceal nearly a third of the shell to splashes, spots, and streaks, sometimes distributed over the entire surface, or in zones, or irregularly here and there. During the whole period of our stay the birds remain above us, fluttering and gliding to and fro uttering shrill notes of alarm.

The Arctic Tern, on an average, arrives later than the preceding species, generally about the first week in May, sometimes not before the third week in that month. A week or so elapses before the birds finally settle down to nesting duties, so that the eggs are seldom laid before June, exceptionally during the last few days of May. As a rule the breeding season is over by August, and the bulk of the birds quit the islands in the first week of September. In later seasons they may not leave until the end of that month, and a few in rare instances linger into October. The eggs are generally laid close to the water’s edge, and so far as our experience extends (and that is a rather wide one, for we have visited colonies in many parts of the British area) no nest is ever made for their reception. They are placed upon the bare sand and shingle, and upon the line of rubbish that marks the limit of the highest water-mark. Two or three eggs are laid for a clutch, varying from buff to olive and pale-green in ground colour, heavily spotted and blotched with brown of many shades, and gray. Lastly, we have the Common Tern, a bird that arrives and departs at about the same dates as the preceding species. We generally found the breeding-places of this Tern at a greater distance from the water than those of the Arctic Tern, amongst the grass and sea campion on the higher parts of the island. As our boat approaches the nursery of this Tern, numbers of birds may be seen squatting on the beach or swimming about in the rock pools. These are the first to take alarm, and as we finally land others rise from the island, and the air is soon filled with screaming birds. The colony is established on some rising bare ground, and the eggs are laid in scanty nests – hollows lined with bits of grass and stalks of marine plants. The eggs, two or three in number, very closely resemble those of the Arctic Tern, but are larger, rounder, and never appear to have any olive or green tint on the shell.

Many pairs of Eider Ducks also breed upon the Farne Islands, placing their nests amongst the campion and long grass, in crevices of the lichen-covered rocks, or in holes in the ruins that are to be found on some of the islets. These Eiders are remarkably tame, and allow the observer to watch them as they brood over their eggs. The male birds, however, are much shyer, and never come near the nests at all, spending most of their time upon the sea off the islands. Then the Ringed Plover breeds here in small numbers, also the Oyster-catcher (a noisy, shy bird enough), and not a few Rock Pipits. Upon an outlying reef the Cormorants have their colony – a dirty, evil-smelling spot, which apparently by common consent is shunned by all the other species. This islet is low, not more than a dozen feet above the sea in its highest part, sloping to the water’s edge on one side. Where the huge nests of the Cormorants are built there is scarcely a trace of any vegetation; everything is more or less covered with droppings, and decaying fish are strewn here and there – the whole place smelling most offensively on a calm hot day. These nests are made of sea-weed, stalks of marine plants and turf, and many are lined with green herbage. The three or four long oval eggs are pale-green, but so thickly coated with lime and dirt that all trace of this is hidden until they are washed and well scraped.

The Farnes are also a great breeding resort of the Puffin (called “Coulter-neb” by some people because its beak closely resembles the coulter of a plough), some of the islands being so undermined by their burrows that almost every few steps we sink deep into the soft loamy soil. During the non-breeding season these birds disperse far and wide over the sea, roaming immense distances from their birthplace, but as spring arrives they collect at the old familiar spots to rear their young. Puffins cannot be regarded as common about the Farne Islands until April, but from then until the end of the following August they are one of the most abundant species at them, although, owing to their subterranean habits, the fact is not very palpable to ordinary observation. These birds excavate a long burrow in the soft soil, often extending many yards underground, and at the end, upon a handful of dry grass perhaps mixed with a few feathers, the hen bird lays a solitary egg, dull-white in colour, very sparingly marked with pale-brown and gray. When the colony is approached such birds as may chance to be above ground soon betake themselves to the sea; those in the burrows remain to be dug out before they will usually budge from their egg, resenting this by bites and scratches dealt in the most savage manner. There is something immensely ludicrous about the look of a Puffin as you drag the struggling bird into the daylight; but we would warn those who might essay the experiment to encase their hands in strong gloves, or they may repent the business. Had space permitted, we should have liked to say something about the curious transformation the beak of this bird undergoes as the pairing season approaches, but we must wait for a future opportunity. Most, in fact all, of these species breed in many other parts of the coasts of the northern shires, but we have elected to describe them here, for the Farne Islands are probably the most accessible locality and admirably situated for studying all these birds within a very small area.

The bird-life at sea off our northern shires is replete with interest at all seasons of the year. In summer, in the neighbourhood of the great breeding colonies of sea-fowl, the surrounding seas for many miles are full of animation, the birds scattering from these home centres far and wide in quest of their finny prey. What a variety of birds we meet with thus, each searching in its own peculiar way for sustenance! How varied their actions; how diversified their habits and economy! In winter these self-same waters are the home of countless birds that migrate from arctic latitudes to spend that season where food is ever plentiful and the water always open. Hordes of Ducks and Geese swell the more sedentary avine populations, or replace such species as Terns, that migrate or wander south with the approach of winter. Vast numbers of Divers and birds of the Auk tribe move south to these seas off the northern shires; Gulls in uncounted hosts do the same. At varying distances from the land armies of these sea-fowl migrate south in autumn and north in spring; sometimes for days in succession Gulls or Skuas, Terns, Gannets, Guillemots, and so on pass to and fro according to season, these avine movements being on a much grander scale than ever we remark on our southern coast lines.

From shore, on this bright May morning, for instance, there is nothing to indicate that much of special interest is to be seen among the birds at sea. From where we stand, near the old-fashioned little quay of this northern fishing village, redolent of tar and stale fish, the sparkling water right away to the headland yonder, and still beyond to the line of the horizon where blue sky and blue sea seem to meet in an indistinct haze, is apparently deserted of bird-life. But we will get aboard this well-found taut little coble, hoist the brown sail and put her nose before the spanking breeze, and see what birds we may fall in with during a few hours' cruise. Behind the headland yonder, and at no great distance from land, a mixed company of Terns are fishing. There are few prettier sights than this amongst bird-life on the sea, especially should a shoal of fry chance to be swimming close to the surface. Above the moving mass of glittering fish the snow-white looking Terns flutter and poise and drift to and fro in a constantly-changing throng; many birds are swimming above the shoal, and every few moments one of the flying Terns drops down like a stone into the water with a splash that we can hear half a mile or more across the sea. The force with which they descend is scarcely sufficient to immerse their light bodies, and before the spray has cleared the bird is either up again into the air, or swallowing the captured fish whilst sitting on the surface. A few Gulls are flying about close by, but these birds prefer larger game; although occasionally they will chase a Tern that may chance to be passing with a tiny fish and endeavour to make the poor little bird drop its capture. Out in the offing the Gulls are much more numerous, for there the fishing fleet is at work, and the birds hover around ready to pick up any unconsidered trifles that may chance to come in their way. A mile or so off the headland the sea is literally alive with birds of the Auk tribe that are breeding on the long range of cliffs. Here we renew our acquaintance with the comical-looking Puffins – hundreds of them swimming about, diving at intervals, preening their plumage, and disporting themselves generally. Many of them allow the bows of the coble almost to reach them before they dive with startling speed and reappear some distance ahead or astern, the first thing they do upon reaching the surface again being to look about in all directions for any possible further danger. Mingled amongst them are the Guillemots and Razorbills, the one bird easily identified by its long pointed bill, the other by its deep flattened one crossed with a conspicuous white line on either side. The Razorbill may be further distinguished by the white streak of plumage which runs from the base of the upper mandible to the eye. In the Ringed Guillemot, a form of the Common Guillemot, the white streak extends backwards behind the eye. Both birds are very similar in their actions out here at sea, swimming and diving with great celerity. Here and there small parties of one species or the other may be seen flying swiftly along just above the waves on their way to or from the headland where they are now breeding. They feed on fish – here in these northern waters young herrings and coal-fish are favourite fare – crustaceans, and molluscs, chasing the former with great dexterity through the water, searching for the latter in soundings amongst the weed and rocks. We shall have more to say about these Auks in the following chapter. They are all resident in British seas, coming to the land in summer to breed, and during the remainder of the year wandering far and wide over the waste of waters, and then visiting coasts and estuaries and harbours where they are never seen during the season of reproduction. Here and there in our northern waters, but only off the western coast-line during summer, we may frequently fall in with Petrels and Shearwaters. These birds are the most pelagic of all, and only visit the land to breed. The Fulmar is the largest indigenous British species, and looks very like a Gull as it flies about over the water. The Manx Shearwater comes next in size, but it is a dark-plumaged bird on the upper parts, only white below. Its long wings are very noteworthy, as it skims and dashes about round our boat. The Fork-tailed Petrel comes next in point of size. This and the following species are more nocturnal in their habits, but equally as pelagic as the foregoing. Lastly we have the Stormy Petrel – the smallest of web-footed birds – perhaps the most widely and commonly distributed of all, and often met with not only in our northern seas during summer, but as far to the south as the English Channel, in which it has at least one known nesting station. None of these birds are known to breed anywhere along the east coast of England or Scotland. The typical Petrels may be readily identified by the sooty-black plumage, relieved by a patch of white across the rump and the upper tail-coverts. These small Petrels rarely alight upon the sea to swim notwithstanding their webbed feet. They flutter often close to the big waves, and may then be seen to drop their legs downwards and to pat the water with their feet, seeming sometimes literally to run down the glassy surface of some huge roller. We shall have occasion to enter into more details respecting all these Petrels in the following chapter.

Then during the wild winter months many parts of the sea off the northern shires teem with bird-life, much of it consisting of migrants from the arctic regions. Vast flocks of Scaups and Scoters hang about these northern waters; companies of Eiders and Long-tailed Ducks especially may be met with long distances from land. Flocks of Scoters may occasionally be seen upon these waters all the summer through, and we have heard of Pink-footed Geese also apparently foregoing their usual summer journey to the north. In mid-winter large flocks of Sheldrakes frequent various parts of the North Sea, whilst Wigeon and Mallard often occur in enormous numbers. Occasionally during winter the rare King Eider is detected in company with the commoner species. The congregations of Brent Geese (in some years but not in others) that assemble off the lower-lying coasts especially are also a feature of winter bird-life at sea. Indeed, we should state that the latter season is by far the best for birds in such a locality, for the land is then only visited under exceptional circumstances. Lastly, we might allude to the Gannet. During summer this bird assembles at a few recognized breeding-stations round the British coasts, and here we hope presently to visit them; but throughout the remainder of the year it is a thoroughly pelagic species, and wanders south down both east and west coast-lines to the English Channel and even beyond. There are few more charming sights amongst bird-life at sea than a company of Gannets when fully on the feed. Sometimes they may be watched from the shore, at others they pursue their labours far out at sea. The way the big white birds hurl themselves down into the water from hundreds of feet above is most impressive, especially if the sun is shining full upon them. Then their magnificent powers of flight are very attractive to us, as we watch them by the hour together sailing to and fro above the water at vast heights on never-tiring wings.

Space forbids but a passing allusion to the bird-life upon the mud-flats of the Wash during autumn and winter. We shall, however, have another opportunity of dealing with this area more especially in our final chapter relating to migration in the northern shires.

CHAPTER IX

ON CRAG AND SEA-CLIFF

The bird-life of the inland crags nowadays is comparatively limited, but what it lacks in numbers is to some extent made up in interest. Time was when the Golden Eagle bred on some of these inland precipices of the northern shires; when the Raven and the Buzzard made them their home. For the purpose of the present work we propose to glance at the few birds that frequent the various crags and rocks – chiefly of limestone and millstone grit – of South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire. They may be taken as typical of many similar localities in the northern shires. It would certainly be difficult to find more grandly romantic scenery than is contained in the district of the limestone rocks of the Peak – in such spacious valleys as Dove Dale, Monsal Dale, and Millers Dale, or in such savage glens as are in the vicinity of Castleton. As examples of the crags of millstone grit we have the noble range of rocks known as Wharncliffe, that crest the valleys like a series of colossal bulwarks, below which is a sea of rolling wood and bracken. It is hard to believe that so much beautiful scenery still remains, surrounded as it is by some of the blackest towns and grimiest centres of manufacturing industry in the British Islands.

One of the commonest birds throughout this district of crags is the Jackdaw. In the south of England this bird perhaps shows more partiality for marine cliffs; inland, as in Yorkshire, it frequents churches and other buildings. Perhaps this is because such inland cliffs are not so common in the south. There is scarcely a rocky glen in the Peak that does not echo the Jackdaw’s cackling cry. At Castleton there is an exceptionally fine colony established in the lofty cliffs at Devil’s Hole, and which are crowned with the crumbling ruins of the keep of once-famous Peveril Castle. Here many times we used to stand at the mouth of the vast yawning cavern, in which the rope-makers are established, as the dusk gathered, and watch the noisy Daws come home to roost. Usually in one compact flock they came, sometimes in several detached parties, and after wheeling and fluttering they finally settled upon the scraggy trees growing out of the rock face. Their cackling cries made the grand old gorge echo again – a chorus that was kept up till their sable forms could not be distinguished in the evening gloom. They make their nests here in the holes and crevices of the mighty cliffs. Another common bird is the Rock Dove. Whether this white-rumped Dove is the truly feral Rock Dove, or whether they are descendants of tame birds run wild, it is perhaps difficult now to say; but our own opinion leans to the latter view, because we believe that the true wild Rock Dove is found nowhere but on maritime cliffs. Whatever their origin, however, here the birds are now, and wild enough. Their abundance is reflected in the names that they have inspired for “Dove” river, and “Dove” dale, both of them famous haunts of these birds. They nest in crevices of the limestone crags, and their habits generally are very similar to those of their relatives along the coast, which they also resemble closely in appearance. Another, yet much smaller colony of these Doves, is to be found in the range of crags that crest the right-hand side of the Rivelin Valley going westwards, close to the Norfolk Arms at Hollow Meadows. We can state from long personal observation, confirmed by keepers and others, that these birds arrive at this place in February, and after rearing several broods during the spring and summer and early autumn, that they leave in October. We have seen these birds perch upon a narrow rail fence on the edge of the crags they frequent. Vast numbers of Starlings also build in these places up and down the Peak and elsewhere. Another very common species is the House Martin. There must be many thousands of nests of this bird in the dales of North Derbyshire alone – a profoundly interesting fact, which indicates that such situations were invariably selected in prehistoric times before such things as houses and bridges were in existence. Talking of bridges brings to mind the fact that on some of the railway viaducts in these dales the copings are so thickly studded with nests in some places as to hide the masonry. We ought also to mention that the Kestrel breeds commonly in these limestone crags, and not a few Redstarts and Wheatears have their homes in crevices among them, at a lower level and near the ground, of course. Swifts are equally common, and in their choice of a haunt suggest a habit that has been retained from a remote period, although changed by many individuals in more recent times. We might also mention that the Peregrine Falcon still breeds locally on some of these inland crags of the northern shires, especially in the Lake District.

So far the inland crags; we will now proceed to a study of the bird-life on the sea-cliffs of the north. It is in these localities again that the northern shires show to advantage over most southern counties in the matter of their bird-life. Nowhere in the south can be found such vast bird bazaars as those that are established in such wonderful abundance upon the sea-cliffs of the northern shires. From Yorkshire northwards to the Hebrides and the Shetlands, one stirring scene of bird-life after another in bewildering numbers crowd upon the observer. From Flamborough’s cliffs to the Pinnacles at the Farnes; thence onwards to the Bass Rock, and across the Highlands to the Hebrides and to St. Kilda in one direction; or up the east coast of Scotland to the wall-like crags of Sutherlandshire and Caithness, and across the Pentland Firth to Orkney and on to Shetland, in another, what famous bird-stations may be found! We will visit a selection of these in turn, commencing our inspection upon the noble headland at Flamborough, at Speeton and Bempton.

Some of the finest cliff scenery in the north of England lies between Flamborough Head and Filey on the Yorkshire coast, and what is of more importance from an ornithologist’s point of view, its bird-life is correspondingly impressive. We have many fine cliff-scapes in the south of England, but the birds are disappointing, because they occur in small numbers only, or are absent altogether, as is the case in South Devonshire, for instance. There are few such haunts of Guillemots and Razorbills in the northern shires of England as are located upon some of these grand cliffs. During the non-breeding season they are practically deserted by sea-fowl, left to the undisputed possession of Jackdaws and Rock Doves. But with the approach of spring a great change comes over the scene, and Gulls and Auks begin to assemble once more upon the famous cliffs. Large numbers of eggs, especially of the Guillemot, are taken every season, and prove a welcome source of income to the intrepid climbers who risk their lives in gathering this somewhat unusual harvest. From the summit of the cliffs but little can be observed of the stirring scenes going on upon the rock face. The ground at the top is too sloping to peer over, and it is only here and there where the sea has made a deep indentation, and a view of the cliff face can be seen from the opposite side of the gorge, that we can obtain some faint idea of the bird wonders of the place. For more years than "the oldest inhabitant" of Bempton or Flamborough can recall, the birds have bred here in enormous numbers and have been as regularly robbed. The Guillemots and Razorbills and Puffins are somewhat irregular in their date of return to the cliffs in spring. Sometime towards the end of April is perhaps an average date, although they have been known to come back as early as February (1884). At the Farnes they are apparently earlier, assembling usually some time in March. The young and old birds generally leave the breeding-places for good during the last ten days of August in both of these localities. The eggs of the Guillemot are the easiest to obtain, being laid upon the ledges and in the numberless little hollows about the cliffs; the Razorbill deposits its big solitary egg in a crevice where in not a few cases it is absolutely safe from man; the Puffins, breeding nearer to the top of the cliffs, lay their single egg in burrows. It would be impossible here to describe the wonderful variety in the eggs of the Guillemot: they are by far the most beautiful of any of those of the sea-fowl. Great numbers of these eggs are taken for food; and we can remember how the climbers at Flamborough used to return home to breakfast hungry as Hawks, and break the pretty eggs into the frying-pan with the bacon – forming a meal a gourmand might envy, provided his appetite has been sharpened by a long morning in the bracing air that blows in from the German Ocean. The “Pinnacles” at the Farne Islands are another famous haunt of the Guillemot; the most attractive of all the breeding-stations of this species throughout our islands, owing to the exceptional ease with which the birds can be observed. These pinnacles are a group of flat-topped rocks, rising perpendicularly from the sea, close to one of the islands, from which a good view can be obtained right on to their table-like summits. These are crowded, densely packed in fact, with a struggling mass of Guillemots. When the birds dash off and fly down headlong into the sea, a still more extraordinary sight is presented; for all over the surface are strewn hundreds of eggs – like great pears – of almost every conceivable hue and pattern of marking. The Guillemots are comparatively silent; but the scene is noisy enough, because on the sides of the perpendicular rocks numbers of Kittiwakes are nesting, and their cries are incessant, sounding high above the surging sea and the whirring of the wings of the departing Guillemots. Into many of these Kittiwakes' nests we can look from the summit of the island adjoining, and are thus able to count the eggs or young as soon as the brooding birds are driven off.