One: Horror at Sumburgh Head
This blog post describes three remarkable moments from our trip to Shetland in early October 2019. One reason we planned the trip was as part of the celebrations for my 50th birthday. I also had a party at the Jericho Tavern in Oxford, where I forced my guests to come in fancy-dress as pop stars. It was a superb evening and Andy and Dave took up the challenge too. Unfortunately, their experience of walking through Oxford dressed as Elvis and John Travolta (“Grease” style) made them swear to get fancy-dress revenge upon me. And as it turns out, revenge is a dish best served cold. As I discovered at dawn on the top of Sumburgh Head.
The afternoon before had been written off by the arrival of Hurricane Lorenzo. Gale force south-easterly winds lashed the islands, with horizontal rain from lunchtime until midnight. We sheltered inside our accommodation in Lerwick with only hot food and fine wine for sustenance. After dinner Dave presented me with a copy of the Birds of Shetland, with some handwritten messages from the group, a fabulous, thoughtful and touching present. “But to every ying, there is a yang” said Dave ominously, “to every pleasure, pain“. He then produced a carrier bag and placed it on the table. Inside was the John Travolta costume from my party, Saturday Night Fever style. “Tomorrow is going to be a great bird day. What could be better than finding a rare bird on Shetland… whilst you are dressed as John Travolta?” I had quite liked the sound of the first two-thirds of that sentence. The last third made my blood run cold. A number of options flashed through my mind, including running to the car, driving to Sumburgh and getting the first plane back to the mainland. Except there were no flights. Thanks Lorenzo. I was trapped in a room with a group of four men who were intent on forcing me to dress up as a 70s disco icon. And then go birding. On Shetland in October. The morning after a south-easterly gale. This was cruel beyond any reason. I did the only thing I could. I capitulated.
The next morning, we were up and dressed at the agreed time of 6am. It was still dark. We were all aware that today could be the big day. We had agreed to start at the quarries at Sumburgh Head and then work our way north, checking areas with cover as we went. Under my waterproof trousers, I was acutely aware that I was wearing the tightest pair of white flares ever worn by a human being. Under my waterproof jacket and fleece, a black shirt and white waistcoat acted as my base layer. They had not relented. My fate was sealed.
We drove south, the first light revealing a clear, but cold Shetland dawn. My costume underneath my outer layers was surprisingly bearable. We stopped at the quarries and appeared as normal birders. We flushed a Woodcock, found many fresh-in Goldcrests and Robins, plus the usual Twite, Rock Pipits, Curlew and Rock Doves. Then it was time. We climbed the steep path up to the lighthouse at the top of Sumburgh Head. I was about to make Shetland birding history, but not in any way that I would have ever predicted. Or indeed, in any way that any sane, functioning mind would have predicted.
As is often the way with fancy dress, once you put the wig on, you feel safe. You are not easily recognisable. You can begin to settle into the role of your character. Being John Travolta on stage, in a club with lights and music was comparably easy. You are a creature in his natural habitat: the disco. Becoming John Travolta when you are being forced to strip by the outside of a lighthouse on the southern tip of Shetland is a different game entirely. My changing room was the whitewashed external wall of a lighthouse, in a cold force five south-easterly. My mirror was my reflection in the lighthouse keeper’s window. My music was the sounds of thrushes coming in off the sea and landing in the fields below us. Imagine my shock when I realised that the image that I thought was my reflection in the window, was actually the face of the lighthouse keeper looking out at me. Then imagine his horror too. I put the wig on and prepared to face my hostage-takers.
People involved in road traffic accidents consistently describe a phenomena whereby time appears to rapidly slow down as the point of impact approaches. The actual moment of impact may take only a fraction of a second, but the consequences and the damage done can take a lifetime to come to terms with. I strode out on to the upper car park at Sumburgh Head, with Shetland stretching away to the north, beautifully lit by the rising sun. My hostage-takers had both video and still cameras at the ready. Jason hit play. The familiar sounds of Stayin’ Alive drifted across the car park. Time began to slow down.
Afterwards, I was allowed to change back into my birding gear. We then returned to the serious business of the day: finding birds.
Two: Otter
On the far side of Bressay, an island just across the water to the east of Lerwick, there is Noss. We saw few birds there but had a lovely encounter with three Otters. Mark found them first of all, calling loudly from the shoreline and playing in the low rocks at the tideline. A little while later Andy, Dave and I had these views as they fed on the east shore of Bressay. They are fantastic, dynamic animals:
Three: Orca
As we began our final full day, Thursday 12th October, things felt a little flat. Not only was the trip nearly at an end, but the winds had been less productive over the previous few days and we had seen most of the long-staying birds that we wanted too. We began by checking out a small plantation near Twatt. Apparently the name comes from the Old Norse þveit, meaning ‘small parcel of land’. So there you go. Mark pointed out a passing Short-eared Owl and our only Sparrowhawk of the trip flapped and glided alongside our car. The obligatory photograph of the village sign followed:
We were wondering what to do next, when news broke that an Orca pod had been sighted swimming into Busta Voe, towards Brae at the head of the sea-loch. We were all keen to see Orca and we were only 25 minutes away. We took the road to Voe, then the coast road up towards Brae. We had a quick scan from the loch-head, didn’t see anything, but hoped that we could intercept the pod as they exited Busta Voe past the Wethersta peninsular.
We scanned from the end of the road, without success. Then a vehicle filled with birders pulled up rapidly. “They are coming this way!“. There was only one thing for it: I had to get to the end of the peninsular as quickly as possible. I ran the 600m out to the end of the point, a nice test for my recovering hip stress fracture. Unfortunately, I should have probably stayed with the others at the end of the road. Their extra height and more pairs of eyes got them onto the Orca pod on the very far shore of the loch before I did. By the time I got onto them, they were very distant:
There was some pleasure in watching these huge animals (technically they are dolphins, not whales) make their way out towards the open sea, but we were all left wanting more. Reasoning that they would travel around the south shore of Muckle Roe, they would then have a choice: north or south. We gambled north and drove up to the wonderfully named Mavis Grind in the hope of seeing the pod as they headed north. They never appeared, although there was a report of Orca off the “top end” of Muckle Roe, so maybe our hunch that the Orca had headed north was right after all. The trail went cold. We retraced our steps and headed to Sandwick, where I had one of the less meaningful Bluethroat experiences of my life.
We were just starting to consider our options again when more Orca news came through. The pod was off Hillswick – they had gone north! “Drive like you stole it” Jason ordered Andy, who as always was the model of calm at the wheel. We had 45 minutes or so before we arrived at the base of the Eshaness peninsular. This gave us time to speculate. We wanted to get ahead of the pod and watch them go past, not keep chasing them. We considered many options but eventually settled on Eashaness Lighthouse right on the end of the peninsular. The map below shows the route the Orca pod had taken during the day, we hoped that they would continue around the headland and pass below us.
The views from Eashaness were stunning. It would be incredible to see Orca pass by from up there and you would be looking down on them too. We waited and waited some more, but no Orca. Were we too late or too early? We felt we needed more information. We had noticed a number of people looking out at various points as we traveled along the headland. It seemed sensible to see if there had been any more sightings.
As we approached Braewick, we could see some impressive rock formations offshore. We could also see people jumping from cars and putting up telescopes… did they have something? No, but the Orca pod had just left the bay around the coast and were apparently heading this way. Phew, we hadn’t missed them altogether.
We waited for the pod to appear around the corner of a large offshore rock called The Runk. Finally, a woman on our right said “There they are!” and in our ‘scopes we could make out the huge fin of the adult male Orca.
The ‘scope views were nice, but these were distant views of a pod of four Orca. Afterwards, I measured on the map and found out that we were 2km away from the pod, who were themselves 2km in front of The Drongs:
Gradually the Orca pod worked their way across the bay, into an increasing westerly gale. I could see a headland to the west. Could we get there? I went back to the car. A combination of a local road to Tangwick and the Right to Roam seemed to indicate to me that we could. We parked up and scrambled out along the low flat headland of No Ness. No Nessie maybe, but hopefully some Orca.
Arriving at the tip of No Ness, we scanned the sea. Had they gone past, were we too late? I was scanning straight out and to the west, but it was Andy who found the Orca pod. They were almost behind us and coming straight towards us!
This was an incredible moment. We had spent all day chasing the pod, with only distant views. We were now perfectly positioned. The Orca pod was going to pass right in front of us in our last hour of daylight, on the final day of the trip. We could sit back and enjoy the experience. A Purple Sandpiper flew in to join us too. The Orca did not disappoint.
I even took the time to take some video as these spectacular beasts passed only about 100m away from us, into the setting sun. We could clearly see the calf with it’s parents, only three months old and all black-and-tan. We sat in silence as the pod passed the end of the point and continued heading west. It was an epic finale to an absolutely superb week. Thank you Andy, Dave, Jason, Mark and Shetland for an unforgettable birthday present.
lol lol !!!!
Brilliant!