Between Rock and a hard place, it’s perfect for watching gannets

A wildlife artist must accept that getting the right shots may mean a trip to an inhospitable place, as Robert Fuller finds out.

As an artist, I’m drawn to gannets. Their strong, graphic faces look as though they have been sketched on with a fine black pencil line which makes me want to emulate it.

The best place to watch these beautiful birds is on the Bass Rock, just off the shore from North Berwick in Scotland. This distinctive volcanic rock island is home to a staggering 60,000 gannets.

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The only problem is it is notoriously difficult to get there. A landing is dependent on fair weather. The Scottish Sea Life Centre runs nearly 40 trips annually, but this year they have only managed to land 10 times because of inclement conditions. You have to book months in advance and then take your chance on the day.

It has taken me a total of six attempts to get there, four this year alone, but this month, on the last trip of the year, I finally made it. Even as I made my way up the A1 the night before, listening to the forecast of rain, I fully expected the trip to be cancelled at the last minute.

But as I climbed into the fishing boat at dawn the next day the sea was as calm as a mill pond, despite a persistent grey drizzle.

The journey from Dunbar to the Bass Rock takes an hour and we were treated to a pod of dolphins playing in the boat’s wake en route.

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As our boat approached the rock, its great 100-metre high mass rising out of the sea before us, we were overwhelmed by the incessant sound of the “cackling” call of the gannets coming from the colony.

Above us gannets crisscrossed the sky toing and froing from hunting missions out at sea. And on top of this assault of the senses was the overpowering smell of the place, the less than pleasant legacy of a colony of 60,000 fish-eating birds.

As the boat moored I stepped off onto concrete steps that take you up to the colony. The steps were slippery and green with algae and I was carrying three and a half stone of unwieldy camera equipment on my back.

I was so relieved to have finally arrived here, and so taken aback by the sheer size of the colony, that I swear I could have kissed the ground – had not been for the layer of gannet guano that coated it.

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The breeding season was drawing to a close and the gannets were beginning to moult. Large bundles of fine white feathers filled every rock crevice.

But there were plenty of breeding pairs with large chicks perched higher up the rock. The steps there were covered in stone shale which the gannets had pushed over them. Our guide Maggie dug the steps out for us with a spade so that we could clamber up to a derelict chapel three-quarters of the way up the rock.

This was as far up as we could go. The next flight of steps had now been taken over by nesting pairs, so it was impossible to go any further.

The colony is so large it covers most of the island. It is hard to believe that at one time sheep grazed here.

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Now there is no grass, just gannets. Gannets have been exploited in the past for their oil, feathers and eggs and hunted in Victorian times.

Now they are a protected species under the 1954 Protection of Birds Act and the population has risen dramatically ever since.

On the Bass Rock this was clearly the case too. There were nests everywhere.

Each was just pecking distance apart from its neighbour and each pair defended its nests with ferocity.

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Yet in spite of the ongoing neighbourhood disputes, the proximity of these nests provides security to the whole colony, protecting chicks from marauding gulls which fly over ahead looking for an easy meal.

As I settled down to photograph them, it was difficult to decide which way to turn. After a while I spotted a pair on the horizon, perched on top of a rock that jutted out. They were delicately preening each other.

The exposed rock meant they were the only pair not obscured by other birds.

Although it was too late in the season for the birds to breed, they were clearly courting. They were probably young birds practising for next year.

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This extraordinary ritual is beautiful to watch. It begins with a bow, in which each bird lowers its heads to the other and then raises its beaks skywards, their bodies forming a perfect point.

This is known as “sky pointing”.

After this introduction, they settle down to preen each other. These two even began to pick up bits of seaweed and stones as though they planned to try out their nest building skills.

Their rock pedestal set them handily apart from the crowd and gave them just one set of neighbours to argue with.

And argue they did, locking bills with them, flapping their wings and trying to twist and topple their opponents.

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It made for a magical end to the day. I had been so enthralled I had hardly noticed the fact that it had rained all day.

I got home late the same evening, distinctly smelly – my boots, rucksack and clothes emitting a rather fishy pong – but happy.

www.RobertEFuller.com

The white boulder

From a distance Bass Rock looks like a large snow-covered boulder, but as you get closer you can see that the white sheen is actually gannets, and guano.

On a clear day you can spot tiny specks of white around its edges from the mainland shore. These are the gannets circling.

From March onwards pairs start to arrive at their birthplace to breed. This begins with an elaborate courtship between partners to whom they remain faithful for life.