As I'm after seabirds along the Aberdeenshire coast I obviously ain't going to miss Troupe Head. I even find an ideal spot to stay for a few days, a ‘glamping pod’ only minutes walk from the cliff-top, meaning even I can be there easily in the early morn. It even comes with a friendly whitethroat singing loudly through the open window by my head to wake me at ‘sparrows fart’.

Sunny days continue as I get my first real look at Gannets close up in far too long. Oh, I get the smell too, less delightful I will admit. Luckily for most of this day and the next a gentle south-westerly is ameliorating the ordure odour (the poets back) quite a bit.

I think this chap should appear first in the pictures from Troupe. Not least because he made me smile. As he twists his neck to look at the squabbling next door the wind catches his feathers. I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect, but he made me think of a clown. Snap. Later, whilst reviewing these pictures I realise it is me who is the clown, for not coming here to see my favourite birds years ago.

I pause for a coffee (aren’t coffee bags just the greatest invention?), as I sit and sip I watch a few Gannets plucking grasses from a crumbled part of the cliff edge. I'd like a photo of this activity but the area is shaded, and the angles aren’t brilliant either. As a second cup brews I track one or two though the camera, in case something looks nice, nothing does, so I relax again. Then one flies up a few metres and perches in the sun with some bedding for his nursery. Quickly grabbing the camera I find him. Snap. He looks nice, turning back I find I've knocked the cup over, and the flask is now empty too. Of such moments is my life composed!

I wander a bit, sit a bit, just watching these big sexy birds go about their day. It is a treat, although the coffee accident is beginging to be felt. I am drawn by this chap, he is looking around, seemingly taking it all in too. I notice that he is standing in front of some dark vegetation and, as he he so brightly lit, it will give me a lovely deep brown background. Snap. When I review this shot later I realise the effect is the essentially the same as one of the rolls of background paper I would have used for studio portaits etc near half a century ago. Anyone got a spare coffee?

from head to feet, and no I am not turning this site into a location for foot fetishists, I mean you've truly reached bottom if podophilia is your cacoēthes, but do look at these. What a pair! For me they immediately evoke images of the exotic costumes worn by participants in celebrations of the dead in many parts of the world.

It’s a poor picture for sure, I’ve had to crop way too much, but I wanted you to see them.

the equipment I used nearly 20 yrs ago was clearly not as 'good' as that I am lucky to use today, however I have some pictures taken from my time living on Shetland that I still think are pretty enough for inclusion here, so:

I figure that if you want to get up close and personal with seabirds during breeding season then you need to get into their world, the middle of a colony. You could of course lower yourself from the top a 400ft cliff on a piece of string, nodding respectfully at each resdident as you slowly pass, getting pecked and shat on all the way down. I mean you could. I prefer the less onerous option, sit in a boat. OK, I can't swim I know, what happens if it sinks, but what if the string broke huh, then I'd be in the same situation anyway, only with far fewer usable limbs with which to thrash about with. So, at the bottom of a busy busy cliff, somewhere near the Noup of Noss (Shetland) I join 'the noise' and 'the smell'. Out here, now, in breeding season it is like ...........

........ well I don’t think there is any analogy that can remotely help explain what a large seabird colony is like in summer, it is simply 'full-on', overloaded clamour for the senses: noise, smell, noise, action, more noise, a lot more smell, repeat and repeat. Birds dive, birds take off, yet more birds fly back and forth overhead. And you sit in the middle, utterly surrounded by it all. Clutching a camera to your chest. Overwhelmed, simply overwhelmed.

Eventually you notice a few solitary birds sitting, just floating, taking a little break from it all, tiny islands of calm in an ocean of action, "it's just for a few moments, honest! ". As I centre on this single bird part of my brain begins to remember why I'm supposed to be here and, without asking permission, I start taking a few pictures. Once you focus on this one bird amongst thousands the noise seems to retreat for a while.

The dark shade at the foot of the cliff creates a perfect backdrop for this light-coloured bird. I can see it's going to look nice. Snap. I think he knows how good he looks as he gently floats there thinking of how nice a day or two off would be.

A couple of days later and I'm back at the same cliff, only 400ft higher, wishing I'd bought that string. It's high up here and rather windy (such an unusual thing for Shetland!) and to see what's happening below, a long long way below, I'm laying on the edge. Having a bit of string wrapped round my left ankle, with the other tied to a rock, or to one of the puffins all around me, would make me happier right now.

I spend a while laying there, gripping Mother Earth for all it's worth, watching this hectic suburb of Gannetville, I take a few shots but find it hard to see any real 'pretty' options, it's all too cluttered. Then I notice this chap coming home and track him for a few hundred meters until he gets in line with the cliff of the opposite side of the small inlet I'm overlooking. Snap.He lives pretty much on the 'top-floor' of this vertical city and we're both at the same 'altitude' so to speak. This, together with the bokeh and movement blur that just softens the dark looming cliff-face, creates something of an abstract background for the bird, so it qualifies as a pretty picture, well to me.

OK I'm going to limit myself to how many pictures of Gannets from Shetland I use, because, as said, the old 7D and lens I was using then were simply not up reproduction at high resolution.

So which final one shall I use? Well I try and pick pretty ones, so for colour, contrast and pose I think I'm going to return to this one taken as I was laying on a low 2m high 'cliff', on the very edge of the sea with a cuppa from a flask and a bikky. This gave me the opportunity to capture Gannets as they retake to the air following a dive.


The low camera and sun angles create a beautiful deep blue that sets off the subtle colours of the bird rather nicely I think and, as I keep having to you remind you, it is my website!

It it a glorious day, one of those truly lovely Scottish highland late winter blue sky bright sunny days (and I’ve just heard it’s dark grey and raining very heavily down south in England, tee hee). Oh, where am I, well wandering along the towpath of the Inverness end of the Caledonian canal (actually this bit is called ‘Muirtown Basin’, but that sounds altogether too gloomy a name for what I’m feeling. Looking ahead I see a Cormorant sitting in the lovely sunshine, relaxing and preening on a mooring platform. Many imagine this bird to be mostly black, sure in a dull light, or against bright water they do look black. But get bright sun on them and they’re a lovely medley of olives and deep browns. And, here’s a thing, I’m on this side of the canal for this very reason, to get the sun behind my back. I don’t just wander aimlessly around you know, I’m hurt you thought so.

I slowly creep forward, trying to approach closer, and to get that alignment of light I want, slowly, very slowly, quietly, very quietly. I don’t want to disturb him/her, I want this picture now. Then I hear a loud voice behind me, slapping feet, gasping breathing and in moments a ‘heavily-built’ lady jogs past shouting on her phone (ordering a pizza?) She runs straight towards ‘my bird’, aaargh. Closer and closer , shout, thump, gasp. I could scream.

But the bird preens and sunbathes, totally unconcerned. as the jogger passes within a few metres. I’m in the wrong movie! Ok, I had forgotten how acclimated to disturbance many birds can become.

I walk up and take his picture! At least he doesn’t ask for chips in payment. I love his deep blue eyes. These are a pretty birds really.

Here he is in full length, showing those colours I wanted to capture. OK, he hasn’t picked the most scenic of locations, but look at that coat.

He’s no drab dull monster really, he’s quite a dandy.

Late one frozen winter’s afternoon I wandered down to Stirling University’s lochan wondering if there might be a couple of nice ducky pictures up for grabs as they settled down for a cold night. Most of the surface turned out to be frozen with all the ducks, and a few gulls, floating around jammed together into a fairly small patch of open water by one shore. A captive audience for me.

Whilst tracking a sweet ‘tuftie’ through the very narrow field of view of the ‘500’ he suddenly turned about, swam determinedly away from me, jumped onto the ice, and just stood there. ‘Miserable git’ I thought, and panned about trying to find another through the lens. Nothing! I couldn’t find anything in the crammed little space. ‘WTF’......!

...... taking my eye from the viewfinder I see the ‘pond’, full of birds only moments before, was now totally empty, with all the previous occupants standing along the edge the ice, looking at each other, and back at the empty water. Again, WTF was going on? It really looked for all the world like a fire-drill! Do they have them in ponds I wondered.

At that moment everything became clear as a 'hunter-killer’ surfaces in the middle of this small, now empty, ice-free space.

Cormorants are primarily, almost exclusively, fish-eaters, and certainly can’t swallow an adult duck, but they certainly could manage a tasty little duckling or two. Hence, I suspect all mummy ducks tell their chicks about the dangers from the deeps and the evil cormorant who’ll grab their little tootsies and pull them down, forever. Mebbe they have their own version of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. Whatever it was called they had all learned it well. Of course I ought to add a little evolutionary reality here. I should have said that all those chicks who didn’t listen to their mummies got ate up, and didn’t live to pass the story on. That’s exactly how evolution works, well something like that!

Still a dinosaur I say, and it's my website so stop being a pedant.

Voyeurism probably isn’t to be encouraged, but there are often little places on coastal cliffs where, if you lay down and look over the edge (preferably with feet held tightly by several strong blokes/ladies/blocks of cement) you can gain total access to the private lives of those below. Sadly, I never have strong blokes or, doubly sadly, strong ladies with me, but I am nosey.

This cute Fulmar, just looks so comfy and relaxed. Not something you might imagine possible wedged into little rock hole near the top of a 400ft cliff, still each to his/his own.

Seabird colonies are just plain noisy, everyone has something, sorry a lot, to say, nice or otherwise. Just next door to the last bird a new couple have moved in, and they just don’t shut up, music full blast, always arguing, and they’ll be having kids next. And there’s not even a thin wall.

Despite the racket, it does look sort of cozy in there right now, but when the next south-westerly storm blows in? One thing I do know for sure, tho. is that I will not be here leaning over this cliff edge taking snaps when it does.

Not all apartments are the same of course, this upmarket suite comes complete with a balcony for sunny afternoons. It does look idyllic. And she seems to be enjoying it.

Guillemots are high on my wish list for a trip along the Aberdeenshire coast. My first call is RSPB Fowlsheugh, a likely spot. And here I get an unexpected, and to be honest, somewhat unpleasant surprise, the sheer number of ‘tourists’, not birders. You can tell from attire and lack of binoculars. What is more, similar crowds will be present at nearly every cliff-top I visit over the next week; it puzzles me. After chatting to one or two it becomes clear that we can blame social media and interweb sites like Tripadvisor etc, those of tax-funded organisations such as VisitScotland and, worse, so much worse, the RSPB. All no doubt dripping with advertising jargon like ‘spectacle’ and ‘majesty’ and all telling people to visit. But it is actually more cynical than this I realise, after being asked for the umpteenth time, by so many lost souls over the next few days, the same question: “where are the puffins”. No, these visitors aren’t here for kittiwake, fulmar, razorbill or gull, they aren’t here for any majesty, and certainly not the contemplative appreciation of ones own place in the universe that so readily comes with quietly sitting atop a cliff-top with a few thousand seabirds. No, all are all looking for one thing, puffins. This threatened little bird is being commercialised, no rather it is being exploited. Everyone is telling tourists they must go see them, bit like a building or statue. They are being sold as ‘a thing to do’, so tourists can say ‘I saw one’ and send their mates a picture via CrapChat. Now, given how most seabird populations are threatened by over-fishing they really don’t need wholesale disturbance by tikky-tokkies (many with free-running dogs!) looking for something to say they saw. Sorry, I probably ought to stop here.

Good cheer however returns once I’m clear of the hordes, and especially as I notice a little group of razorbills and guillemots perched atop a tiny pinnacle of rock a couple of metres out from the main cliff. They are squabbling as more than can readily fit into the available space try to do so. I sit for ages, just watching them, their behaviour, unchanged no doubt for thousands of thousands of years. It isn’t quiet, but it is peaceful. it is a busy, but it is tranquil. Birds, cliff, sea and sky, nothing else. It is some while before a fragment of conscious mind pushes through my meditation and, somewhat vacuously I thought, informs me that the visual contrast between these two species evokes visions of middle Earth, Guillemots, sleek. slender, refined,poised, intelligent: these surely are the Elves. That almost brutish decorated helmet face of the razorbill, well they’re obviously Orcs. And yes, of course, they’re also Auks, but there again so are the Guillemots, I think I need a coffee! But first, a few snaps.

The lighting and backdrop of distant shadowed cliff are perfect, and how often do I say that? If I do have a complaint (don’t I ever) it is the wind, strong and gusty, it really wants me in Norway, by way of the cliff-edge a metre away. My more immediate concern is trying to hold the big lens still. Why not a tripod you ask? What a great idea, did you carry one up here? I can't lay down either because the grass it too tall, ho hum, high shutter speed then.

These beautiful sleek birds come in two colour schemes, arising from a simple polymorphism, and we have both morphs together here, the ‘bridled’ and ere, well ‘un-bridled’ I guess. I love the way the rearward bird is giving such an adoring look at our main subject. I'd like to think she’s his good lady wife. Otherwise there’s going to be some squabbling later.

As I begin to take a few more there is a slight disturbance in the force as a Razorbill tries to get a perch, it draws the attention of these two. But notice the adoring looks continue from the back, he’s in love, he's got it bad, it is as simple as that. I can only imagine it’s unbridled love…..sorry I had to say it.

The first chap I can get close too appears to be pondering how much farther there is to climb, a meditation that allows us to clearly see that awkward looking, but beautifully decorated, bill.

I think ‘car-fanciers’ call this detailing, but then they’re as barmy as train spotters.

Now, as any designer will tell you, if you’re going for that stark black look, having something truly bright and colourful to serve as a contrast works well. This used to be popular, and still is, with car and bag designers, here the razorbill uses it to perfection. In fact the Guillemot follows the same designer.

I’m back at that rock shown in the guillemot pictures. A pair of Razorbill have muscled their way in, and my aren’t they in love.

We are such an arrogant and egotistical species that most people somehow imagine only we have thoughts and emotions. No those exquisite electrical transactions, moderated and mediated by a complex soup of enzymes has been evolving since animals turned up. Did you think God made it just for us?? Get real my friend. Ever seen a happy dog, or one pining for a lost playmate or owner. What do you think is going on? For that matter have you seen and heard sheep or cows who have just had the children taken away for slaughter (enjoy your pie). And I would conjecture they feel something like love just as we do, albeit undoubtedly with less intellectual ramifications. Now, I will admit we are the only animals that write poetry about it or, for that matter, publish books telling others how truly unhappy we were in childhood, but look at these two. Just look. Do you really think they are faking this stuff for our amusement. However they feel it, they are building the co-commitment and ‘trust’ to each other required to raise chicks in a harsh environment, and that elusive thing called love (due acknowledgments to Cole Porter) is the simplest electrochemical route to achieving that. These two are in love, however Razorbills feel it. Don’t get me wrong, there are other complex ecological forces at play too here. Whatever she ‘feels’ about him, however well she ‘choose’ he might be infertile, and the vice versa for him. They’re only going to get a few shots at passing those genes on. So, yes she’ll likely accept a ‘quick one’ from another chap while hubby is off fishing and, as likely, he might pop round to see the girl next door on the way home. It happens. You know it does.

Ho hum you came for pretty pictures, not ecological treatises. Sorry.

I know I promised not to turn this site into one for perverts or foot-fetishes, and yet, one bird later, here we are, a bit of clifftop, gratuitously public, bonking. Look, they have to make baby Razorbills somehow, and this is the only way they know.

I was, in fact, still looking through the viewfinder as I took the loving picture above, and there he was, getting down, or rather up, to it. I didn’t ask if they minded me taking a picture, and for that I am greatly sorry.

And no I am not going to run a ‘caption competition'. I just hope she isn’t saying something like “you might have waited a couple of minutes because there’s a bloody pervert over there taking pictures”. Feeling a little dirty I turn away and left them to their love.

Well, who doesn’t love a Puffin? That huge bill ought to make them look ridiculous, perhaps it does, but look at him! He’s got to be amongst everyone's top ten ‘birds you want to take home and cuddle' list. Puffins have another huge advantage over other cliff-nesters in my mind. They nest on top, meaning I don’t have to terrify myself to get pictures!

This chap is sitting happily overlooking the sun-lit Atlantic, which here provides a nice dark blue backdrop for his bill. It's why I took it after-all.

I mean the rest of the Puffin is just a chubby little black and white bird right, so I won't apologise for another head shot.

This time set against dried cliff-top grasses, it was a long dry and sunny summer, in Shetland! Yes, you heard me. It happens.

The one face a Puffin can’t really pull off, the menacing stare!

Sometimes when you watch a bird hovering, you can see the work going into it, imagine kestrel. This guy, not so much.

He has literally just stepped off the cliff-top, and the steady updraught from the westerly wind (I didn’t say the wind had stopped too, it is Shetland!) just holds him there. A little flex of a wing, or a twitch of a foot to compensate for any vortices or gusts, and he just hangs there. Notice how his feet are held, working as rudders, compensating for his stubby tail. And what’s more he stays like this, essentially motionless in the air, for well over a minute. It is an exquisite display of this birds mastery of the air. Handy if you walk off clifftops I guess,

To round off this performance, I kid you not he then just drifted slowly to the side and stepped back onto the cliff, mere inches from where he stepped off. He hadn’t travelled more than a couple of feet.

What was it all for, sheer exuberance, me? I have no idea, but it was enjoyable to watch.

Well, I won't claim this is either a pretty, or even remotely good, picture of this species. It is a record picture, awaiting my return to the US sometime. I must go and donate blood to those Everglade mozzies again, they must be getting hungry by now. Hint, go at end of summer when temporary pools and surface water has dried, not in Spring when they're full of the damned things.

I'm wandering around a lonely stretch of coast, low hills and what would be called lochans in Scotland, but the less poetic ‘water’ in Shetland. It was a harsh place to live, they didn’t have time for all that fancy ‘wander lonely/daffodil’ stuff. I was looking for red-throated diver. Anyway, you see how my mind wanders off without me, and that was how I found myself suddenly surrounded by screeches and squawks. Unknowingly, I had wandered into a tern colony, and I was being told, in no uncertain terms, to F...-off.

Without moving, lest I tread on an egg, I let the birds come to me and took a few quick pictures, they are beautiful and delicate-looking birds with those lovely tail-streamer, and I had a lovely bright blue sunny sky, so common on Shetland, against which they contrasted so well.

After a few moments I back away, slowly I was causing them distress, let alone the risk to eggs or chicks.

Common terns can be a bugger to differentiate from their Arctic cousins, some might think I have done it here. But, apart from all that ‘larger/smaller/more/less delicate' stuff you see endlessly in bird guides, all utterly useless unless have BOTH birds in front of you right now (please tell this to future authors), the sure fire way is the tip of the bill, it is black/very dark in Common and deep red to the tip in Arctic, this is seen most clearly below. If you can see them close that is, otherwise it's back to the books, and good luck!

As I retreat one bird follows me for a bit, flying alongside, just to make sure I really am going. I give him a passing shot in defiance, and this more clearly shows that ‘red to the end’ bill.

Deciding to stop off at Cruden bay, a nice little place, I park down on the quay to look around and brew up a coffee, but not have a sandwich. As the bag ferments in hot water I notice a tern working the estuary. Putting the cup down on the bonnet I get the binoculars from the passenger seat. He’s way off and, at first, I simply assume he’s a common or arctic tern. As he closes tho’ I first catch a glimpse of an unruly hair-style, then the black bill, then that yellow tip. A sandwich, I wouldn’t mind a picture of one of those I think. As he passes only a few metres from me he jinks and dives. Why am I watching though the bins? Back seat, unbuckle the safety belt, retrieve camera, note he always ‘buckles up’ as he says hitting the back of my head at 60 mph might damage his autofocus. Of course while I’m doing this the bird has flown. I place the camera on the bonnet too, it’s getting crowded on there, so I pick up the cup for my first sip, not bad. Then my Tern …….. well …... turns up again. I need more hands. He doesn’t venture close this time but works alongside the rocks to my right, alternately heading away, then back again. As he moves against a dark background and turns to head directly at me I take my shots.

He’s a bit too far away to capture much detail. But that perfect symmetry and pose, the isolation against the background, all make it pretty enough for me.

My next meeting with Sandwiches is a colony on Ythan Estuary. I decide the best way to get a few snaps might simply be to stand somewhere, and somewhen, and wait for it to happen. What could go wrong?

So, in consultation with tide table and map, I pick such a time and place. I make sure the sun would be over my shoulder, there would be water in front of me, the tide would be a flowin’, the fishies would be a swimmin’. The birds would come, they surely would come, after-all, as I said, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, the sun did. It didn’t explode or anything (you'd probably have heard), no it just decided to hide behind very dark heavy clouds, leaving the only bright patch of sky directly in front of me i.e. behind where the birds were due to perform. Hopeless, absolutely bloody hopeless. Still, what else was I to do but stand there, waiting? Then it rained, I mean why wouldn’t it. I stood there some more, and then they turned up, like I said they would.

In addition to being rather loud, terns are, of course, very agile, they fly fast, change directions on a dime and most are white. I find locating and tracking them against the sky especially difficult, but I persevere, this is why I’m here. But today, thanks to the disappointing weather, I will only have a narrow band of darkish horizon to photograph them against before they hit the water. Well that worked out as well as you might imagine!

So, to cut a long moan short, I failed to get any usable mid-drop, or even overhead pictures, the poor lighting took care of those for me. However, I did pick this chap out as he made the mistake of flying low enough for the water to serve as a darker backdrop, it gives us a chance to at least see the essence of this bird. Actually, Darwin, who arranges these things, gives us a simple bill-based colour key for Terns we’re likely to see in the UK, make sure you know it: here that ‘black dipped in yellow’ is clear enough. Sadly though he’s not revealing that equally characteristic ‘unruly mop’ hairstyle.

I also manage to get a few post-dive recovery pictures. This chap is working hard to pull clear just moments after emerging from the water, having apparently missed his supper this time. With the darker background of the water, we can even see that Sandwich Terns have eyes!

After getting home, having something to eat and a glass (mebbe 2) of restorative red juice, I set about reviewing the images from the day, i.e deleting most of them! As I browse rapidly through, one catches my eye and made me stop. Looking closer I thought it must be some aberration, a glitch in the camera, software, matrix, somewhere, anywhere. I mean look at him, he’s got his head and arse on upside down, the only bit of him looking right are his wings.

Yes, the rational part of my brain is telling me he’s simply shaking the water off, but he looks so ‘mutant’ at that instant. Perhaps not pretty in any conventional sense, but it's a pretty unusual pose. See how I bend the ‘pretty’ rule to suit myself.

As I look at this image I have to wonder at the processing going on in that brain. Dogs shake like that for sure, but they do it with all four legs deliberately planted on the ground not, my point being, flying through the air, a few inches above the water. Birds use essentially the same vestibular system as you or I, and he’s shaking his about while flying straight, level, and true. It has been mooted for a while that birds may have an additional balance sensory mechanism within what is called the lumbosacral organ (LSO) basically anatomical modifications in the lower end of the spinal cord (near its bum if you like). That’s all fine and dandy, it might even be true, but this chap is wiggling his bum around too. Look I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s a pretty impressive effort. If the LSO debate interests you there is a review paper: Stanchak et al2020; The Balance Hypothesis for the Avian Lumbosacral Organ and an Exploration of Its Morphological Variation.Integrative Organismal Biology. doi.org/10.1093/iob/obaa024 CLICK HERE

I have been persuaded to include a sequence of proceeding images as a mosaic. I hope it clarifies things, and prove I haven't been using AI to make up pictures for me. Clicking on it will open a larger image to peruse at your leisure!

Yup, another record shot really, but I came across this chap late in the afternoon, and tomorrow I carry-on driving north to the panhandle. So, not to make him feel left out, I snapped his picture.

As said, I must get back, not least because that bar on the beach was great, mebbe I’ll have a beer now in fact.

I spent a while walking Cedar Key’s beach and boat ramp, trying, trying, failing, failing, to get a nice shot of a single Black Skimmer. They are gregarious and dozens flew about, settling for a bit, squabbled as others tried to find a space, and took off again. It was a pain!

Then this chap/lady flew quietly in and settled on concrete mooring right by me. Tiring of the skimmers for a moment, I turn and take their picture, it was, after-all, being nice and quiet. Sadly, it was too close to frame nicely, because I forgot all about the ‘zoom’ thingy, but at least I’d pushed the shutter button for a change!

No, that's it, I definitely give up trying to get a pretty picture of a Skimmer on its own, bugger 'em I think and snap a few record pics. As I do this another Royal flies in and began squawking to get my attention so, to keep him happy, I took his picture too. Then I went, at last, for that beer, or three.

Another lovely sunny day, but with rather more than a fair SW wind blowing, good I think as I arrive at the cliffs at Bullers of Buchan, it’ll keep those far from exquisite seabird colony smells out to sea. I had however forgotten another implication of this wind, that tall rucksack I hang the camera from acts as a big sail. As I follow the narrow path northward, the very narrow path, literally no more than a foot from the vertical drop in places (30cm for you modern types) the wind is constantly pushing me seaward too. I confess I experience some trepidation, the first time I’ve felt like that atop a cliff edge. I try to control it by stopping and looking over the edge to track a few kittiwake though the lens. Nope, that doesn’t help one bit! I move on. The next day a man would fall from these cliffs, suggesting to me that my caution that day was probably wise.

Numerous Kittiwakes are about me, but the first settled one I see, well, just looks lovely, literally hanging on to the cliff face. Looking at him I hope he isn’t seriously thinking of suggesting this place as a nest site to his good lady wife, she’ll leave him there and then. No, rather I like to believe he has actually stopped off here to pick her a nice bunch of the pink Armeria flowers by his head. She’ll like them very much I think. Either way: Snap.

These next two tell a little story, perhaps. I mean it looks to all the world as tho’ she’s saying ‘did you do this on my porch?!’

well, story or not, this picture shows how lovely that delicate gentle-looking head and bill are, these are beautiful seabirds and I don’t see them enough. As a gust threatens to make them the last thing I see, I decide to move on a bit more, I have to capture some in flight, preferably the bird, not me as I plummet past.

what actually is occurring here is that she's following a flying Kittiwake, probably her partner, as he flies around the amphitheatre in front of her. He’s been trying to get landing clearance for a while now but ATC have him holding pattern. Well something like that, see below.

I can’t fly, obviously, so it is probably wrong of me to judge the difficulties associated with doing so for those so gifted. But, for all that, I suspect that when you’re on a cliff, with a ready updraught, and a pair of wings, getting airborne isn’t that hard. Just takes nerves, well that’s probably sorted out by natural selection, I assume that’s where Ostriches and other flightless birds came from, well something like that. Surely all you have to do is let go.

This kittiwake certainly appears to know no fear as he wilfully plummets head first from his resting spot, the manoeuvrer I have been trying to avoid for the past hour or so. I am pleased to note that he appears to be screaming much as I would do.

In addition to the unusual angle and action I like the couple to his right, one appears directly interested. I overhear her saying to her husband “why does he have to make all that noise every time he goes anywhere? It used to be so quiet around till he moved in”. I made that up bye the way.

While taking off from a sheer cliff appears to be easy, the constantly shifting gusts and updraughts near the cliff make landing somewhat harder. I watch numerous birds circle many many times, always looking as though they want to land at a particular place, but miss. Actually the complexity of landing on a tiny flattish spot, on a sheer cliff, in gusting crosswinds, is more than complex. It is impossible. You are made of delicate lightweight bones, you can’t afford to ‘hit’ the rock, you have to effectively zero-out movement in all directions, at a precise spot. No, in can’t be done, I’m telling you!

This particular chap has already made several aborted landings, each time doing a ‘go-around’. After another circuit he comes back again and this time I decide to capture his struggle.

He found his spot, well in x and y, thing is, he’s two metres too high. On it’s own this picture does appear to show him waving gaily to his missus as he goes past, again. When I first saw him start these approaches I swear to god he had a pretty full bill of nesting material. I worry that when he does make it home he’s going to get it in the neck.

May I please ignore my earlier protestations about not turning this site into a space for foot-fetishes? Cos I’m going to add more. As I looked through the sequence more closely I can see how hard they're working. He isn't waving those feet as a greeting, no, they are serving as flaps, ailerons, rudders and speed brakes, all in one, as he tries get home. These movements also probably serve to shift his centre of gravity. These are handy feet indeed, you can even use them to stand on, if he can get close enough to land.

Although far from perfect imagery, I put this sequences together to show how those feet in constant action as he approaches, crosses the threshold too high and eventually gives up to go-around again. His head indicating where he wants/ed to be.

I think I’ve worked out where that bedding went, every time he goes-around he probably has to curse a little. I swear to god that I heard him mutter 'fuck' somewhere through that bottom sequence.

I also wonder what his missus makes of it all as he sails past, again. Is she cheering him on, is she hiding her head under a wing, is she shouting derision. Perhaps she is pretending not to notice. I like to think the former.

As the cliff edge indents to form a perfect bowl, this is no doubt and old blowhole, now much collapsed, but still with a fully linked cliff-top edge forming an arch over the sea. It forms a prefect amphitheatre in which numerous guillemots circle below me. Well I have a merry old time.

I follow one as its arcs over the waters of the channel linking the enclosed amphitheatre and the sea. In the evening, when reviewing the days efforts, I notice how dark this water is, providing a lovely background for this bird. So here he/she is. It shows clearly the absence of any white ‘windows’ on the upper wing, the easy to spot ‘tell’ that it is a Kittiwake, not any other gull.

I’ve snuck (sneaked?) into a restricted part of a small harbour on the Fife coast. There are a few trawlers parked here (is that the right word?) and it seems at least one has only recently unloaded its catch. Numerous Herring gulls are paddling around, size wise they are eclipsed by a few greater black backed. And it is these I want. I seldom see them close.

I manage to find one floating in just enough space to isolate in a picture, and he looks nice enough. Snap. I’m not sure what he’s got on his head tho', and it marrs that lovely white coat a tad. I wonder if it’s a bindi, which is a lovely thought. But it’s more likely he’s been squabbling over discarded fish entrails.

well the tranquillity of a few moments ago is soon broken with a greater black-back ‘aving a go at a herring gull over a discarded piece of fish.

I’ve popped this one in not to show how argumentative gulls can be (who knew), but for a comparison of size of those two species. In particular that characteristic 'heavier' bill of the GBB.

On a recent quick trip to Lisbon I visited as many likely bird spots as I could identify on a map, this led me to a sewage treatment works (often a good location for birds), but sadly the gates were locked. Kicking my feet I strolled around and found a little park adjacent the site with views over the same lagoon. I wandered in, I had just driven for an hour, to see what I could see. Mostly dog-sh*t it turns out and so, not wanting to scrub the carpet of the hire car, I turned to leave, carefully. Then this chap just flew in and strolled past. I asked him if he minded and I took a few frames of him.

He seems in moult, it is was November, so I promised to explain that to everyone and tell you he said I should have seen him a few months earlier when, according to him, he was ‘magnificent’, I’m sure he was.

I walked out, studying the ground closely, which rewarded me not only with clean shoes but close views of a Zootoca vivipara basking on the path, got a few pics, which I appear to have deleted somehow!

Yup, poor picture, but it’s the action and ecology here that make it interesting enough for inclusion I think. A small group of BHGs are intermittently settling and flying, sometime low, over the water at Ruthven. They are picking off freshly emerged Mayflies. I once watched a Teal doing this and, strangely have a rather poor picture of that too.

I must take this opportunity to apologise to a gentleman sitting beside me in the hide before I took these. I was absorbed in looking around for the pair of reed bunting breeding here, and wasn’t paying any attention to a few gulls out of the loch, they were too far out for a nice picture. So when a nice man asked what they gulls were I muttered ‘Common’. They were all being quiet and I think that mislead me, that and not actually bothering to look! ‘Are you sure they’re not black-headed?’ Well, again without bothering to check through the binoculars, and they were a long way out, I repeated by suggestion. I cannot believe I was so distracted to answer a genuine enquiry. I am a total arse.

He then added ‘I think they’re taking mayflies, they must be emerging’. Well to compound my unreasonable lack of diligence I said I thought they were after fish.

So, this picture is also here to show how exactly right he was, and how totally wrong my suggestions were! When I looked through the bins, yup those black heads are kinda of a clue. And, well let’s be honest, what they were eating. I suppose I could have used Photoshop AI to generate a flying fish here to cover my embarrassment. Sorry sir, you were right and I was absolutely stupid. Humility can be good!

We all like new summer clothes, and birds are no different. This ridibundus just looks lovely and svelte in his new togs. When I decided to break my journey back home from the Northumberland coast at Loch Levine I hadn’t expected to see a large black-headed colony there. But I have a soft spot for gulls, especially this variety as I don’t see them at home much. So as I entered the hide nearest most of the noise I was looking forward to sitting quietly, watching the frenetic activity and getting a few pretty images to add to the winter plumage ones below. Turn the door handle slowly, many creak, open door slowly, ditto, ………………...

……………………. and I’m attacked by 2 madly barking fucking dogs leaping at me before they are dragged off by their moronic owners. Look as far as I am concerned a nature reserve is firstly for the habitat and animals and only secondly for viewing and education. At no level are they for dog walkers to sit and have lunch with their dogs! Hides used to be quiet, tranquil places to avoid disturbing the birds, and now it’s considered OK to bring barking dogs in with you. Maybe I missed the message. I made my opinions really rather clear and, glaring, they left. In their minds I was the one at fault, you know wanting to use an RSPB hide for birdwatching, perhaps I was. (Why is the RSPB allowing this can I ask? Certainly the staff at the visitor centre couldn't have cared less when I mentioned it to them on the way out)

However, once I'm seated the sights and sounds of an active gull colony quickly soothe my brow. Yes gulls are, especially en masse , squabbling noisy chaps, but there is something you have to like about them. And BH Gulls in new summer plumage look sleek and fashionable. I quickly see one a short way off from the general hubbub that I feel epitomises this. I snap his picture as he stands quietly looking at his noisy mates. There is was no point in asking if he minded, he wouldn't have been able to hear me over the noise, but thank you anyway.

Sleek or not, gulls are, well, still gulls and usually have rather a lot to say, loudly. This lady looks to be venting her angst at me, but I think her neighbour just out of sight is the centre of her concern so I don’t take it personally.

Of course communication it isn’t just verbal, and this typical neck-down threat display is visible throughout this active group. It is usually aimed at those flying low or just settled.

It's a cold winter's late afternoon, and going to get colder, it is winter after-all. And this chap is showing his winter plumage.

I like the way he's sitting there, just looking, musing perhaps. Mebbe he's wondering whether this is a good place to spend the night. in the meantime I don't wonder about this problem at all, it's all worked-out, hot-shower, bar, restaurant, hotel room. All nice and warm. Perhaps he's thinking: Who's that smug bastard, I should fly over there right now and shit on his head?

Well you don't need me to tell you, just look at that body language. Shoulders drawn in, feathers puffed out. Yes of course he's got his own duvet, but he's standing on the ice, no wellies, no socks.

This is the next morning, and this may be the same bird from the previous evening. He's been out here all night and it is bloody cold. And I've forgotten my gloves again.

the way birds cope with this bare feet/cold issue is very interesting, just too boring for right now. Try: here n.b. this links to an external website

I prefer to photograph solitary birds, something that can often be hard in the case of many gull species, they have a lot of friends. But, dejectedly walking back in the rain from yet another failed attempt to find a pair of Grey Wagtails I knew were ‘somewhere’ along a stream, I came across this chap looking, so it seemed, in much the same mood as I, he's even got a drop of rain on his 'nose'. Saying hello politely, we shared our woes for a bit, then he asked if I would mind taking his picture, I did, and we parted good friends.

What made me stop and take this one was simply the way he stood out from the sombre weather and the green of the pasture behind. Yes I could have done without the fence poles, but I was using the RF100-500 at the time and the aperture is way too small to give good bokeh. Right stop moaning.

It is so nice to find a ‘real’ Herring gull up here on the cliff-top, making a change from those seduced by the pizza, chicken wings and chips so readily available in the urban environs. I tell this chap so, and asks if he minds me taking his picture. “Of course, I was hoping you’d ask” he replies, adding “it would be better over here though, amongst the sea pinks.....” as he obligingly hops forward a metre or so “…... but you’ll have to excuse my feathers, there’s a bugger of a wind up here”. Snap.

Just before I wander on I ask what his plans are for the rest of the afternoon. “Probably a nap I think, it’s going to be a bit of a late night…” comes the reply “.. me and a few mates are flying to up Aberdeen for some chips”

I give up.

Up on the top floor of this car-park it’s a tad ‘blowy’, but it does give me a nice birds-eye take on all around me, and there’s a handy wall to steady the camera on. Just over a lane the roof opposite sports a number of Herring gull parents and new kids. There’s a fair amount of noise as one might expect. I like the eye to eye angle I can get with the birds up here. Sure I could get that I suppose for the birds down on the street, you know, by laying amongst all discarded chip-wrappers, half-eaten chocolate bars, bits of cast-off chicken leg, curry sauce, crisp packets, and other detritus cast aside by those unable to go ten minutes without stuffing something into their faces. I wonder why there are so many gulls around?? No I’ll stay up here despite the wind thank you.

This chap/lady has a lot to say, and isn’t holding back. Now it isn’t a particularly pretty picture I suppose, but it does show nicely the serrations inside the mouth, an adaptation to holding onto slippery fish, and these days perhaps cast-off slices of pizza! What is that red mark over the eye I wonder, pizza sauce or the result of beaky-cuffs over a chip or two?

The next pair pictures are here because I like to think they tell a story of love, and who doesn’t like one of those. Mind you I might be wrong, still it’s a nice story. The top one was taken in November and shows a pair of what I’ve been told by several of my betters, if not elders, are Herring gulls. And I’ve checked with a lot of serious birders (they never larf). The problem with gulls tho’ is that most go through several potentially problematic plumage changes over the first 2 or 3yrs of life, in addition to the usual annual summer/winter cycle adults do. If they are both Herring gulls they appear to be young birds in winter attire, one perhaps a year older than the other. Look, I first thought one was a lesser-black backed (see the slightly different leg colour) but I was told this can vary a lot early on.

And then let’s not forget the Yellow-legged gull. All three species are similar size so I just think aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgh. Normally, as the ID is ambiguous I would have left it out. But there’s that love story right.

I just think it looks as the chap is showing his new mate around, asking what she thinks of the place, does she want to settle down around here, have some screaming argumentative chicks.

So skip forward to early April, this is the same rock, and if this is the same pair, they now sport the latest summer plumage, ready to rock on the chick front. She appears to be much more relaxed now.

Ok, all of that might well be a load of wishful thinking. I just like to dream.

And here is the groom, waiting atop the chapel for his bride to be. The wedding is due to start, and she's late. Probably not, but hey if we’re telling stories.

I am quite old, and apparently we had less birds in the 1960s, hence I found myself walking past a Herring Gull standing alone in some rough pasture. No I thought, hang-on, walking backward for a bit, that's one of those new-fangled Larus michahellis-sss, it's hard to keep up sometimes with all these new models.

So here it is, maybe. Yeah, I know, like a new iPhone, it looks the same as last year's model.

He looks directly at me, as if to ask who he is now. I have so many questions for him I want to ask, not least does he still eat fish and does he still fancy lady Herring Gulls!

Using my new-found, sadly transient, ability to leap (poetic licence) out of bed early I was wandering around an area of salinas on the western Algarve coast, before sun-rise. Pools full early morning sounds and calls. Anyone know Brian Eno's track ‘Unfamiliar Wind’, if you’ll pardon the phrase, and 'a clearing', from the album 'On Land’? Like that, just less synthesiser. As the sun broached the horizon the first bird I came across was this sweet little chap, seemingly enjoying the first warm rays of dawn.