An embarrassing puffin-watch

Iceland’s a funny place. Parts of it remind me of the Lake District, others the Somerset Levels and the Mendips. Then there are landscapes that wouldn’t look out of place in a Mad Max movie or even Pirates of the Caribbean. (Johnny Depp won! Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

But the movie that comes to mind the most is Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds: oyster catchers, snipes, red shanks, kittiwakes, arctic terns, golden plovers, fulmers, whimbrels, knots. We saw them all. But we didn’t see any boobies.

The prize-sightings must have been of puffins. Despite several holidays in Scotland, including the Hebrides and St Kilda, the little critters had always alluded us. We expected to be equally disappointed this time because we had to be at the ferry terminal by 7pm to catch the ferry back to the mainland, meaning we’d have to leave the cliff-top vantage-point while the puffins were still away from their nests.

But after clambering over a recently active (1973) volcanic ridge, which was still warm and steaming in pockets, we thought we’d throw caution to the wind and drive to the other side of the island, just in case there was a puffin around who couldn’t tell the time. Nothing ventured nothing gained and all that, and from those cliffs we’d be able to see many of the other islands in the archipelago, including the iconic Surtsey, so it wouldn’t be a wasted trip.

Off we went, parked the car, walked the short distance to the cliff top, tripped over some wayward sheep and found a grassy ledge to sit on.

“Shifty up,” said Hubby, trying to avoid sitting on some sheep-pooh. He’s so precious.

I focused the binoculars and scoured the likely nesting sites. Lots of gulls of various genres of course and oh my goodness would you believe it, a puffin who can’t tell the time. I could just see him/her (I’m afraid this gender ID nonsense has reached Iceland) snuggled in a hole in a grassy cliff over yonder. No sooner had I spotted it then it flew off, tell-tale frantic flapping of stubby wings making it easy to spot even from a distance. Then Hubby saw one fly into the cliffs below us. We saw quite a few of those, and even a couple sitting on the sea. Gone fishing!

They are so charismatic that even though we only saw distant fleeting glimpses through binoculars, we couldn’t bear to tear ourselves away. Eventually we had to because of the ferry and stood up to go. 

That’s when Hubby exclaimed, “Oh you didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” I asked.

“Sit in some sheep pooh."

I looked down at the squashed pooh and tentatively put my hand on my rear and, “Oh shit!” then added, “If you hadn’t told me to shifty up so you could avoid some pooh, I wouldn’t then have sat in some.”

“You mean it’s my fault?”

“Too true!”

At this point, all the puffins lined up to watch the cabaret.

Ever the girl scout with a be-prepared motto, I delved into my ruck sack for the hand sanitiser wipes I had brought with us and began to clean the filth off me.

“No, no, no you’re missing a lot of it,” fussed Hubby. “Here let me.”

So Hubby grabbed a fistful of wipes and began to rub my right cheek. Perfect (or diabolical) timing, a group of people walked past just at that moment, trying to ignore us. 

“Ha Ha,” said I desperately. “Be careful where you sit.”

“You did say ‘sit’, didn’t you?” asked Hubby.