Pursuing puffins in Northumberland

Atlantic puffin on an island in the North Sea

Atlantic puffins are surprisingly small yet feisty. These gothic seabirds with triangular marks over dark black eyes are not only strong enough to dig burrows in the soil using their colourful beaks, shovelling away loose material with their feet, but also evict rabbits from their own homes. What a surprise that would be for a rabbit family tucking into lunch.

The puffins behave like squatters for the summer breeding months and in the winter when they fly off the rabbits cautiously return. Puffin pairs often reunite at the same burrow the following summer despite having spent around eight months alone during winter living, fishing, eating and sleeping on the waves in the open sea.

Amazing!

The house in the background reminded someone who saw this photo of the Bates Motel

We found these wonderful creatures on the Farne Islands just off the Northumberland coast in early June on a trip spurred by my sister Netta, who was determined to see wild puffins come rain, hail, snow, wind or plague. Friend Trish from Durban South Africa, who was already Up North attending a wedding, was keen to join her quest. So when Netta threw me bone: “Do you want to come on of girls’ trip?” tag-along-Tess had no hesitation. 
I had just finished reading The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce; a crazy heart-warming book in which Harold meanders through the UK including parts of Northumberland, ending up in Berwick-on-Tweed. Besides that, our maternal grandfather Charles Spearman Jobling was born in the Morpeth area.

When my friend Vicky from The Rhodesia Herald days now living in Reading got wind that a puffin expedition was on the cards she was also keen to join. (As a matter of interest we were all born in Zimbabwe.) Which just goes to show that it’s important to communicate more with friends however far away they might be.

By some skillful logistics we all met at the lovely home of Vicky's sister Susan in Shiptonthorpe, North Yorkshire. In the afternoon just one car sped off towards Beadnell where our lumpy beds awaited. OK so it was a perfectly pleasant self-catering house (called Pedigree!) but all the mattresses had springs poised to burst through the thin covering and attack a thigh or two. The online booking reviews had mentioned the same. Strange that the owners hadn't addresses this! 

A stunning June afternoon

Anyway the weather was unusually kind if chilly, but various weather gurus predicted it would worsen as the week progressed, so we decided to get to the Farne Islands next day despite the strong breeze. Rather a howling gale than slanting rain stabbing the eyes.

 Hold on to your hats!

A Twitter post on June 4 from Lindisfarne Castle up the road stated: “It’s windy out there today! Nick, the House Steward has been out on the Upper Battery measuring the wind speed - currently 40mph westerly gusts, 25mph on the ramp. Hold on to your hats and take care out there.”  Indeed.

We took a Billy Shiel boat tour from Seahouses fishing village to Staple Island two kilometres offshore. Visitors can land only on this island and Inner Farne Island during the breeding season from 1^st May to 31^st July. Staple Island is one of 15 to 28 (depending on the tide) that make up 

Netta waiting for me to chuck up; Trish OK with it

the Farne Islands protected by the National Trust. During summer around 150,000 breeding pairs of seabirds cram onto these outcrops off volcanic igneous rocks that provide a temporary safe home to some 23 species including Atlantic puffin, razorbill, guillemot, common eider, kittiwake, cormorant, gull, Arctic tern and shag.

Armed with an anti-sea sickness pill readily donated by ex-nursing sister Netta (she can do blood but NO vomit) we set sail at 1000, the captain’s commentary over the tannoy system was interesting I’m sure but most of it was whipped away by the wind.

Landing on Staple Island in choppy waters

Cliffs packed to the rafters with seabirds of every description loomed into view as the boat approached Staple Island. 

Fulmars played on the updrafts; cormorants made dramatic silhouettes as they spread their wings against a turbulent sky; seals bobbed about in the surrounding water staring inquisitively as us; fishing seabirds dipped and dived. 

It was an astounding sight.

On terra firma

Eider duck & ducklings

The choppy sea can make disembarking tricky but we all made it, dug into our pockets to pay the £11.60 cash landing fee to the National Trust rep then took the footpath that leads over the top of the white guano-spattered island, the whiff of bird droppings impressive. A fact that would have made my Dad blanch was that there is no toilet on the island; there was one on Inner Farne or a chemical one back on Billy Sheil’s boat, which was by now thrashing about on the North Sea. 
We had an hour to explore, treading carefully as camouflaged nesting birds were dotted about everywhere on the ground, some eider ducks and chicks being almost the same colour as the rocks.

Guillemots

Puffin pairs with their brilliant summer-time beaks (in winter these become dull) were busy feeding sand eels to their pufflings (babies) underground. The female  lays only one egg a year, so perhaps it is not surprising they are classified vulnerable on The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. While global numbers are on the decline, in the Farne Islands the number of pairs of birds had increased from 39,962 in 2013 to 43,956 in 2018. However, the population was still below that of 2003 when 55,674 pairs were recorded, according to Gwen Potter, Countryside Manager for Northumberland Coast and Farne Islands, National Trust, writing on BBC Springwatch blog.

“Atlantic puffins have traditionally done well on the Farnes thanks to the work of the rangers, increasing protection of the marine areas around the islands, a lack of ground predators and the availability of suitable nesting areas,” she wrote.

Pufflings perish

Rangers carry out an annual puffin census here, as there are concerns about the quality and quantity of their favourite food the sand eel. The effect of more frequent storms these days is also worrying. In fact, nine days after we left Staple Island 300 pufflings perished on nearby Brownsman Island after being flooded out of their burrows in a terrific storm. This deluge also caused the death of many ground-nesting Arctic tern chicks.  Nature at its worst! Interestingly, Britain’s east coast puffins spend winter in waters off north Scotland and Norway; those from the west coast go to the North Atlantic Ocean and beyond.

The Pinnacles

Apparently we should have worn a hat while on Staple because Arctic terns fiercely protecting their nests tend to dive-bomb visitors who could easily teeter off the cliffs in fright, but there were no such incidents on this day.

The remainder of our 2½-hour boat journey included a sail around Inner Farne, a close-up look at a colony of grey seals that were languishing on some rocks, and up to a series of dramatic, isolated weathered rock stacks known as The Pinnacles, which are featured as one of the 1001 Natural Wonders You Must See Before You Die in the book by Michael Bright. They really are!

Eiderdowns

Back on a Seahouses pavement the starlings made mincemeat out of Netta’s fish and chips. 

Later, when walking along a coastal cliff near Beadnell, we saw a nursery party of eider ducks
and a trail of fluffy ducklings swimming in the rough sea with incredible resilience. An

adventurous duckling veered off-course but was soon rescued and brought back to the fold. These creatures also take in other ducks’ orphans without question. How nice!

The eider ducks of Inner Farne were the first birds to be officially protected by law thanks to St Cuthbert - a monk then bishop of Lindisfarne then a hermit on the island around AD675. He built a hermitage here and established a protection order after discovering local people were eating eider ducks and eggs.

Today all birds with a few exceptions are protected by law in the UK, and wintering eider just gained specific protection, according to the National Trust. Eiders breed in huge numbers off the Northumbrian coast, their nests lined with down plucked from the females' chest. Happy days - however there are disgruntled mussel farmers who say too many eiders are destroying their livelihoods….what to do.

1096 and all that

Bamburgh Castle in the background

Next on the hit list was Bamburgh Castle, a royal castle by AD1096. I mean, 1096! Incredible. One of the largest inhabited castles in the country, it sits high up on a rocky plateau overlooking the sea. An impressive row of 18 to 32-pounder cannons  that once helped keep Napoleon at bay sit on the Battery Terrace.

The Great Kitchen displayed several alarmingly familiar items that made me realise my own potential to be a museum piece. I learned that a buttery is not where you make butter but a liquor cellar, named after the French word for bottle - bouteille. It was one of the best castles I have visited, had a homely feel and credit is due to William Armstrong who bought it in a ruined state in 1894 and who refurbished it like mad. It is still owned by the Armstrong family and today much of it is let as private apartments, even a two-bedroom holiday home known as Neville Tower.

The next day Vicky’s Daily Mail revealed that right there under our noses Bamburgh village had been named Britain's most highly-rated seaside resort in a survey by Which? because of the quality of its beach, seafront, food and value for money. The beach was stunning although not quite the weather for bikinis.

Vicky on the Battery Terrace

Lindisfarne

Holy Island map

Wednesday morning saw us at the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, a sort of a pilgrimage for Trish. Netta chased us out of bed as timing is rather important when visiting this island three kilometres off the mainland into the North Sea. 
Linked by a paved metallic causeway, the island is cut off twice daily by incoming tides that completely submerge the access route.

It was raining as we approached the causeway, where some determined walkers had beaten us to it.

In the distance to our right were a line of vertical poles where dots of people were wading through the sand and mudflats just as medieval monks would have done in the Dark Ages. This is the Pilgrim’s Way, a perhaps more meaningful way of approaching the island. In fact, Northern Cross UK organises a barefoot crucifixion cross-carrying pilgrimage here every Easter. Anyone?!

Lindisfarne monastery was founded around AD635 by Irish-born Saint Aidan from Iona. Then the Vikings chased the monks off. What’s left are the ruins of a medieval priory built around 1083 by Benedictine monks – they too were chased off by other invaders. The history is huge here ....

Many of the 200 locals that live on Lindisfarne earn a living fishing or selling delicious fudge, ice creams and other tat to tourists. Oh and tea towels of Northumbrian scenes. 

That afternoon we explored Beadnell by foot, finding a harbour, some lime kilns, an incongruous clump of red-hot pokers (I thought these grew wild only in Africa), a derelict house and the cosy Craster Arms pub....

The Alnwick Garden

Fountains and fab gardens

We unexpectedly spent the whole of the next glorious sunshiny day at The Alnwick Garden, an extraordinary spread of formal gardens brimming with flowering plants, creepers and shrubs, water sculptures and cascading fountains, a bamboo maze, Alnwick Castle (this medieval fortress doubled as Hogwarts in two Harry Potter films), a fairytale-like Treehouse Restaurant featuring branches poking through the floor and two treetop wobbly rope bridges leading into the surrounding forest greenery - just gorgeous.

Alnwick Castle

 The Giant Adventure app enthralls most who discover how it works – basically you point the camera at certain spots in the garden and 3D augmented reality character animations come to life. You then can take fun photos of people alongside them if that makes any sense at all. The weather was so good we had a picnic in the car park then returned for more.

Don’t stop and smell the roses

3D augmented reality rats! 

For me the pièce de résistance was The Poison Garden. The Duchess of Northumberland’s creation consists of about 100 plants that can kill, including common garden plants. "Do not touch any of the plants, don't even smell them," warned our cheerful guide, who wielded a large bunch of keys and opened big black gates emblazoned with skull and crossbones, obviously aimed 

at invoking a sense of intrigue. But he was not exaggerating - one summer seven visitors to the garden apparently fainted from inhaling toxic fumes. While we knew about the narcotics such as opium poppies, cannabis, magic mushrooms, tobacco, the familiar in these parts khat (qat), which was held prisoner within a big cage, it was surprising to discover a laurel hedge can kill. 

Mandragora officinarum

Our guide spoke about a man who after pruning his laurel hedge had loaded his car with the off-cuts to take them to the dump. Slowly the plants released their toxic fumes and he apparently fell unconscious behind the wheel (and I presume he then crashed and died though this may be a little bit of a porky..... but laurel leaves and pips do release benzaldehyde and cyanide.) Other common plants like lords-and-ladies, angel’s trumpet, castor bean, laburnum, foxglove, columbine and wild clematis – all toxic. Thriving too were legendary killers henbane, hemlock, deadly nightshade and I discovered mandrake with its forked root resembling the human form is not just the imagination of Shakespeare or J.K. Rowling.

Bonny Scotland

On our last day the weather was as undecided as us. We were rather like the four vultures in Jungle Book saying, “What you wanna do?” 
Dunno. What you wanna do?”

"Dunno...." etc. 
Finally Netta prodded the map with some authority and said: “We are going there!” and off we went to Scotland. It didn’t really matter where we headed as around every corner in the UK there seems to be some interesting historical gem or spot of natural beauty. 
With the chatterers stuffed in the back Netta drove and I navigated down winding narrow roads to Caster Bar on the England-Scotland border, reaching it within two hours. Here there’s a grassy viewing area, spectacular rolling hills, an England and a Scotland flag flying high and various signs pointing out the obvious. 
We met a bunch of 50-something leather-clad biker lads from Barnsley doing the Wild Hogs thing. To avoid my awful selfies they obliged and vice versa. They were great fun. We then drove to examine Jedburgh, the nearest town in Scotland. 
After bowls of rather dull soup served by a sulky woman we headed back to Beadnell via a rather forlorn lake, its biggest attraction being hordes of feral goats.

Dogs galore

The Craster Arms was pumping that Friday night. I literally fought for a table and while waiting Trish accepted a sample of fish and chips off the plate of a random fellow as she was dithering about what to order. He offered it after all! People were generally very friendly Up North, as were their well-behaved dogs of every breed you could imagine including a gorgeous dalmatian the size of a pony. All inside too as it was raining.  

Well that’s about it…. Cheers!