Planet Gannet 3

Jumping forward 15 years and 250 miles from the previous photo, this image from book 2 is of the southern tip of Sulaisgeir, the most remote of the Hebrides. Sadly I was not quick enough to catch the gannet avalanche on film. Just a minute before this shot the whole side of the rock was a mass of squirming birds. We looked for him, but there was no sign of Albert the lonely albatross, who made twitcher headlines a few years ago.

Planet Gannet 2

It was a privilege to be so close to these magnificent birds. It was also eerie. If they'd attacked en masse they could have had me for supper. For the most part they stood their ground as I walked past, but my presence was quite a disturbance. In hindsight I don't think I should have been allowed there.

That thought came back vividly fifteen years later. After spending two days on North Rona we headed over to Sulaisgeir. Gannets in the thousands were nesting on the island and a heavy swell precluded landing. But after remembering how bad I felt disturbing them on The Bass I wasn't terribly disappointed not to get ashore. It was just as exhilarating to view them from the sea. At one point several hundred simultaneously took flight from the side of the rock: a solid white mass of birds avalanching down to the sea. It looked like a glacier calving.

Planet Gannet 1

It is an odd feeling when you're outnumbered 150,000 to one. This sight greeted me after traversing the lightkeeper's walkway to the fog horn on the far side of Bass Rock. My few hours there were the most memorable of all my island visits. It was like being on another planet, and I the alien invader. As you can see, the birds were working hard to re-paint the red fog-horn. They'd chosen a shade I am thinking to patent. An honest name would be 'Stinky-Gannet-Guano', but for marketing purposes I'm going to call it 'Sea-Bird-Beige'.