ON CRAG AND SEA-CLIFF.
The bird-life of the inland crags nowadays is comparatively limited,
but what it lacks in numbers is to some extent made up in interest.
Time was when the Golden Eagle bred on some of these inland precipices
of the northern shires; when the Raven and the Buzzard made them their
home. For the purpose of the present work we propose to glance at
the few birds that frequent the various crags and rocks--chiefly of
limestone and millstone grit--of South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire.
They may be taken as typical of many similar localities in the northern
shires. It would certainly be difficult to find more grandly romantic
scenery than is contained in the district of the limestone rocks of the
Peak--in such spacious valleys as Dove Dale, Monsal Dale, and Millers
Dale, or in such savage glens as are in the vicinity of Castleton. As
examples of the crags of millstone grit we have the noble range of
rocks known as Wharncliffe, that crest the valleys like a series of
colossal bulwarks, below which is a sea of rolling wood and bracken.
It is hard to believe that so much beautiful scenery still remains,
surrounded as it is by some of the blackest towns and grimiest centres
of manufacturing industry in the British Islands.
One of the commonest birds throughout this district of crags is
the Jackdaw. In the south of England this bird perhaps shows more
partiality for marine cliffs; inland, as in Yorkshire, it frequents
churches and other buildings. Perhaps this is because such inland
cliffs are not so common in the south. There is scarcely a rocky glen
in the Peak that does not echo the Jackdaw's cackling cry. At Castleton
there is an exceptionally fine colony established in the lofty cliffs
at Devil's Hole, and which are crowned with the crumbling ruins of the
keep of once-famous Peveril Castle. Here many times we used to stand
at the mouth of the vast yawning cavern, in which the rope-makers are
established, as the dusk gathered, and watch the noisy Daws come home
to roost. Usually in one compact flock they came, sometimes in several
detached parties, and after wheeling and fluttering they finally
settled upon the scraggy trees growing out of the rock face. Their
cackling cries made the grand old gorge echo again--a chorus that
was kept up till their sable forms could not be distinguished in the
evening gloom. They make their nests here in the holes and crevices
of the mighty cliffs. Another common bird is the Rock Dove. Whether
this white-rumped Dove is the truly feral Rock Dove, or whether they
are descendants of tame birds run wild, it is perhaps difficult now
to say; but our own opinion leans to the latter view, because we
believe that the true wild Rock Dove is found nowhere but on maritime
cliffs. Whatever their origin, however, here the birds are now, and
wild enough. Their abundance is reflected in the names that they have
inspired for "Dove" river, and "Dove" dale, both of them famous haunts
of these birds. They nest in crevices of the limestone crags, and their
habits generally are very similar to those of their relatives along
the coast, which they also resemble closely in appearance. Another,
yet much smaller colony of these Doves, is to be found in the range
of crags that crest the right-hand side of the Rivelin Valley going
westwards, close to the Norfolk Arms at Hollow Meadows. We can state
from long personal observation, confirmed by keepers and others, that
these birds arrive at this place in February, and after rearing several
broods during the spring and summer and early autumn, that they leave
in October. We have seen these birds perch upon a narrow rail fence on
the edge of the crags they frequent. Vast numbers of Starlings also
build in these places up and down the Peak and elsewhere. Another very
common species is the House Martin. There must be many thousands of
nests of this bird in the dales of North Derbyshire alone--a profoundly
interesting fact, which indicates that such situations were invariably
selected in prehistoric times before such things as houses and bridges
were in existence. Talking of bridges brings to mind the fact that on
some of the railway viaducts in these dales the copings are so thickly
studded with nests in some places as to hide the masonry. We ought
also to mention that the Kestrel breeds commonly in these limestone
crags, and not a few Redstarts and Wheatears have their homes in
crevices among them, at a lower level and near the ground, of course.
Swifts are equally common, and in their choice of a haunt suggest a
habit that has been retained from a remote period, although changed by
many individuals in more recent times. We might also mention that the
Peregrine Falcon still breeds locally on some of these inland crags of
the northern shires, especially in the Lake District.
So far the inland crags; we will now proceed to a study of the
bird-life on the sea-cliffs of the north. It is in these localities
again that the northern shires show to advantage over most southern
counties in the matter of their bird-life. Nowhere in the south can
be found such vast bird bazaars as those that are established in such
wonderful abundance upon the sea-cliffs of the northern shires. From
Yorkshire northwards to the Hebrides and the Shetlands, one stirring
scene of bird-life after another in bewildering numbers crowd upon the
observer. From Flamborough's cliffs to the Pinnacles at the Farnes;
thence onwards to the Bass Rock, and across the Highlands to the
Hebrides and to St. Kilda in one direction; or up the east coast of
Scotland to the wall-like crags of Sutherlandshire and Caithness, and
across the Pentland Firth to Orkney and on to Shetland, in another,
what famous bird-stations may be found! We will visit a selection of
these in turn, commencing our inspection upon the noble headland at
Flamborough, at Speeton and Bempton.
[Illustration: The Razorbill.]
Some of the finest cliff scenery in the north of England lies between
Flamborough Head and Filey on the Yorkshire coast, and what is of
more importance from an ornithologist's point of view, its bird-life
is correspondingly impressive. We have many fine cliff-scapes in the
south of England, but the birds are disappointing, because they occur
in small numbers only, or are absent altogether, as is the case in
South Devonshire, for instance. There are few such haunts of Guillemots
and Razorbills in the northern shires of England as are located upon
some of these grand cliffs. During the non-breeding season they are
practically deserted by sea-fowl, left to the undisputed possession
of Jackdaws and Rock Doves. But with the approach of spring a great
change comes over the scene, and Gulls and Auks begin to assemble
once more upon the famous cliffs. Large numbers of eggs, especially
of the Guillemot, are taken every season, and prove a welcome source
of income to the intrepid climbers who risk their lives in gathering
this somewhat unusual harvest. From the summit of the cliffs but little
can be observed of the stirring scenes going on upon the rock face.
The ground at the top is too sloping to peer over, and it is only here
and there where the sea has made a deep indentation, and a view of the
cliff face can be seen from the opposite side of the gorge, that we can
obtain some faint idea of the bird wonders of the place. For more years
than "the oldest inhabitant" of Bempton or Flamborough can recall, the
birds have bred here in enormous numbers and have been as regularly
robbed. The Guillemots and Razorbills and Puffins are somewhat
irregular in their date of return to the cliffs in spring. Sometime
towards the end of April is perhaps an average date, although they have
been known to come back as early as February (1884). At the Farnes they
are apparently earlier, assembling usually some time in March. The
young and old birds generally leave the breeding-places for good during
the last ten days of August in both of these localities. The eggs of
the Guillemot are the easiest to obtain, being laid upon the ledges
and in the numberless little hollows about the cliffs; the Razorbill
deposits its big solitary egg in a crevice where in not a few cases it
is absolutely safe from man; the Puffins, breeding nearer to the top
of the cliffs, lay their single egg in burrows. It would be impossible
here to describe the wonderful variety in the eggs of the Guillemot:
they are by far the most beautiful of any of those of the sea-fowl.
Great numbers of these eggs are taken for food; and we can remember
how the climbers at Flamborough used to return home to breakfast
hungry as Hawks, and break the pretty eggs into the frying-pan with
the bacon--forming a meal a gourmand might envy, provided his appetite
has been sharpened by a long morning in the bracing air that blows
in from the German Ocean. The "Pinnacles" at the Farne Islands are
another famous haunt of the Guillemot; the most attractive of all the
breeding-stations of this species throughout our islands, owing to the
exceptional ease with which the birds can be observed. These pinnacles
are a group of flat-topped rocks, rising perpendicularly from the sea,
close to one of the islands, from which a good view can be obtained
right on to their table-like summits. These are crowded, densely packed
in fact, with a struggling mass of Guillemots. When the birds dash off
and fly down headlong into the sea, a still more extraordinary sight is
presented; for all over the surface are strewn hundreds of eggs--like
great pears--of almost every conceivable hue and pattern of marking.
The Guillemots are comparatively silent; but the scene is noisy enough,
because on the sides of the perpendicular rocks numbers of Kittiwakes
are nesting, and their cries are incessant, sounding high above the
surging sea and the whirring of the wings of the departing Guillemots.
Into many of these Kittiwakes' nests we can look from the summit of the
island adjoining, and are thus able to count the eggs or young as soon
as the brooding birds are driven off.
[Illustration: The Gannets.]
Our next rocky haunt of sea-fowl lies far away to the northward, and
is the widely and justly famous Bass Rock in the Firth of Forth. This
is another favourite locality of ours; we have visited it repeatedly,
and the stirring scenes of bird-life we have witnessed there each time
are indelibly fixed upon the memory. It was at the Bass that we went
through our apprenticeship to marine cliff-climbing, and where we first
made the acquaintance of the Gannet at home. As most readers may know,
the Bass is one of the few grand breeding-places of the Gannet in the
British archipelago. There are several other rock-birds breeding in
some plenty upon the Bass, but the Gannet stamps the rock with its
individuality, and all other species are overpowered and comparatively
lost amidst its numbers. Perhaps we might make an exception in the case
of the Puffins. There is a large colony of these birds established in
the walls of a ruined fortification facing the sea, and Puffins may
be seen repeatedly coming and going in their usual hasty way. There
are many more of these birds breeding here and there about the rock,
but this, so far as we know, is the largest congregation. The Gannet
is a thoroughly pelagic bird, and only comes to the land to breed,
retiring once more to the sea as soon as its young can fly. During the
late autumn and throughout the winter the Bass is practically deserted
by birds. At the end of March or during the first half of April the
Gannets begin to assemble at the time-honoured nesting-place. At first
their stay is fleeting, but it gradually becomes longer and longer
until nest-building commences, and from that time onwards the Bass is
the grand head-quarters of many thousands of Gannets. It has been
computed that at least twelve thousand adult birds frequent the Bass;
probably this under-estimates the actual number, although we must
remember that in 1831 Macgillivray gave twenty thousand. In any case,
judging from the most reliable information obtainable, the Gannets seem
to be on the decrease. Throughout the summer the Bass is literally
vignetted in a throng of ever-moving Gannets; but even at this season
many of the birds fly long distances out to sea to feed, coming home
stuffed with fish, lots of which are disgorged at the nests. Numbers
of the birds begin nest-building at the beginning of May, but, as is
the case with Rooks, the operation is not commenced simultaneously by
all, and a fortnight later, when many of the nests contain an egg,
there are a good number of others in an uncompleted state. At this time
many of the birds flying about will be remarked with pieces of turf or
other material in their bills, which they will thus carry for a long
period without attempting to alight and work it into the unfinished
nests. The grand home of the Gannets here is situated upon the north,
north-east, and west cliffs. Here on the grassy downs, near the edge of
the cliffs, numbers of Gannets may be seen standing quietly, some fast
asleep with their head buried in the dorsal plumage. We have caught
Gannets when thus asleep, but care must be exercised to grip the bird
firmly round the neck, or a stab from the formidable beak will reward
the would-be captor's rashness. The nests are made almost anywhere--at
the top of the cliffs amidst the broken rocks and crags, lower down the
cliffs where any ordinary climber can reach them, and, most numerously
of all, on the ledges far below which are only accessible with the
aid of a rope. To say the least, the nest is not a very attractive
one; it is often trodden out of all semblance to such a structure,
and frequently covered with droppings and slime, whilst around it are
dead and decaying fish, many of them disgorged when partly digested.
The hot sun soon completes the work of decomposition, and generates a
fearsome stench which it requires all the fortitude of an enthusiastic
ornithologist to tolerate. The nests are made of sea-weed, turf,
straws, and scraps of moss, the soil from the turf being trampled
into a mortar-like mass and binding the whole together. In a shallow
cavity at the top of this cone-like structure a single egg is laid,
originally white coated thickly with lime, but soon becoming stained
into a rich brown from contact with the big webbed feet of the parent
birds. Numbers of nests in some spots are crowded together, often so
closely that the cliff is literally white with sitting birds. The
noise is deafening. The Gannets in the air are quiet enough, gliding
to and fro in a bewildering throng, but the birds on the cliffs and
the grassy downs at the summit, those that are standing or sitting,
keep up a never-ending chorus of harsh cries. As we wander to and fro
inspecting the dwellings in this curious city of birds the indignant
owners bark defiance with sparkling eyes, and only tumble off their
solitary egg when prompted by feelings for their own personal safety.
They are quarrelsome birds too, possibly because so very overcrowded,
and fights and sparrings are continually taking place. Every now and
then two birds will each seize the other in its powerful bill and go
tumbling over the cliffs together, not to separate until they have
perhaps fallen a hundred feet or so, when they will part, and soon lose
their identity among the drifting crowd that circles about the face of
the cliff in never-ending activity. All the time of our stay birds are
coming and going, dropping lightly on to the land or soaring upwards
into the air; whilst the sea below is well sprinkled with birds, and
some distance down the Firth many others may be seen busily engaged
in fishing. The scene becomes still more animated when the young are
hatched. At first these are ugly, ungainly-looking objects, blind,
and covered with dark-gray skin. This, however, is soon clothed with
dense down of dazzling whiteness, which in its turn is succeeded by
a speckled plumage--brown spotted with white. The young birds pass
through several stages of plumage before they acquire the white livery
characteristic of their parents; neither do they breed until they are
four or five years old. A few of these party-coloured immature birds
may be detected amongst the crowd of adults at the Bass; but, as a
rule, these young ones do not congregate much at the breeding-places
until ready to propagate their species. In many respects the Gannet
is a very remarkable bird. The nostrils are closed, being practically
obliterated, the tongue is small and aborted, whilst nearly the
entire surface of the body is covered with a net-work of subcutaneous
air-cells, communicating with the lungs, and thus emptied or inflated
as the bird may desire. We have already dwelt at some length upon the
Gannet's ways of life, and it will at once be seen from the above facts
how admirably the bird is fitted not only for an aerial existence, but
for withstanding the great pressure of the water during its repeated
plunges into the sea from high altitudes.
There are also many Kittiwakes nesting about the cliffs of the Bass,
and a few Herring Gulls. The former birds breed most abundantly upon
the precipitous cliffs, low down many of them, and in very inaccessible
spots. We have, however, taken many eggs of this Gull from nests nearer
the top of the cliffs, and in places which we had little difficulty
in reaching without the aid of a rope. The nest of this Gull is a
substantial one, made largely of turf, which is trampled into a solid
mass by the owners. Sea-weed and dry grass, as well as the dead stalks
of plants, are also used. The eggs are usually two or three in number,
green, or olive, or brown, of various shades, marked with darker brown
and gray. Then amongst the cliffs great numbers of Guillemots and
smaller numbers of Razorbills deposit their eggs in suitable spots;
whilst the Jackdaw and the Rock Dove frequent them. The Daws are
great robbers of eggs, and as soon as the Auks or Kittiwakes chance
to leave them unprotected the foraging birds beat along the cliffs
and pounce upon them, carrying them off transfixed on their bill. The
Herring Gulls prefer the grassy downs in the hollow on the north side
of the Bass, making their somewhat slight nests amongst the herbage.
Their eggs closely resemble those of the Lesser Black-backed Gull--the
brown varieties--but do not present anything like the same diversity,
although they are as a rule perceptibly larger. We are glad to be
able to state that the Peregrine Falcon breeds upon the rock, and on
more than one occasion, after an exciting climb, aided by a rope, we
have succeeded in reaching and minutely examining the nest of this
interesting bird. It preys upon the Puffins, Rock Doves, and Guillemots
that make the Bass their summer home, and we earnestly hope that it may
long continue to frequent this noble pile of rock.
From the Bass it is a long jaunt to St. Kilda, but we will do the
distance on Icarian wings, and contrive to reach the famous islands
during the very height of the breeding season of the birds. We have
appropriately left this romantic place to the last, for it is here,
we say without hesitation, that littoral rock scenery throughout
the northern shires culminates in grandeur, and that rock bird-life
attains to its highest degree of impressiveness. Sixteen years ago the
group of islands (collectively known as St. Kilda) were comparatively
unknown to British ornithologists. Of their existence, of course,
most bird-lovers knew, but only in a hazy sort of a way, whilst the
wonders of their bird-life were even more traditional to most of us.
Nowadays St. Kilda has become ornithologically "fashionable"; it is
considered quite the correct thing to "do" the archipelago, and the
place has become popularized--we had almost written a much stronger,
if perhaps not quite so genteel a word. Sixteen years ago we visited
the islands and published an account of their bird-life--the first,
we believe, that had been written for nearly twenty years. We have
in various works still further emphasized the richness of the place
from an ornithological point of view. This, we profoundly regret
to say, has resulted in a wild rush of collectors to the islands,
with the inevitable result that the natives have been corrupted, and
the Wren peculiar to the place has become threatened with absolute
extermination! Better perhaps had we remained silent, at least until
sufficient steps had been taken to secure the safety of perhaps
the most interesting bird on the islands, if the most diminutive.
Collectors have taught the St. Kildan that there is more wealth in
the long-despised Wren than in the much-vaunted and highly protected
Fulmar, but the source of it will prove a transient one indeed if
something be not quickly done for its preservation.
It would be difficult to find, or even to imagine, more grandly
beautiful rock scenery than St. Kilda presents. There is not, for
instance, in all the British Islands, a precipice approaching in
magnificence to that of Connacher, which is formed literally by the
side of an island twelve hundred feet high falling sheer into the
Atlantic; and when we add that this awful wall of rock is crowded
with birds, almost from foot to summit, we complete a description
which has no parallel in Britain. This is but one item in the grand
sum total of the crags of St. Kilda. It would be as hard to conceive
a more majestic outline of sea-crags than is formed by the towering
jagged summits that cut the sky-line and form the long narrow sister
island of Doon, forming the southern horn of a most picturesque, if
somewhat treacherous bay, of which a spur of St. Kilda itself completes
the watery enclosure. The cliffs that buttress the western isle of
Soay, though not so high, are in their way as picturesque; whilst both
islands literally swarm with birds, some of them the most local in
the British avifauna. Then lying away to the north, four miles from
St. Kilda, in lonely isolation, towers the lofty island rock mass of
Borreay, with its two attendant satellites, Stacks Lii and Armin, all
sacred to the Gannets that in tens of thousands crowd upon them during
the summer months. This island itself rises nearly sheer in parts a
thousand feet or so from the ocean. Undoubtedly the grand secret of
the charm that has attracted sea-birds in such numbers to these rocky
islets is their utter isolation and loneliness, combined with the vast
food supply furnished by the surrounding sea. These islands are far
without the ocean highways of vessels; they are rarely approached by
man; whilst the small number of people--quite an ideal commonwealth in
its way--that live there are sensible enough to treat the birds fairly,
and not literally to kill the Geese that lay the golden eggs. They farm
the birds as an agriculturist would his land, or a stock-keeper his
sheep and cows; they allow them a close time, or perhaps the place is
so extensive that these few fowlers are unable to exhaust the store,
and the supply is kept up by natural increase. Be this as it may the
birds live and thrive, and this notwithstanding the fact that the Sea
Birds Protection Acts do not apply to any of the islands, possibly,
as some readers might say, because it would be utterly impossible to
enforce them, not even by removing every living soul from the place.
We need not linger here at any length upon species that we have already
dealt with elsewhere. Such birds as Guillemots, Razorbills, Puffins,
and Gannets are here in vast abundance, but our space is required for
the description of a few birds that we meet with nowhere else in the
British archipelago in such numbers. The island of Doon, for instance,
so thickly swarms with Puffins that when we land upon it these birds
glide down to the sea in such countless hordes that the very face of
the hillsides seems slipping away beneath us. As for the Guillemots,
we knew an old St. Kildan, so the story ran in the village, who came
across such numbers of their eggs upon the cliffs that he was compelled
to take off his breeches and turn them into a bag to hold them! But
there are more interesting birds to us, perhaps, breeding on Doon, and
these are the Fork-tailed Petrels. They have their nests in burrows
upon the grassy summit of the island. Those we discovered were on the
western end, nearest to St. Kilda, and made in the rich soft soil, the
burrows some two to five feet in length. At the end of this burrow
the Petrel makes a scanty nest of dry grass, moss, and roots, upon
which it lays a single egg, white in colour, faintly marked with
dust-like specks of brown and gray. Sometimes a nest is dispensed with
altogether. We caught some of the Petrels upon their nests, which,
when released, flew about in a dazed sort of way as if unaccustomed
to the light. These Petrels are chiefly crepuscular or nocturnal in
their habits, and during the daytime not a bird will be seen. The St.
Kildans pay little or no attention to such small birds, and possibly
the Fork-tailed Petrels had remained here undisturbed for ages, for
we are not aware that Bullock obtained any eggs from this colony when
he discovered the species in the British Islands upwards of eighty
years ago. Bullock, we might mention, came very near the honour of
discovering this bird absolutely, for he was only anticipated by a year
by Vieillot.
[Illustration: The Fork-tailed Petrel.]
St. Kilda is indeed the grand head-quarters of our British Petrels.
All the indigenous species breed there, and in greater numbers than
they do anywhere else. The Stormy Petrel is common enough, and
doubtless breeds on every island in the group. Its habits are almost
precisely the same as those of the Fork-tailed Petrel, and its egg
is similar in colour, only much smaller in size, as the bird is
itself. But the grand colony of Manx Shearwaters is perhaps of more
general interest; the bird breeds in many other parts of our islands,
although nowhere in such numbers as it does here. Soay is its grand
head-quarters, but great numbers breed in suitable localities on every
other island in the group. This Petrel is also nocturnal in its habits,
lying close concealed in its burrow during the day, coming out at dusk
to search for food over the surrounding sea. St. Kildans say that the
Manx Shearwater is one of their first bird visitors in spring, and
amongst the last to leave in autumn. Probably the real fact of the
case is that the bird haunts the islands throughout the year. Towards
the end of May this Shearwater commences to lay. It provides a scanty
nest of dry grass at the end of the burrow it has excavated, and here
it lays a single white egg. Like the Owls and the Nightjars, this bird
becomes active at nightfall. The Shearwaters then leave their burrows
in thousands, and the grassy island becomes a scene of activity, birds
coming and going in the gloom, and their cries filling the air. The
"Scrapire", as the St. Kildans call this bird, is a favourite article
of food with them, and large quantities are caught at night, when
parties of men visit the birds' haunts and knock the poor Shearwaters
down with sticks or drag them from their holes.
[Illustration: The Fulmar.]
But the most important bird of all in the entire group of islands is
the far-famed Fulmar. Its numbers here would be very difficult to
estimate even approximately, but some faint idea may be derived from
the fact that the St. Kildans are reputed to take, during one special
week in August which custom has long reserved for the purpose, no less
than twenty thousand young birds! To these we must add the numbers of
old birds that are snared on their nests during the hatching season;
whilst we must also bear in mind that comparatively a small proportion
of birds are caught at all. Darwin had certainly strong grounds for
asserting that the Fulmar is the most numerous bird in the world.
Without being held in any way to support an assertion which is so
difficult of proof, we may certainly state that no other sea-bird
breeds in such vast numbers anywhere in the British archipelago. The
Fulmar commences to breed in May, the eggs being laid from the middle
of that month onwards to early June. Unlike the Shearwaters and the
more typical Petrels, this bird rarely makes a burrow big enough to
hide itself, but is content to scratch out a hollow in the soil, or
even to deposit its egg on ledges of the cliffs. In some parts of the
cliffs the nests are so close to each other that from a distance the
birds seem crowded together into great white masses. Beyond a small
portion of dry grass the Fulmar makes no nest, although some we found
on Doon were hollows lined with small bits of rock. The single egg
is white, rough in texture, and with a strong pungent smell. Of all
the varied scenes of bird-life that it has been our good fortune to
witness, not one has been quite so impressive as that we witnessed from
a shoulder of Connacher, when, after a stiff climb from the village,
we suddenly came upon the assembly of Fulmars at their nests. The
first thing that impressed us was the _silence_ of it all. We had
hitherto been so used to a noisy din as an inseparable accompaniment
to a gathering of sea-fowl that the silence of these Fulmars seemed
almost weirdly strange. We can only compare this scene to a dense
snow-storm in which each flake was a separate bird. In an apparently
never-ending throng the big white birds drifted by, those nearest to
the cliffs passing in one direction, those farther out at sea going
directly opposite. There seemed thus to be two streams of birds passing
and repassing each other, whilst as far as the eye could reach the air
was filled with gliding fluttering birds--some of them so indifferent
to our presence that they approached almost within arm's-length. No
birds were flying over the land, all were above the water or floating
on its surface far down below. We stood looking at the wonderful scene
for quite an hour literally spellbound; and even now, after the lapse
of many years, we can see the whole thing again as we write these
lines, graven as it is indelibly upon the memory. There was a strange
indescribable fascination about the whole scene which held us to the
spot, and many times during our fortnights sojourn upon these islands
we wended our way alone to the summit of the cliffs to sit there and
watch the comings and the goings of these wonderful birds. Even more
impressive still does all again become when viewed from the sea below.
Then the masses of birds, as they appear to fall away from the rock
face, literally darken the air and overpower us with their numbers.
The St. Kildans are expert fowlers, snaring the Fulmars as they sit
upon their nests, with long rods to which a horse-hair noose is
attached. The birds that breed here are the source of the St. Kildans'
wealth; thousands of them are killed and salted for food; thousands
of eggs are taken for a similar purpose. When caught, the Petrels are
made to vomit a quantity of oil into the dried gullet of a Gannet
that the fowler carries attached to him; and this oil, together with
the feathers from these birds, Gannets and others, are also a further
source of income.