The albatross weekend

In 1994, twitching islands was only just becoming part of my repertoire, and Shetland was still a step too far. But James McGill and I made a pact that year that if the Black-browed Albatross came back to Hermaness the next year, we would go for it.

And so it came to pass. ‘Albert Ross’ returned in 1995 (for what turned out to be the last of his many years), and we made arrangements to go up on the Easter weekend (14–17 April) and join in on a trip organised by Hugh Harrop. Not sure whether it was naivety or confidence that we would fill them on my part, but I booked four spaces on the tour and four return plane tickets Aberdeen to Sumburgh. Now we needed a couple of extra bodies. I advertised on the pager and got a couple of takers – birders I didn’t know at the time but who quickly became (and remain) firm friends, Pete Hutchins and Steve Preddy.

So, on the evening of Thursday 13th, we met up and set off in my old Escort. Passing through the Lake District, I was just starting to flag and had asked Pete to take over the driving when the lights packed up on the car. We still had sidelights and flash, but no dipped or full beams. This was potentially disastrous, as we had to be in Aberdeen next morning for our 0915 flight, so we could not afford to stop and wait for daylight – we just wouldn’t make it! Pete, not for the last time, was immense. He managed to keep going just on sidelights, holding the flash in every now and again where necessary, and thankfully nothing else went wrong. We made the flight and put worrying about the return journey to the backs of our minds until later.

On arrival at Sumburgh we found that enough birders had booked on the tour that the minibus was already full, but also that Hugh had roped in none other than Iain Robertson to take on the extra. So we were to be ferried around in his car by one of the doyens of Shetland birding – bonus! Over the next few days he was the perfect host and great company. And man, the stories! We were in awe, and even didn’t mind when he pointed out the garden at Frakkafield where he had seen Britain’s only twitchable Hawk Owl.

The news from Hugh wasn’t encouraging. Apparently ‘Albert’ had been seen heading out to sea the previous afternoon and was usually then away for a couple of days or more. Our timing could hardly be worse. It was an apprehensive journey north, then, though as it was also my first visit to Shetland I kept my mind occupied taking in the wonderful scenery and, of course, the birds on the way, the best of which were a couple of Little Auks off the Yell–Unst ferry. At last we arrived at Hermaness. It’s a bit of a hike up to the Gannet colony from the car park, but on the way we saw several Redwings, apparently of the Icelandic coburni race. Then we arrived at the famous Saito outcrop. Hugh edged out on to the narrow promontory that was the nearest, though slightly precarious, viewing point – the albatross was there!

Some of us queued up to edge out ourselves, steadied by Hugh (top marks to him for risking life and limb to do this), to look down the dizzying drop and get our first view of this fantastic bird. Others walked a bit further up the cliff where there was a safer viewpoint, though rather more distant. In the end we all settled down there to enjoy more views in relative comfort. For most there it was a long-awaited dream come true, and plenty of photos were taken, mostly of cold, damp but very happy birders. I even got someone to take a couple of our group, but Steve was still just in his geek phase (rather than the urbane hipster look he has favoured since) and has forbidden me to reproduce those anywhere, threatening blood-curdling consequences if I do!

After a night at the North Isles Motel on Yell, our target the next day was the Snowy Owl that had spent nearly six months on Fetlar. But it was not to be – no sign at all, despite much searching. (It was refound a couple of weeks later, on Yell.) Still some great birding though - back on Mainland a lovely drake King Eider and a fantastic raft of mostly summer-plumaged Slavonian Grebes at Sandsound Voe near Tresta were particular highlights.

The day ended bizarrely: heading back towards Lerwick, Hugh realised too late that the minibus was short of petrol, with no petrol station anywhere within range, so went to a nearby farm and (presumably in desperation) tried to top up just enough to get home with diesel. The results were predictable – we could hear the minibus misfiring and backfiring before it reappeared over a ridge only to grind to a halt. Iain was then pressed into service ferrying the minibus passengers back to Lerwick, while we were left standing by the side of the road, to be picked up later, near dusk.

Easter Sunday was a tour of birding sites on South Mainland – plenty of birds and it was fun, and also very useful and interesting to get the lie of the land and see the places that featured so heavily in the likes of Rare Birds Day by Day. Then we flew back off on Easter Monday morning, and after swiftly nipping up to the Ythan for our second drake King Eider of the trip, we readied ourselves for the long drive back south, hopefully taking in a bird or two on the way. An Alpine Swift at Flamborough was a tick for some of us, but too much of a detour, so we decided against. Also in our minds was getting as much of the journey done in daylight as possible, as the car lights were still knackered.

So instead we set our sights on a Bonaparte’s Gull in Cardiff, on the Taff–Ely estuary. Well, three of us did – Steve surely set some kind of record by being solidly asleep pretty much all the way from Aberdeen, and barely roused himself even when we arrived. This is long before the Cardiff Bay Barrage and the gentrification of the area – it was a dilapidated docks area back then and the gull’s favoured area was by the Red House Inn, an old dockside pub. It was low tide, so down the steps we went, hunkering under the wall out of the wind, to be occasionally showered by clinker blown off the tarmac above – James was not impressed, and the phrase ‘shards of frozen piss’ was heard more than once. But we did get good views of the bird, which was a tick and a great end to an excellent trip.