Yesterday a friend of mine who is a ringer asked me if I'd like to go with him to Point Lynas on Anglesey to ring a few storm petrels. I jumped at the chance straight away. Yes it was going to be a late night, but hopefully it would be a tremendous experience. So we set off from St Helens at about 7:00pm, and finding clear roads we made good time, to arrive at Point Lynas with still plenty of daylight remaining, allowing us to set up the net with ease and safety.
We were on a headland, miles from anywhere, about 20 feet above sea level, in a beautiful location. Choughs flew overhead and we could see Gannets out at sea. As we scanned the sea for shearwaters, a Harbour Porpoise broke the surface in the rapidly fading light.
Twenty minutes after we arrived, the net was up, about 10 feet high, stretched across poles about 30 feet apart. Next came the sound system! A portable CD player with two impressive looking speakers attached, which were positioned behind the net. Then we sat and waited. Gradually it got darker and darker. I could still occasionally make out the silhouette of the harbour porpoise on the flat calm of the sea, and the occasional Curlew or Oystercatcher flew over calling, but I was struck by how silent it was, just the very gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks, as several pipistrelle bats flew around and the lights from distant towns began to come on.
Then at about 10:30, the time had come, and on went the CD. What a bizarre and eerie experience! The silence was shattered by the purring and chuckling of petrels. We had two species calling from the speakers, Storm and Swinhoes, the latter having only ever been recorded in Britain on a handful of occasions, but almost all at ringing sessions such as ours, so we thought it had to be worth a try. I've heard petrels calling at close range before, from my visit to St Kilda in 1987, when we would sit on the edge of the cliffs at night and listen to both Storm and Leach's Petrel.
At first there was nothing, except the bats, which flew so close to the net, but miraculously managed to avoid going in (although one did hit the net later, which looked bigger and we thought might have been Noctule). Then suddenly, from nowhere, there was a bird in the net. My friend went over to it, and yes, we had a Storm Petrel. We had a quick look at it, before he popped it into a bag. Now we could see that as well as the bats, there were also birds flying around us, Storm Petrels. By about 11:30 we had three petrels in bags, and went to ring them, behind a gorse bush about 50 metres from the net.
In the torch light we could see as my friend ringed each bird in turn and made various notes. Amazingly small and delicate birds to ride out the fiercest storms at sea, they fit the same size ring as would fit a Blue Tit! Then he allowed us to take one or two photos, but not too many, not wanting to distress the bird more than necessary, and finally he allowed us to smell the birds. A strange but not unpleasant smell of the seaside! Then the birds were put back in the bags and taken to the release site. No torches were allowed at the release site so as not to dazzle the bird before it flew.
I was told me to put my hands together to make a shallow cup and he gently placed a Storm Petrel in my hands, pointing it out to sea. The bird sat quietly, not seeming too worried, for about a minute, free to go whenever it wanted to, occasionally gently pecking my hand, but not in anger, more inquisitively. Then it stretched it's wings and fluttered away out to sea and was lost to sight in the darkness. In total we caught 10 Storm Petrels, before packing up early at 12:45. I was in bed for 3:30am, not a bad price to pay for the experience of a life time!
It had been a flat, almost still night, no sign of a storm, yet at least 10 birds came close enough in shore at the point where we were to hear the call and be trapped. How many more must there be out there? Apparently they come close in shore at night to feed.
