It’s nearly August on Skomer Island. The breeding season for islands resident and migrant birds is over. Most chicks have fledged and the silence is deafening. A quietness threatens to take over, steadily moving in like a storm front on the horizon.
May, June and July have all flown by, each with their own character and their own challenges. May’s Bank Holidays brought visitors, and long busy days, while its winds swept in visitors of a different kind. For a while the island buzzed with the mechanical song of Sedge Warblers, and Wheatears chased ahead of us as we walked the paths. There was an energy in the air as staff, volunteers and researchers all hoped to score season “firsts” whether they be rare birds or first chicks.
June saw steady visitor numbers but I think I spent the least time on the island of all my months on Skomer. Not, I should point out, due to holidays or general skiving, but because my time was mostly spent in our small Zodiac boat, skipping over the tidal currents to count our seabird colonies. Scurvy lips, silly boat talk, binocular sunburn marks, the smell of petrol and general cursing at having to do recounts are how I would summarise June. It was great.
July has had more relaxed character. Crowds of photographers no longer hustle puffins at the Wick. Instead a more family atmosphere has taken over and people are enjoying a late puffin season. More smiles. More laughter. But a sadness clouds the ledges and cliffs. Our guillemots and razorbills are leaving. A few lonely birds remain; failed parents perhaps mourning their mistakes. All the efforts of June to get to know these birds seem like sepia tinged memories.
So with a sentimental mind I decided to look back at our breeding birds and asses their broad range of parental skills. I feel that a comparison to the parenting approaches I see on a trip to Tesco’s or Haverfordwest High Street will provide zero zoological or ornithological value. But it might be amusing…
So we’ll start off with taking some parental stereotypes and then seeing which residents of Skomer they could apply to. So say hello to Competitive Dad, The Embarrassing, The Libertarians, and The Overprotective.
Competitive Dad
“You can do it son! Just a little further. No. No. It’s not that high. Listen the next door neighbours lad did it and you know what he’s like! Just jump will you?!”
It might sound like a whistling call to you, but that is what Mr Guillemot is saying to his son as he tries to talk him into jumping 80ft off a cliff. It does seem to work however, as the jumplings all take the plunge into a cold sea they were born to call home. The waters echo to the calls of guillemot fathers and their chicks and then all of a sudden they’re gone. Swimming off into the horizon to safety. It may be competitive but it works.
The Embarrassing
“Mum! Why do you always have to make it about you? Can’t you ever let me figure it out myself and make my own mistakes? God you’re so loud and embarrassing…”
The ear piercing kleep kleep kleep of Oystercatchers never ceases on Skomer. Any approach of their chicks or territory leads to a noisy, brash, loud defence. I like to imagine that the fledged oystercatcher chicks are stroppy teenagers, constantly embarrassed by the noisy distractions their parents make at any sign of trouble. As July fades, so does the noise as the young oystercatchers learn to avoid trouble themselves.
The Libertarians
These parents are very cool, very laissez-faire. They’re all about life lessons, letting their children figure things out for themselves and problem-solve. They want their children to travel far, and learn outside of the class room. They’ll leave their kids at home for days to fend for themselves.
They are the Manx Shearwaters. Happy to leave their chicks for a day or two while they go off fishing. Happy to leave the chicks for a week or more and go travelling. Hoping that the chicks will find their own way to the wintering grounds off the coasts of Argentina and Brasil.
The Overprotective
Do you know any parents who like to know exactly what their kids are doing at all times? Any who freak out at the first sign of illness, a grazed knee or any sort of trip into the unknown?
I do. Thousands of them. They are the black backed gulls. Whether they be lesser or greater they’re both equally loud, defensive and over protective. It’s nearly July. Their chicks can fly their way out of trouble yet I seem to be being swooped and dive bombed by them more than ever. And their whinging cries squash all sounds from the skies. If they were people they’d be at the front of the queue in the doctor’s surgery complaining about their children having to wait to see a doctor for a common cold. They’d be writing letters to the Telegraph about their immigrant neighbours. They’d be turning up out of the blue at their kids university halls to make sure there was no fun being had.
I’m sure there are more parental lessons I could draw from the wildlife of Skomer. Each approach has its niche, it’s way of being a cog in the productive system that is Skomer Island. They say nature has a tendency to complexity. A multitude of different approaches ensures success. It’s certainly evident here on the island.
