Large Shearwaters and the love of Scilly

Following the surprise of the Penzance Laughing Gull, I continued with the planned excursion on the Scillonian III.  In previous years I have stayed at the Garrison on Scilly and booked onto a number of pelagic trips with the excellent Joe Pender and crew.  This year, I left my booking too late.  No place at the Garrison, and no pelagic availability on the dates I could do.  I hadn't factored this in to a birding year that has become a Big Year attempt.  Lessons learned about planning ahead and big projects.

So I began to research the earliest dates for the large Shearwaters to be seen in Cornish and Scillonian waters.  The last weekend of July seemed late enough, certainly in recent years, to qualify as giving me a more than reasonable chance of seeing Cory's and Great Shearwaters.  I know they're possible anywhere - the Cory's that graced the Humber last year shows that - but sea-watching for a Manchester lad is not my natural environment, and so I was depending on this weekend to see Sooty, Cory's and Great Shears and also as my best chance for Euro Storm Petrel.  I knew my chances of Wilson's were slim, so I didn't really factor them in.  July 29th, the one day this year where I simply had to see the large shears or miss out on three species for the year list.  Doesn't sound so crucial when I put it like that, but once a year list gets past about 260, every single species feels like a major step towards 300.  Losing 3 or 4 species means I'd need to make up for them with Autumn rares later, if possible, putting pressure on the back end of the year. 

So it was with some anxiety that even on the day I drove south to Penzance I noticed there had been very little sign of large shearwaters in Cornwall.  The pelagic boat trips had trickles of Cory's and Great Shear, but almost none were being reported from the Scillonian Ferry.  Added to this, when I woke from a broken night's sleep in my tent (thanks to the large family who arrived at the campsite at 10pm, and put a tent up in the dark, with two Land Rover engines idling to use the headlights and the radio playing... who then returned at 3.45am in the torrential rain to repeat the process in reverse and dismantle a very leaky tent with engines idling loudly due to the poor set up of tent in the dark some 5 hours prior) it was to a world obscured by low lying cloud.  Visibility was less than fifty metres.  Not ideal for long range viewing.

A hearty breakfast, three coffees (a very broken night's sleep) and I had regained some optimism.  I love the Scillonian journey.  I mean, I absolutely love everything about it.  The motion, the wind, the spray, the camaraderie of sitting with strangers and helping people see dolphins and Tuna, pointing out the grace of shearwaters and then arriving at St Mary's to one of my favourite places on this whole globe.  I always get a sense of home when I arrive there, despite living some 35 miles from the coast in my west Manchester suburb.

The journey started quickly.  Manx Shearwaters flowed round the boat in a stream, from starboard past the bow and then down the port side.  Hundreds of them, almost all the way across to Scilly.  In the midst of them, Gannet, a single juvenile Yellow-legged Gull, and then a heavier, all dark, smoky-looking bird lifted off the choppy water: Sooty Shearwater.  My favourite of the Shearwaters, these bulkier birds look like silhouettes made flesh and feather.  Flapping twice slowly was enough to gain the lift and momentum that transfigured this shadow in the mist from a clumsy surface feeder to a consummate flier, and I was captivated as the trailing wing tip literally sheared the front edge of a wave... and then it was gone.

In quick succession, three Great Shearwaters investigated the ferry, flying parallel with us for seconds, before dismissing us: too slow to be a threat; too big to eat.  I was elated: halfway to Scilly and two large shearwaters already seen.  Picking up small, dark shapes across Wolf Rock had to be storm petrels, but they were much too distant to identify between European and Wilson's.  When we arrived at St Mary's an hour later, I had seen hundreds more Manx Shearwaters (and a couple that looked like Balearics but were too distant to be sure), but no more big shears.

A good walk to Lower Moors, Porthcressa, and the Garrison followed by a great pasty on the beach, and the return journey began.  The skies had cleared, and it seems in the intervening few hours from the first leg the shearwaters had made their way into Cornish and Scillonian waters.  A dozen Great Shearwaters were seen in a huge feeding frenzy probably caused by a boil of Tuna below the waves, accompanied by four Cory's Shearwaters - which always stayed distant, so no chance of scraping a soon-to-be-lumped-again-if-the-taxonomists-get-bored tick in the form of Scopoli's.  Manx Shearwaters were there in the hundreds, and well over a hundred Gannets dived in over the thrashing sea.  No sign of any skuas, but if we had been half a mile closer, I'm sure there would have been better evidence.  

Just after the boil, the first two European Storm Petrels came within 120m of the boat, followed by one that looked distinctly different.  Flying with less flapping, showing feet projecting out from under the tail.  I was pretty sure I had a Wilson's, but I could not get any of the other three birders present on it, and while I was trying to take a photo (blurry and inconclusive) I lost the bird in the dark water.  The one that got away.  I'm 90% sure it was Wilson's, but not enough to bet the house, and therefore it doesn't make it to the year list.

It has been a productive few days, and a period largely good for my mental health.  Five year targets seen, an awesome couple of days birding with some really lovely and genuinely helpful people (seriously, other regions have to work hard to be more helpful and positive than the Cornish birders I've encountered this week), and some healing in the sun, sea, and torrential rain of Cornwall.  The meteor shower I witnessed at 4am during my fitful sleep and wake on the second night of camping was a moment of calm awe, and not even driving at slow speed into the back of a flatbed tow truck (driven by such a friendly and positive Brummie - thanks for being so understanding, Ibrar!) on the M5 to M6 junction robbed me of the sense of achievement this weekend.  The July "lull" ends with some incredible birds and birding.  Bring on Autumn!