A seabird symphony that healed my heart

A solo adventure that took me back in time..

Hello, I’m Molly and I write about my slow and simple life in the Scottish Highlands. Please subscribe to support my work and if you want to read more of my stories. You can also find me on YouTube and shop my Slow Scottish Store.

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The smell stopped me in my tracks. It was unexpected. Yet, of course, it shouldn’t be.

The chorus started. Carried in the wind. Interwoven with the crash of waves against cliffs. A symphony of seabirds. Its been a lifetime.

Suddenly I was 24 again. Sat on a boat approaching a tiny island. My stomach was queasy. Nervous excitement layered with a new-found seasickness. Peering at the white-splattered cliffs in the distance. Then the smell. The fishy tang hit the back of my throat. It was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

As we sailed closer, the cries of the birds engulfed us. Battering off the cliffs. A raw way of life that was to be mine for the next 4 months.

This was my first paid contract as a wildlife conservationist. I was employed as a Ranger on the Farne Islands. That was 6 years ago now.

Since then, I’ve moved to the Cairngorms permanently. The pine forests have become my home. I rarely spend time by the sea anymore.

On this trip, I’m revisiting the stacks at John o Groats. I’ve been before, 5 years ago with my partner. But there was a key difference. That was November and this was May. This time, there were seabirds.

I quickened my pace. Skye, my border collie, close to my heels as I drew nearer to the cliffs. Fumbling with my binoculars in my excitement and emotions that were buried deep in my past…

It was the fulmars that I noticed first. To my delight, the cliffs were speckled with hundreds of them. Perched on inconceivably small notches. Gliding up from the ocean. Some flying a mere arms-width from me. Moving with powerful, ice-blue tinged wings. Meeting my gaze with their cavernous black eyes.

Fulmars have always been one of my favourite seabirds. Even on the Farne Islands, we didn’t have this many.

Often mistaken for gulls, they are in fact very different. They are gentler than gulls. Quieter and more composed. Only vocalising with understandable frustration if another bird gets too close to their nest.

The kittiwakes, by contract, are erratic. It is their calls that dominate the rest. Achingly familiar, the ‘kitt-e-wake’ echoes between the rock-faces.

I spent hours at a time watching kittiwakes on the Farne Islands. It was part of my job as a Ranger. We had to monitor the breeding success of these birds. Splitting the cliffs between us, so we only had a few hundred each.

I’d perch next to the large, dome shaped window in the bedroom that was located in the historic tower we called home. Peering through the dirty glass with my binoculars. Contorting myself into various positions to try and get a view of each pair.

Seabirds are always talking. They are never quiet. Even in the winter, the coast resonates with the sound of the sea. A sticking contrast to the pine forests that I now call home.

As I watch these birds, the inevitable happens. Something rips inside me. I feel undone. Raw and exposed. My senses are overwhelmed and I’m tugged back. Reliving the past. Those 4 months when I was as wild as my island home.

It was a time of pain. A young women, thrust into a strange new environment. Evolving every day. I didn’t know who I was. What or who I wanted. I have never been so unsure yet so certain. I no longer recognised myself.

But the birds were always there. The constant soundtrack to my days. I didn’t need to know myself when I was with them. So captivated with their lives. They could help me forget.

Yet today, they’ve made me remember. My chest aches as I remember that lost soul. I pause. Let my eyes well. And, finally, forgive.

I’ve turned away from this world since then. Subconsciously avoiding these painful reminders. Yet, these birds are part of who I am. I’ve always been drawn to them. This connection far outdated those 4 months. My childhood was mixed with the cries of gulls. It was then that this love was formed. I’d forgotten that.

Its time to make new memories. As I return to the comfort of my Cairgorm home, I feel grateful. Despite the pain, there was wonder in being immersed in this coastal world again. The birds have healed my heart. Just like they did then.

I’ll see them again soon….