A return from the island

Last week, it was finally time for me to head out to into the Firth of Forth, to volunteer with the Scottish Seabird Centre’s SOS Puffin project. Kit crammed into my bulging suitcase, I’d left London for Edinburgh on Sunday, ready to make the relatively short journey over to North Berwick on Wednesday morning.

It was quarter past ten, and a small crowd of people was gathered beside the mass of moored boats in the harbour; at their feet an ever-growing pile of rucksacks, kit bags and power tools. Our RIB in high demand thanks to a surprise appearance from the sun, party leader John had had no choice but to push back our departure time slightly. 

As we held on, he introduced me to the dedicated individuals who’d be making up today’s team. Some had been supporting the project ever since it began back in 2007, while others were newbies, like myself. Having received a short safety brief and donned our lifejackets, our sea-faring vessel soon appeared at the bottom of the harbour steps, ready to whisk us away. We had to make sure that all of our equipment was safely loaded aboard before we were able to follow, and so the first test of teamwork ensued. A human chain - stretching from our meeting point, all the way down onto the RIB's deck - was formed, our bags and tools passing along it with ease.

Once out on open water, the boat began to pick up speed. I can only speculate as to the beauty of our surroundings: my eyes squinting against the wind and spray this was, admittedly, a rather difficult thing to appreciate... Within minutes we’d reached the island, and as the skipper attempted to get us as close to our destination’s rocky edge as he could, we were delighted to spot a common seal, perched upon a nearby jagged outcrop.

John was the first to venture out onto Craigleith, securing a makeshift rope hand rail along the length of a ridge that would guide the rest of us upwards, onto much less perilous terrain. A second equipment-transporting chain was formed and before I knew it, it was time for myself and the other volunteers who were still aboard the boat to make our ascent.

And so our day of ‘mallow bashing’ began. Craigleith was surprisingly large which, of course, didn’t make the task at hand any easier. Once we’d located a suitable resting spot and relieved ourselves of the bags we’d just hauled halfway across the island, we unpacked our tools and set to work, spreading out to cover as much of the surrounding area as possible. Starting out atop a steep waterside crag, I slowly worked my way inland, towards the edge of the island's central valley. This area could be ignored by the party, thanks to the succession of a type of barley which tree mallow struggles to compete with. It was hard work, and a pause for lunch at midday was a welcome break, also giving us the chance to properly admire our stunning surroundings.

The puffins were no longer around, having left Craigleith to overwinter in the North Atlantic Ocean a couple of weeks ago. Evidence of their presence remained, however, in the form of the greying carcasses of a few more unfortunate individuals, and hundreds of vacated burrows. It was important that we avoided stepping on these, not only for our own safety but for the birds’ futures – pairs tend to return to the same nesting hole year on year.

Other birds would be hanging around for the colder months, including a variety of gulls whose calls filled the air and provided the soundtrack to our day. Tucked away in a crevice on one of the lower parts of the island was a fluffy fulmar chick - it’s position allowed me to get very close; as close as was possible without disturbing it. Earlier on, John had also pointed out an adult and juvenile shag, the youngster’s brown, fluffy plumage clearly visible against the dark grey rock beneath it.

We were due to be collected at five o'clock, but a combination of hard physical labour and the hot, dry conditions meant that by four the majority of us had decided to call it a day. Today’s trip was one of the longest of those planned, and so we were happy to pack up our bags and head back down to the water’s edge come mid-afternoon. Initially the tardiness of our skipper was a bit of an inconvenience, but in waiting we were treated to yet another exciting encounter: two inquisitive seals, cooling off in the water, must have caught the scent of us downwind, and had come to investigate. They bobbed around in the blue for quite some time, watching us and edging ever closer.

It was as the RIB pulled away and began its short journey back to the mainland that we got to see the full result of our efforts. From our spot on the water, we could now see how a huge slope, once an extensive sea of leafy green and purple, had been transformed into a completely mallow-free zone. Although the puffins won’t be returning to Craigleith for at least another six months, the day’s work will make it easier for the autumn volunteer parties to control the plant, ensuring a greater rate of success for next year’s breeding pairs. It is hoped that in time the island’s seed bank will become exhausted, making the issue of tree mallow inundation a thing of the past.

I was hoping to return to the island this week, but high winds would have made it impossible to land safely on Craigleith’s shore. I'm almost certain that I will return at some point in the near future, to fight the seemingly never-ending battle against the mallow once again. Being one of just thirteen out on an isolated island, coming almost nose-to-beak with some of residents, was a truly surreal and unforgettable experience. I’d urge anybody living or staying locally to a project similar to this to give it a go!