Isle of May ~ Maeve

  On Saturday we visited the Isle of May, a small island in the Firth of Forth with a few thousand birds.
  Even on the ferry to the island, a small motorboat called The May Princess, we could see puffins and guillemots swimming in the Firth. The puffins took off from the water as we approached, but the guillemots dived under, disappearing instantly. We could see the island ahead, except for when a summer fog, known locally as a haar, came in, obscuring everything more than ten yards away. But it cleared in time for us to see the curious gray seals poking their heads out of the water as we passed.
  The path to and from the ferry leads through the nesting grounds of the terns, who will dive at anyone who walks along the path. Daddy put the backpack on his head, and four terns collided with it.
  As soon as you are safely past the vicious terns, you can see distant clouds of tiny puffins flying across the island, from their nesting burrows to their fishing grounds with empty beaks, and the other way with their brightly colored beaks full of tiny fishes. Once, while sitting still on a rock, we saw a puffin very close, with his neat black and white feathers and his purple, orange, and black bill. Then he flew away. There is no bird that can look as busy or as ridiculous as a puffin in flight, for they flap their wings constantly and so quickly that they turn into a gray blur.
  In contrast to the tiny puffins are the great, bad-tempered black-blacked gulls. One sat beside the trail, glaring at us and squawking loudly. The strictest rule on the Isle of May forbids stepping off the trail or you could crush a puffin burrow and damage an egg, chick, or adult. So we had to continue on the trail. Suddenly, the gull dived at me. He was very big, and looked even bigger hovering above my head. I ran away from him.
  Probably the most common bird on the island is the guillemot. Mommy and I sat down at the edge of one of the cliffs for a little while to watch them. They lay their eggs on very thin ledges, not in a nest. One end of the edge of the egg is pointed, so, if it is knocked, it will spin instead of rolling.
  But the shags, big black birds but a beautiful dark green in the light, build big untidy nests on a lower level of the cliff. We saw one with her wings partially spread over her chicks, and watched her push them back under as they tried to escape.
  Mixed in with the rest are razorbills, black and white, with white stripes on their beaks and tails.
  There is nowhere else where you can see such a variety of beautiful birds in so small a space; it truly deserves its name of The Jewel of the Firth of Forth.