BIRDS OF SHETLAND 



forms of countless myriads of sea-birds — gulls, 

 terns, puffins, guillemots — may be made out, their 

 shrill cries ringing sharply above the muffled 

 thunder of the surf. 



On occasion here, in the clearer sky, a small 

 colony of Arctic terns may be seen fishing. Light 

 as gossamer they hover around, and when they 

 fly over the boat, with beaks pointed to the 

 waters beneath, the bright coral of their feet can 

 be seen against their snowy feathers. Now one 

 shuts its wings, and as though its form had been 

 turned into marble, falls sheer into the waves. 

 Unlike the gannet, however, it does not disappear, 

 but as the splash subsides, it is seen fluttering up- 

 wards again with a tiny fish in its bill. As it 

 rises to join its companions in the air, wild cries 

 are heard — tee-e-e rac tee-e-e rac— in every 

 direction, and suddenly a swift dark bird sails 

 into view. Round and round the little white 

 angler it darts until the latter drops its fish in 

 terror, sometimes even disgorging those already 

 swallowed. Before the prey can reach the water 

 the pirate has seized it with a sudden downward 

 swoop, and is soon making rapidly off. This 

 bird — the great skua, the bonxie of Shetland — 

 is one about which considerable interest gathers, 

 for it represents a species which a comparatively 

 few years ago was on the very verge of ex- 

 tinction as a British species. In the whole of the 

 United Kingdom a few pairs only were known to 

 exist — a small colony which nested on the slopes 

 of Foula, and one, still smaller, on the more 

 northerly land of Unst. Now, thanks to the 

 fostering care of the proprietors, these colonies 

 are becoming more firmly established, and during 

 the last ten years the numbers of birds nesting 

 have perceptibly increased. 



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