Copeland Bird Observatory is a birdwatcher's paradise, but also vital to helping us better understand the migration patterns and lifespans of birds, writes Katharine Blake
It was a calm evening as we made our way down the steps of the pier in Donaghadee and on to the boat that would take us across to Little Copeland Island Bird Observatory. Located on one of three islands off the coast of Co Down it has been host to birdwatchers since 1954.
Five of our group were seasoned bird-watchers and ringers, eager to get on to the island and begin the work of ringing young Manx shearwaters before these sea-birds set off on their Atlantic journey. The remaining four, of which I was one, were novices and we wondered whether we would know a water rail from an oystercatcher.
As we rounded Big Copeland and approached Little Copeland, a group of languid grey seals raised their heads from the rock. Little Copeland is just 40 acres in size and there is no electricity on the island. Having waved goodbye to our boatman, we started up the cliff towards the house, laden with supplies and luggage.
After dinner that evening, Ian Forsyth, who first came to Copeland in 1966 and was duty officer for the duration of our stay, gathered the group, who ranged in age from 74 to 10, around the fire, under solar-powered light, for our first bird call. "At the end of every day we have a bird call," he says. "I read out a long list of birds and people say how many, if any, they have seen, and it's all recorded. Our study of Manx shearwaters is the longest-running study of any sea-bird anywhere and, in the spring of this year, one of the Manx shearwaters which was ringed on Copeland in 1952, before they had even built the observatory, was caught, the ring number was read and it was released. That means it was at least 51 years old because we don't know how old it was when it was first ringed. We think this is the oldest Manx in the northern hemisphere, if not the world."
The Manx shearwater is black with a white belly and it breeds in nesting-holes on islands off the west coast of Britain. Copeland has a large population of rabbits and the Manx shearwaters lay one egg every May or June in the rabbits' burrows, but these birds have strong, sharp claws and are also capable of digging their own nesting-holes. The Manx parents take it in turns to sit with the egg or the young chick, and while one is in the burrow the other is out at sea filling up on small fish and crustaceans.
"Manx shearwaters are great swimmers and fliers," according to Aidan Crean, a birdwatcher from Belfast who has been coming to Copeland for 20 years. "They got their name from their ability to shear the top of the water as they fly, but they are very awkward on land. Because of that, they come in only on overcast nights for the changeover of shifts. If they were to come in during the day, a passing gull would attack them."
As midnight approached, the trained ears of the experts picked up the screeching of the hungry Manx shearwaters guiding their mates in and the answering cries of the returning foragers. Wearing special noiseless bird-watching jackets and torches strapped to our foreheads, with clipboard and bird-rings in hand, we made our way out into the darkness.
The first Manx to appear in a torch-beam was a young bird emerging from his burrow. "His parents have probably already left the island," explains Crean, as he holds the bird in one hand and fastens a ring on to his tiny leg with the other. "It's one of the great mysteries of migration," he says. "How these little balls of fluff, only weeks old, weighing about 10 grams, lift into the night sky, plot a course to constellations they've never seen and meet their parents several thousand miles away in a reed-bed in Ghana. It's fascinating and it's what motivates people like us to come to Copeland and do this work voluntarily."
All the trees on the island have been planted over the years by bird enthusiasts. "The trees protect smaller birds from the gulls," explains Crean. "A great black-backed gull could take a puffin and it also eats eggs, so the other birds don't stand a chance really. Since we've planted the trees the numbers of warblers and waders have increased."
As we make our way down the aptly-named Shearwater Alley, the Manx shearwaters mistake our footsteps for their approaching mates and the ringers have to raise their voices as they call numbers to each other above the cacophony of cawing.
The next day, the ringers rose early and ringed several swallows, a linnet and a blackbird before breakfast. The 10-foot high mist nets which hung between the trees had all been opened and as 10-year-old Niamh and I walked between them checking for birds, a large flock of linnets passed overhead, dancing for our entertainment. Mist nets are made from soft nylon and are divided into four shelves with pouches which the bird drops into.
"As soon as we remove the bird from the net," explains Forsyth, "We pop him into a cotton bag, take him to the lab and measure, weigh and ring him before releasing him. Ringing enables us to monitor where the birds go, how long they live and how well they're breeding which is necessary now because habitat is changing and there is so much pressure on the wild bird population."
A trip down to the jetty to watch the seals yielded my first sighting of a puffin, the reporting of which was greeted with scepticism at first, but accepted when I pointed one out in a book. Later that evening I had the satisfaction of watching Forsyth mark "1" next to puffin at the bird call.
"We would like it if bird organisations in the north and south got together and carried out studies on all the uninhabited islands off the coast of Ireland," says Crean. "We could have huge colonies of Manx shearwaters on other islands and we don't know it. It would be a huge undertaking but it could be done."
For information on trips to Copeland Bird Observatory see www.cbo.org.uk