In 2015 I was invited to join a group of ornithologists during their field work on a small, uninhabited island in the Shetlands, in the far north of Scotland. The group were surveying the island's breeding population of European storm petrels, small seabirds which nest underneath rocks and in the cracks in dry stone walls. Every wall or pile of rocks on the island might be hiding nesting storm petrels. They are quiet during the day, hiding their presence from humans and animal predators, but when dusk falls the rocks emanate a chorus of chattering calls from the petrels. The pairs of birds take it in turns to go out to sea foraging for food for themselves and their young. While one bird is far out at sea, the other remains at the nest, until the chick grows bigger and both parents need to leave the nest to find food. The adults can be seen returning to their nests in the last few minutes of fading daylight, fluttering around the walls and stony beaches, almost like bats in the night.
The scientists used recordings of storm petrel calls, played through speakers towards cracks in the rocks, in order to elicit responses from the birds nesting underneath. This enabled them to count the numbers of storm petrels nesting across each site. They also equipped a small number of the birds with GPS tracking tags, in order to reveal their movements across the surrounding seas and learn more about their behaviour.
I spent 10 days on this island, which is managed by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) as a nature reserve, camping through all weathers, walking around the island, photographing the wildlife, the landscapes and the work of the group I was staying with. I quickly overcame my fear of dive-bombing skuas and terns defending their territory; I watched otters swimming in the bay in the evening and seals bathing in the midday sun; I learned to love the way fulmars ride the wind along the crest of a clifftop, as if they are doing so purely for enjoyment's sake. Most of all I gained even more respect for those who work on the land, exposed to the elements and away from cities and screens, who carry with them a deep understanding of the ecology of the natural world we inhabit. This ecology is fragile and under pressure, and it's absolutely essential that we, as human beings, learn to respect our environment and understand our relationship with the natural world.
I'd like to thank the staff of the RSPB, who allowed me to photograph their work and stay on the island during this project. I was constantly aware of my privilege in being able to explore this environment and photograph the birds that breed there. The island is normally visited only by small groups on guided tours from the mainland. It is necessary for the island to remain relatively free of human activity, because it is such an important site for breeding birds, many of which are rare and under threat from climate change and other side effects of human habitation and industry. I hope that by sharing these photographs with a wider audience, I can help to inspire support for the work being done by conservation scientists at the RSPB and other organisations to improve the welfare of the wildlife here and at so many other sites across the UK.