Chicks fledge and the ledges empty

With most of the guillemots and razorbills fledged, the cliffs are oddly quiet - empty rock where previously the birds were packed tightly, each in its familiar position.  However, around my viewing points on the Wick there is still much activity.  Though many puffin chicks have left, some adults still have large young to feed, and the others continue to gather on the cliff tops in the afternoon sun.  Without pufflings to attend to, they seem even more inquisitive than usual.  Yesterday I was interrupted in my viewing by a sudden delicate weight on my foot; a puffin stood on my boot, head on one side, hopped up my leg, and then, seeing that I was watching, turned and flew off quickly with the heavy, whirring flight of these auks, better adapted to swimming.

In the Kittiwake colonies large chicks are crammed into nests that now barely accommodate them.  When their wings have grown long enough I will survey them for a final time, to count those that have successfully reached fledging age; the trick is to visit when they are just large enough, but before they start flying away!

Yesterday I swam for the first time in several days; the sea was warm, but full of jellyfish.  At first it was disconcerting to push forward only for my hand or leg to brush against these soft, fleshy creatures, but I realised from a glance under water that they were moon jellyfish; a non-stinging variety.  I swam with my head down, through my goggles seeing the jellies pulsing their way through the murk with gentle contractions of their rounded bodies.  Their opaque forms seemed to glow in the shafts of sunlight from the world above, their gentle progress slipping them slowly past me in the turquoise, silent sea.

On the far side of the bay, where the puffins raft, one of the birds dived just ahead of me.  Ducking under quickly I saw it zig zagging powerfully downwards, silver bubbles of air streaming behind it, propelled by its powerful stubby wings - soon it disappeared into the haze below, and I was suddenly aware of the depth that I drifted above; it will seem strange when these birds have left the island again for the open ocean.