Millions of Puffins

“I’m concerned you’re going to turn into a fuddy-duddy. I feel it is my job to make sure it doesn’t happen,” Jim looked at me sincerely as he spoke.

I felt I had a right to be a little concerned. We had paddled away from our beach in Witless Bay and within five minutes all we could see was each other and fog – and more fog. We were doing a crossing of over 4 kilometres.

“You always feel more alive when you face death.” I replied – quoting back to him his favourite argument.

We weren’t facing death. But we were enveloped in Atlantic fog and Jim had our only compass. It was just that I was feeling a little – uneasy.

“PUFFINS!” The uneasiness vanished immediately. A half dozen squat little black birds with clown like faces bobbed close by in the grey. We had startled them. They began to flee – flapping their stubby wings furiously and running their little orange legs on the top of the mirrored water. And run they did – leaving a trail as they flapped and ran and flapped and ran until eventually they took off – barely skimming over the swell.

Puffins are cute but they’re not very good flyers. Their evolutionary design has gone into under water (not above) so they are marvellous divers and fishers. In fact to get these portly creatures airborne, their wings flap 300 to 400 times per minute - they sound like helicopters gone wrong. As they fly overhead they give the impression that flight is fragile. Watching from below, one can see puffins need to spread apart their fat orange legs – even their toes – to initiate a turn.

We were paddling to Gull Island – part of the Witless Bay Ecological Reserve. This is the home to an estimated at a quarter of a million Puffins -60% of North America’s population. Adding Puffins with the other birds that breed on the reserve, we were looking for a colony of over 1,000,000 birds. After about an hours paddling we started hearing squawking galore and smelling a distinctive odour.

“I think it’s over that way.” We paddled towards the noise.

We were staring into the fog trying to make the dark shape of the island appear. We were listening carefully to hear the bird noise increase, when a loud, deep expulsion of air got our immediate attention.

“WHALE!” We scanned around to see a whale tail disappear under the water. We waited. Soon the dark curved body of a Minke whale broke the water’s surface.

The shape of the island began to reveal itself to us through the fog. Its steep, green meadows were dotted with holes with puffins standing by them. Every rocky ledge had a feathered creature looking out from it. And the sky was alive – absolutely alive. Thousands of birds squealed and wheeled above us. They circled the island like bees at their hive – just after you kicked it.

“Be careful with your paddle,” Jim warned me. “You’d hate to hit one right out of the air.”

You aren’t allowed to land on the island because of its ‘Wildlife Reserve’ status. We let the wind gently push our kayaks along and spent a couple of hours just bobbing and watching the birds. Puffins were our favourite. Some of them were very skittish and dashed off as soon as we showed an interest in them. Some of them were very curious and paddled over for a better look. On land they walked like drunk penguins, and in the air there was always the Puffin’s precarious flying to amuse us. We watched as a flock of about 20 birds took off from a rock ledge. Two of them couldn’t pull up fast enough and crashed into the water.

Tour boats came and went as we bobbed along. The whale came by for another pass and we bobbed some more. The fog swirled heavier and lighter but never left. Eventually our legs began to feel as if we didn’t get out of our kayaks they may never move again. After three hours on the water we turned our kayaks and took a compass bearing to shore. We headed back to our campsite.

This was our introduction to paddling in Newfoundland and we were hooked. We went out three mornings in a row and never tired of the show.