I dawdled on my walk today to watch this pair of Black Guillemots displaying to each other. I admit I’m a little bit obsessed with these birds and their exquisite courtship displays. A pair will swim together, mirroring each others movements, and then begin to dance toe to toe in a circling display, looking in to each other’s eyes as they spin like a couple of ballroom dancers. Sometimes it’s very soft and graceful, a sort of waltz, other times, there’s a definite air of the tango to it.
Today’s dancers were quite lackadaisical in their moves. Its still early season and there was preening to do and fish to catch too, not to mention plenty of time to have a good splash about in the clear water and the sunshine.
Want to know more about these special birds? Read on for some Black Guillemot facts… Keep going for a poem…
Whats in a name?
Black Guillemots (Latin Cepphus grylle) are members of the auk family, related to Common Guillemots as the name would suggest. The Black Guillemot has many folk names, the most famous of which is probably the nordic word “Tystie” as the people of Orkney and Shetland call them. In the Hebrides they were called “Scraber” (as was the Manx Shearwater), and in Wales according to 18th Century naturalist Thomas Pennant, the “Gwilym Ddu” (literally the “Black William”- which may also be where the word Guillemot comes from- or possibly the french version- Guillaume).
Most of the year they are not black.
They are very special looking during the breeding season, both the males and females have very smart, jet black feathers, with bold white wing patches. Their webbed feet and the inside of their beaks are a striking scarlet. For the rest of the year they take on a much more neutral grey and white speckled colour. We humans don’t see them as much in this form as they spend their winters at sea.
They like the quiet life.
Unlike their gregarious cousins the Common Guillemot, the Tystie is very selective in the company it keeps. They nest in small colonies of a handful of pairs, in holes and crevices along rocky shores. Here on Arran they have adapted very well to nesting in holes in our aging piers and it is common to see them in Brodick by the ferry terminal. When not fishing, dancing, or incubating eggs, they like to sit out on the quayside soaking up the sunshine, doing not a lot to be honest! The warmth of the sun on those black feathers must be glorious.
Below is a stunning poem from Scots Poet Christine de Luca, written in Shetlandic. Even with some of the words a mystery to me, the rhythm and sound evoke a wonderful day spent mucking about at the beach, with Gannets and Tysties keeping watch.
Brekken Beach, Nort Yell, by Christine de Luca
A mile aff we catch a glisk
o Brekken beach: webbed
atween headlands, a glansin arc
o ancient shalls
sun sillered.
Waves aff Arctic floes
bank in; dey shade fae cobalt
tae a glacial green; swall
an brack, rim on rim
o lipperin froad.
We rin owre dunes
crumplin smora,
fling aff wir shön
birze sand trowe taes
dell an bigg it;
shaste da doon draa
o da waves, loup
der hidmost gasps.
Abune wis, solan plane an plummet
an on da cliff, a tystie
triggit up in black and white
gawps at wir foally.
Da sun draps doon ahint his keep
an we man leave
an Eden aert
ta him.
