Borgarfjörður Eystri in East Iceland, is a must visit place if you, like me, love Atlantic Puffins. There is a small rocky outcrop on the edge of the Hafnarhólmi Marina there, and between late April and mid-August it is smothered in Puffins and entranced tourists alike. Coachloads of tourists come and go, oohs and aahs at the Puffin antics sound in the Icelandic summer air, and the Puffins shuffle, waddle, fluff and preen, completely unconcerned by the kerfuffle of humanity.
I have been there four times now and I find a quiet spot on the wooden platforms that enable close proximity to these compelling little birds, plug my noise cancelling headphones in to drown out the humans and the sea gulls, and settle down to enjoy the bustle of day-to-day Puffin life:
The yawning, gentle beaking of bonding pairs, the slow emergence from burrows. The unhurried flight out to sea for a little snackeral of something. The burrow cleaning and the interior design.
On this particular day, the usual peace was disturbed. A ruffling of feathers and a group forming off to one side caught my eye and I lifted my camera.
I am not a Puffin behaviour expert. I also don’t speak Puffin (they are incredibly quiet birds, which makes them even more compelling. Little growls and grunts are pretty much it), so I can only guess what was going on.
My best guess? It looked like a fight over a burrow or a mate. I would say mate. Puffins are monogamous and mate for life, but spend the winter apart at sea. They come back to land to breed and meet back up. Life can be cruel and sometimes a mate doesn’t make it back, so the other Puffin will take a new mate. However, if the old mate is a little late in arriving, the new mate is unceremoniously kicked out of the burrow and sent packing.
What was totally compelling was how a small domestic Puffin drama unfolded and became everybody’s problem.
It started quietly. Three Puffins outside a burrow. One leaning in to beak. Another looking on. The returning partner and the new arrival? Old mate and the replacement? The tension was palpable.
And then the wings came out.
A bit of eye contact, gaping, and beak wrestling. Like a schoolyard fight, the commencement of hostilities was attracting a crowd. The neighbours waddled over and leant in. Perhaps to referee.
A wider crowd formed. I could almost hear the “Fight! Fight! Fight!” chant starting up, like the school playground.
But then it was over, the wings put away, the eye contact broken. Someone had won. Someone had lost. The crowd gathered around closer, perhaps to compliment the winner on their beak style, or perhaps to excitedly talk through the action. Who knows. I certainly didn’t. But the attention didn’t move from this domestic drama for quite some time.
Finally everyone drifted away to get back to whatever it was this little drama interrupted. And just like that, it was like it never happened. Perhaps I had imagined it.
I went to photograph Puffins because they are beautiful, ridiculous, charismatic, and deeply charming.
I stayed because they were alive in a way no single portrait can convey. Pairing, arguing, bonding, defending, watching, waiting. Tiny orange feet on a cliff edge, carrying lives rich, characterful, and complicated; unfolding to patient observation.