Puffins Elude Me — the book (& bird) room

Iceland

Let’s get that out of the way early. I went all the way to Iceland, with a pretty good camera, and yet there will be no photographs of live Atlantic Puffins (Fratercula arctica) from me, for the time being. Despite travelling what felt like half the coastline of that awesome country, and despite hearing a tourist shout to a tour guide “I saw a puffin!”, I myself did not see a puffin. If you do a quick internet search for “puffins in Iceland,” you’ll likely understand why. If you want to see comically big orange beaks and webbed feet, it’s best to go on a specialty tour that approaches remote coastal cliffs from the ocean, whereas I and my fellow travelers stuck to bus tours.

That said, there’s no way to avoid depictions of this famous bird in the many tourist gift shops of Reykjavík, so enjoy two of my favourites.

*Please do not feed the hard, indoor puffins.*

My first visit to Iceland was a work trip, for a meeting of the International Authors Forum (an organization I have helped on a volunteer basis since 2013). While there, I was invited to return for a writing retreat. Thank you to Rithöfundasamband Íslands (the Writers’ Union of Iceland) for their generosity in providing the guest apartment at Gunnarshús, their stately headquarters in Iceland’s capital. I have begun what I hope will be a series of northern mystery novels, and the cool late-June white nights of the North Atlantic were as inspiring as I’d hoped. I apologize to my wife, Julia, for the many side-trips I forced in Reykjavík, as I scouted locations and took notes for future literary murders.

*Gunnarshús — union headquarters, publishing office, event space, and writing apartment all in one. Take the #14 bus to and from downtown.*

But delightfully, we did not take this trip alone. Hearing about our destination, various family decided to tag along, and we managed to gather a group of seven of us, most in a rented house not far from Gunnarshús. Day-trips were planned, an international football match was attended, geothermal hot springs and cold plunge pools were enjoyed, and we ended up covering maybe a third of the volcanic island in seven days of 24-hour sunlight.

*My lovely wife, Julia, at the village of Vik, on the southern coast. Historic spot for sheep markets, according to a book I’m reading right now.*

I couldn’t NOT include a photo of Cristiano Ronaldo (and friends). It’s not every day you wander by a football stadium and see the world’s highest-paid player. This was a Euro Cup qualifier between Iceland and Portugal. Portugal won, on a late goal by… who else?… #7.

Undoubtedly, you’ve heard from many friends and family about a stopover in Iceland. Since the 2008 global financial collapse (which almost destroyed Iceland’s economy), the tiny island nation intentionally created a tourism boom for itself, with proffered stopovers on trans-Atlantic flights between Europe and North America. The strategy was so successful that tourism now counts for fully half of a recovered economy, and you are as likely to bump into a friend as a stranger somewhere on the island (my sister-in-law, Amy — a teacher — met two of her former students standing waiting for a geyser eruption at Geysir).

Tourists in Iceland learn not to stand too close to an erupting geyser.

Former students, sure, but no puffins.

But I was not starved for birds. With over 6500 kilometers of coastline (endless fjords!) a flourishing population of sea and land species favour Iceland’s arctic climate for breeding. My favourite… the Common Whimbrel (Numenius phaeopus), a somewhat comical shorebird with a very long curved bill.

*One of many whimbrels I saw, enjoying the Icelandic early summer.*

There is a tiny spit of land in Toronto called Whimbrel Point where birders gather every spring to watch the northern migration of whimbrels. Whimbrels winter far south of Toronto, and then fly over the Great Lakes on their way to arctic nesting grounds. Sometimes they stop on Lake Ontario’s north shore to rest and feed, but if the conditions are right for onward flying, they don’t, and the best any Toronto birder will get some years is the sight of whimbrels in flight. I completely missed out on whimbrels in Canada this year, and so was delighted to be practically tripping over them in Iceland.

*More graceful in flight than you might guess, given what must be a heavy bill.*

In all, I managed to identify 19 new species on our Icelandic wanderings, from the ubiquitous Redwing (Turdus iliacus) — the Robin of Iceland, I called it — to the mysterious Red-throated Loon (Gavia stelleta), which I only managed to recognize from its haunting call on a distant lake near the Mid-Atlantic Ridge (where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet). Once again, if you don’t have the Merlin Bird ID app from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, go and get it. Turning on the sound ID tool when surrounded by birdsong is revelatory.

*A Reykjavík robin — aka a Redwing, putting up with all the tourists until winter comes.*

Vying for attention with the whimbrels was the Arctic Tern (Sterna paradisaea), and here is where birds and books come together again on this blog. While on one of our long tour-bus rides, my mother-in-law Marilyn asked me to keep an eye out for artic terns. She had just read the eco-apocalyptic novel Migrations, by Charlotte McConaghy, which features the world-beating migratory journeys of these supreme fliers. I’m very familiar with Common terns from my Toronto birding, and have spotted Arctics in North America before, but Marilyn is from Seattle, where the terns tend to stay well off shore. Literally within minutes of our conversation about terns, we were on an Icelandic beach with this beauty hovering above us like a painting.

*The Arctic tern arrives when summoned, apparently. Try it.*

I can’t say enough about Iceland. My ultimate compliment of a travel spot is that I could see myself living there. Definitely true of this strange, sophisticated, visually stunning island. I’ve been there in both late winter and early summer, and it speaks to my northern soul.

*Waiting for this place to come on the market. If it does, come visit.*

*You might think this is another whimbrel, but it’s a Black-tailed Godwit (Limosa limosa) instead. Similar goofiness; straighter bill.*

*A Common Eider (Somateria mollissima), from which come the softest of all downy feathers.*

*A Black-headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus) scans a Reykjavík pond for foodstuffs.*

“Birds are happier than men. It is their wings that make all the difference…”

— Halldór Laxness, "Independent People"

Bonus content:

If you’re interested in Migrations, here is an NPR radio interview with author Charlotte McConaghy.