I had been told not to miss visiting the island of Noss while I was in the Shetlands. A shepherd whose family are the only human inhabitants of the island ferried me across the narrow tideway which separates it from Bressay. In contrast to Bressay, which has the sullen blackness of the peat moor upon it, Noss is green and smiling and its carpet of close-cropped turf was a joy to walk on. In the little sandy coves eider ducks accompanied their black ducklings on what must have been their earliest water-borne adventures, and oyster-catchers made the still air merry with their excited clamour.
Encounter with the Bonxies
From those pleasant western shores the island rises steeply to what appears to be the summit of a pointed hill. About halfway up there is a broad band of dark moor where the great skuas breed. I had been warned about the “Bonxies,” as the islanders call these great birds, but somehow I thought little of what might happen. Presently I saw one skimming low over the moor like a dive bomber towards me. With incredible rapidity he swept up just in front of my face, so close that I felt the rush of air from his wings.
Then it was that I became aware of 20 or 30 all more or less in the act of seemingly violent attacks. These antics continued till I was clear of the territory. It was only later that the shepherd told me he had several times been struck violently during such encounters.
