If you’re been reading my column for a while, you might now know that I have a deep love for birds, in particular seabirds. I am a veterinarian, and have long had a special interest in wildlife, but last year I undertook additional qualifications to allow me to work with seabirds in the field and spent a month on St Kilda sampling avian flu survivors to learn about their response to the virus. However, it’s not always healthy birds that I work with, and last year I saw a number of birds needing some sort of assistance.

Most of the seabirds which spend the summer nesting on the cliffs and islands around the UK, drawing visitors and wildlife enthusiasts from far and wide, are out to sea now. Puffins, guillemots and razorbills – all members of the auk family – spend nine months of the year offshore, out in the huge seas of the Atlantic, only coming back to land in May for a few months to nest and raise a chick. Some seabirds are still here ^– shags, red-throated divers and several gull species – but the noisy, smelly seabird cities have dispersed for now.

One seabird which eludes the attention of most people even in the summer months, and even if they spend a great deal of time at the coast, is the European storm petrel. This is a tiny bird only just bigger than a sparrow which nests amongst boulders on Scotland’s islands, and spends most of the day out to sea feeding, returning at night to their chicks. They are so difficult to spot, that 2024 was the first year I ever properly saw one. And that was only because a box of four of them were brought into the veterinary clinic for me to check over.

They had found their way onto a fishing vessel, likely attracted by the lights. From there they were handed to a member of the village renowned for wildlife rescues. He brought them to me to check over. They were all quiet and tired, so I handled them gently, assessing them for any broken bones, wounds or signs of infection. I was shocked at how tiny they were, with long thin legs and huge webbed feet. Like many other species of seabird, they spend most of their time out to sea looking for food. To think that these tiny birds thrive in the wild North Atlantic put into perspective all the times I’ve been humbled out there on my paddleboard!

They all looked very healthy, and so following the advice of a seabird expert, we took them to the beach at dusk to release them. Three out of four eagerly flew away, while the fourth appeared too exhausted to fly. And so, we called upon an incredible network of volunteers that has been nurtured in this remote part of the Scottish Highlands that we live in. We quickly found a volunteer to drive the bird to the East coast to a rescue centre for rehabilitation. I was delighted to hear that a few days later, it too was released.

Shortly after arriving home from St Kilda, a Leach’s storm petrel – slightly bigger than the European storm petrel, was brought in on another boat, covered in oil and very cold. Its feathers were dark and sodden; it needed immediate professional care. I warmed it up while we arranged transport to the rescue centre where it could be decontaminated and looked after round the clock. Storm petrels are difficult to feed in captivity, and often need to be tube fed to build their strength up before release.