The Fulmar

The hero of the story which I have to tell... appears to observers in different guises; to some it is a ghost, to some the conqueror of the sea, to others foul, or a fool, or food... Its name is fulmar.

(James Fisher, 1952)

The ghost appears out of nowhere, returning from its secret winter residence somewhere on the open ocean to the coast where it swiftly and elegantly glides past me, an inquisitive eye checking me out, before a minute movement of its wing and tail feathers sends the ocean traveller into a dive and out of my sight. Only moments later another bird appears above the cliff edge, hanging motionless in midair for endless seconds, one eye fixed on me, obviously curious about my presence. 

This is the fulmar or to be precise the northern fulmar, scientifically known as Fulmarus glacialis. The first part of its Latin name was introduced in 1826 by the English naturalist James Stephens, using the bird’s Old Norse name Fúlmár as an inspiration. Fúl means ‘foul’ and már translates into ‘gull’. The ‘foul gull’ name refers to the bird’s rather unappetizing defence tactic of spraying stomach oil onto potential predators. This smelly and sticky oil is stored in a special section of the fulmar’s stomach called proventriculus, which sits between the oesophagus (the food pipe) and the gizzard (the stomach proper). During long flights the fulmar also uses the oil as an emergency ration, and if food gets scarce to feed its offspring. The second part of its name, ‘glacialis’, simply refers to the region where it was first described, the cold north.

The fulmar is one of the great ocean travellers and related to the petrels, shearwaters, and albatrosses. Because of its plumage, a white head and a white body with grey upperparts, the fulmar has been and often still is mistaken for a gull. A closer look however reveals a stockier built and a curious looking beak. Unlike a gull’s beak, a fulmar's beak consists of several horny plates with tube shaped nostrils, known as naricorns, sitting on top. These nostrils are used to excrete excess salt from the body and also give the bird an acute sense of smell, a very helpful ability to locate food on the vast expanse of the open ocean.

On land the fulmar appears like the clumsy character out of an old slapstick movie. It drags its body along, apparently not quite sure how to use its legs, always close to toppling over, and resting after every other step. Once the legs have parted with solid ground however, the fulmar’s demeanour changes completely. Confidence returns and its body transforms into a sophisticated flying machine. The fulmar is built for living its life on the wing, it is the master of the wind and the stronger it blows the more the fulmar is in its element. There is no other bird mastering the wind like the fulmar. Gale force winds, violent updrafts, and forceful gusts are the fulmar’s engine. Watching a fulmar soar is reminiscent of an elegant, yet stomach-turning, roller coaster ride, and while the observer might start to feel slightly sick gazing at the twists, turns and sudden drops, the fulmar stays nonchalant.   

Up until the early years of the 20th century the northern fulmar was a relatively rare bird, and its distribution was limited to a few colonies in remote parts of the north Atlantic, including the islands of St. Kilda and Iceland. For the islanders the fulmar was an important part of their livelihood, providing not only meat but also feathers for bedding, and oil for lamps and as a general ailment. On St. Kilda fulmar's oil was used to cure anything from rheumatism to toothache. 

In the first decades of the 20th century the fulmar began to spread quickly across the north Atlantic. The reasons for this population explosion was never fully explained, but it seems likely that a change of the islanders’ diet and therefore a reduction in the number of harvested birds, increased commercial fishery and subsequent discards, and early effects of climate change which brought better prey availability, all favoured the fulmar.

Ireland welcomed its first breeding pair into County Mayo in 1911, followed by another pair which settled in County Donegal a year later, and from there the fulmar extended its range all around the Irish coast. The following decades saw fulmar numbers across the north Atlantic rise rapidly. In the latter half of the 20th century however these numbers started to decline again, and some estimates suggest that up to 40% of the north Atlantic population has now been lost. A survey carried out in 2018 on three colonies on Eastern Baffin Island (Canada) showed dramatic drops since 1973. The number of birds in the first colony dropped from 25.000 to 5000, the second colony lost 24.000 birds, and the third colony, which had once held 100.000 birds, only hosted 25.000 fulmars. In comparison Ireland’s fulmar numbers seem to be somewhat stable. The latest breeding bird count in the year 2000 found over 32.000 pairs which confirmed a stable and even slightly growing population compared to previous counts in 1970 and the late 1980s.

The main reason for the overall decline is thought to be plastic pollution. Studies in the North Sea have shown that over 95% of all dead fulmars had plastic particles in their stomach. On average the birds had ingested 44 pieces of plastic, one bird was found with a total of 1603 pieces, and another one with a staggering 20.6g of plastic in its stomach which would be equivalent to around 2kg in a human-sized stomach. The reason for this is the fulmar’s feeding habit. Unlike many other ocean traveling birds like gannets, razorbills and guillemots, fulmars do not dive but skim their food from the surface where an ever increasing amount of plastic floats. In addition fulmars are known to have a very narrow passage between their proventriculus and their gizzard, making it hard for them to fully regurgitate indigestible matter, and as a consequence the plastic accumulates in the stomach. Fulmars can live up to 40 years, but with their crop and stomach filled with plastic they can neither feed their offspring nor themselves, resulting in malnourishment and eventually death.

The fulmar’s diet is rather varied and includes plankton, fish, squid, crustaceans as well as carrion and discard from fishing vessels, and on their foraging journeys fulmars can cover vast distances. One individual was recorded to fly 1600 kilometres in only 55 hours during the breeding season to visit particularly rich feeding grounds along the mid-Atlantic ridge. During the winter months fulmars travel even further and have been found some 2500 kilometers away from their breeding sites. Birds belonging to breeding colonies in Ireland and Britain have been recorded on the coasts of Greenland, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, the Netherlands, Denmark, Iceland and the Faroes. Studies of the fulmars’ travel patterns have also revealed that the individual birds have very different strategies to make a living. Some birds stay relatively close to their breeding sites all year round, while others travel far and wide in search for the richest feeding grounds. The studies also showed that most birds have a tried and tested routine and stay true to their personal foraging routes year after year.

No matter their travel habits, all fulmars return to the coast to breed. I am lucky to have a small colony of these birds on my doorstep. “My” fulmars used to return from their winter travels every year in late January to get reacquainted with their mates and nesting sites, stay for a few weeks, and then return to the ocean until the proper breeding season starts in May. Over the past years however this dependable timing has started to change, and the birds return ever earlier. In 2024 the first birds returned in mid December, the earliest I have ever witnessed, and stayed until after Christmas, while others arrived in early January to stay for good. If these anecdotal events are just a chance variation in behaviour, or if these reflect a wider trend triggered by changing weather patterns remains to be seen. Nevertheless the return of the fulmars is a first sign of spring, birds soaring along the cliff edge and resting in pairs on the narrow ledges while exchanging gentle caresses and performing their cackling dance. Unlike the cheeky herring gull, the flustered guillemot, or the nonchalant puffin, the fulmar always brings an understated curiosity to a chance meeting. Its dark eyes stay fixed on me while the bird glides past at eye level and turns to do another flyby, and then turns again for another look. No other bird I have ever met does this. 

In February and March the fulmars usually disappear again for a while. First the female goes on an extended foraging trip, building up reserves for the breeding season. The male subsequently does the same but usually stays closer to the coast, most likely to keep an eye on, and if necessary, defend the breeding site. The breeding season starts properly in mid to late May when the female lays a single egg. Fulmars don’t build a proper nest but scrape together pebbles, small rocks, and other bits and pieces. These other bits and pieces are unfortunately often a sign of our times, and I have seen cigarette butts, plastic caps, and once even a 50ml liquor bottle used as nesting material. After a short incubation by the female, the male takes over and in the following weeks the parents alternate their parental duties in shifts of around 9 days during incubation, and 5 days after the chick has hatched. The chick exits its shell around late June or early July as a ball of greyish fluff. The young fulmar grows quickly on the rich diet the parents provide and turns into a big lump, which doesn’t resemble the sleek adults in the slightest. This overfeeding is deliberate, giving the young bird the necessary reserves for starting its own life in a rough environment. After a few weeks the young fulmar starts to lose its downy gown and at this stage both parents leave the nesting site to bring back food, leaving their always hungry offspring unattended. By then the youngster is well able to defend itself against any predator and some even take their first wobbly steps away from the nest. The breeding season ends in late August when first the parents, and a few days later the fledglings, leave the cliffs they have spent the summer on.

Text & images © by Carsten Krieger