Eldey Island and the Great Auk

 

For ornithologists and natural historians, Eldey Island is a place of mythology. It is the place, where, on July 3rd, 1844, the last Great Auk was killed. Eldey is located about 10 miles from the southern tip of the Reykjanes Peninsula in South Iceland, it is a part of a long chain of reefs and small islands that is referred to as reykjaneshryggur, or the spine of Reykjanes. Geologically, the spine of Reykjanes is due to the mid-Atlantic rift; this is where the North American and European tectonic plates meet, and are slowly moving apart from each other. It is a place of intense volcanic and seismic activity  (which, metaphorically and literally, is important to the tale of the Great Auk).

 

When I jumped aboard Teddy, I harbored a small hope that I would have the chance to see Eldey, and as we journeyed south, that hope grew to a reality. The Great Auk, or the original penguin, was a large flightless bird of the North Atlantic. It belonged to the Alcidae family, the same family as puffins, razorbills, and guillemots. The auk stood about 3 feet tall, and while it’s short and stubby wings were useless for flying, they made the Auk an excellent and agile swimmer. The Auk nested in sub-arctic islands across the North Atlantic, ranging from Funk Island in Newfoundland, to Iceland, and St. Kilda off the Outer Hebrides.

Audubon's Great Auk Painting

Across its range, it was hunted for food and feathers. Incredibly, one of the earliest records of the Great Auk is an ancient underwater cave painting in France (see this Guardian article for more details about this incredible story: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2022/jul/02/ice-age-provence-cosquer-cave-archaeology). However, as boats began traveling further into the Atlantic in search of whales and cod, this hunting changed to incredible over harvesting. The cod fishery in the Grand Banks (off Newfoundland) was becoming incredibly lucrative and important to global trade, and it brought European boats to the New World in unprecedented numbers. By the time European boats made it to the western Atlantic on their way to the Grand Banks, the sailors were ready for fresh meat, and they would stock up their ships with Auks. Legend has it that the sailors would lay planks from their boat, and herd the Auks onto their ship (as explored in the below painting by Walton Ford). I find it almost fitting that Eldey Island sits on the meeting point between the North American and European tectonic plates. Elder is a collision point, the story of the auk rests in the story of the collision between the New and Old World.

Walton Ford's depiction of Great Auks and Funk Island

 

The scale of exploitation is hard to fathom, and in some cases, people would simply pluck feathers from live birds and leave them to slowly perish. By the middle beginning on the 19th century, the Auk had grown scarce, and was effectively restricted to one island in Iceland. This island was named Geirfuglasker, and was located further out on the spine of Reykjanes. However, a volcanic eruption sunk Geirfuglasker into the ocean, and the remaining Auks moved in to Eldey Island, where they were easier for people to reach. At this time, the fact that Auks were becoming more scarce was worrying museums and bird enthusiasts in Europe. They were keen on collecting specimens before the birds disappeared altogether, and ironically, this is likely what finally pushed the birds to extinction. In 1844, when a group of Icelanders went to Eldey to collect Auks as a specimen, there was one pair remaining. These two Auks were the last to be killed.

 

With this immense history in mind, we set sail from Keflavik on August 14th with our sights set on Eldey Island. Like many days, the clouds hang low, banks of fog ebb and flow on the horizon. A few hours in, we can make out Eldey on the horizon as it drifts in and out of sight with the lingering fog. As we get closer, the immensity of Eldey Island begins to take form. Today, Eldey is home to 16,000 pairs of Northern Gannets, or approximately half of all the Gannets that nest in Iceland. Gannets are gorgeous and massive white and black seabirds with ice-blue eyes and a golden nape. They are often referred to as the Queen of the North Atlantic, and when you get to spend time with them, you see that this is a very fitting title.

Three images of Northern Gannets I took while traveling in Newfoundland earlier this year.

As we approach Eldey, we drop the fore sails, pull the main sail in tight, and Nick motors us in incredibly close to the edge of the island. On the south western side, huge swells crash against Eldey. The rebounding swell crosses the oncoming ones, and we bounce chaotically just offshore while clouds of Gannets fly overhead. The volcanic rock towers above us, brilliant patterns of weathering dance across the face of the island. The air is thick with the sounds and smells of the Gannets. The sheer amount of life here is palpable, the atmosphere is saturated with it. Here, I feel a tension between the past and the present; the story of the auk, of our incredible capacity to take and destroy, of the finalness of extinction, sits heavily with me. At the same time, the amount of life is incredible here. Somewhere, in this midst of huge seas and volcanic rocks and white birds, I feel a sort of hope. The loss of the Great Auk is immeasurable, but to see so many birds here today is equally incredible.

 

Our journey to Eldey was brief, but incredibly powerful. We soon set our heading east, and get ready to sail through the night as we head towards Vestmannaeyjar. As we leave, Eldey gets reduced to a small silhouette against a brilliant display of orange and yellow. As I sit on the stern, watching Eldey get smaller and smaller, feeling the loss of the Auk and the hope of the Gannet, I cannot help but think of Emily Dickinson:

 

“Hope is the Thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And Never stops at all

 

And sweetest in the gale is heard

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm

 

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land

And on the Strangest Sea

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me”