We have spent the week on the isle of Anglesey. Our first evening was a glorious riot of colour, golds, reds and oranges that faded to blues and purple as the sun set with a flash of green over the silky blue silver sea. Behind us the light on Point Lynas lighthouse started to flash. Resembling more of a fort than a classic lighthouse tower, its white walls gleamed in the fading light. Out to sea, birds streamed past, gannets, gulls and kittiwakes. Guillemots sat on the water, father and his young, calling as they bobbed on the slight swell. It was so calm any splash gave away something bigger, and there in the distance were leaping common dolphins.
The next couple of days were windy and grey, but I still made the pilgrimage to the lighthouse, walking up the little lane wending through scrub, brush and tufty grass on either side of stone walls, that lead to precipitous drops of rock and the swirling water below. On both occasions I am treated to the smallest of our cetaceans, the harbour porpoise. The first time it’s a brief glimpse, the second an extended period of watching them surf and almost leap out of the waves.
A break from the lighthouse and as a family we took a trip on the ferry from Holyhead to Dublin and back again. The plan had been to take a quick trip into the city, but the timings did not work, and instead we had a little wander along the seafront of the port before hopping back onto the ferry. Plus, it pretty much rained the whole way there and throughout the short turnaround in Dublin. Didn’t stop me standing out on deck, repeatedly cleaning my glasses, and on the way over catching a glimpse of a harbour porpoise, a sunfish, a multitude of kittiwakes, Manx shearwaters, gannets and guillemots. The return journey was drier albeit through a dreary misty ocean where sky and sea merged into one grey mass. Again, it did not dampen our spirits or dedication, and we were rewarded with two groups of common dolphins, two sightings of harbour porpoise and as we came near to Holyhead the wonderful sight of two Risso’s dolphin. As the ship cruised past making its final approach, two dolphins slowly surfaced in the now glassy calm waters, one dark grey dorsal and another much whiter emerging out of the grey silky water. As the whiter individual animal surfaced, it clearly turned it head and appeared to take a good look at the ship steaming by.
The following day and the previous days rain made everything gleam at Point Lynas, the once parched looking grass already seemed more vibrant and green, small droplets of water clung like tiny jewels to grass and spiders’ webs, glistening in the morning light. It felt like a good sign. I took up my normal spot and I was immediately greeted with the sight of a mother and calf harbour porpoise close to the shore. The ocean was calmer, although the meeting of currents and tides around the point churned the water creating rips, patches of calm and swathes of white water. The mist hugged the horizon and the coast in either direction, shrouding the cliffs, mountains, hills and valleys. Even at this late morning hour the light of the lighthouse continued to flash through the gloom. For the next hour or so, four or five porpoises fed in and around the rough water off the headland. It was again a joy to watch them especially the mother and her calf that cruised close by the cliff.
And then a scan of the water further offshore caught a large splash, my heart skipped a beat and then whoosh out of the water leapt a large Risso’s dolphin! It breached repeatedly before disappearing for five or so minutes, reappearing in pairs, one set to the left and another to the right, still a fair distance but close enough to see, and I enjoyed the spectacle of them launching themselves out of the water. They did not come any closer and after 20 minutes or so I caught one last glimpse of a distant breach and then they were gone…
Two days later, presented one more chance at the Point before we had to leave. It was super calm and once again harbour porpoise patrolled the waters close to shore. The horizon was cast in mist and curtains of rain passed over the coastline, sweeping up towards us, dumping its deluge before sweeping away. But the Risso’s were there, again keeping their distance, oblivious to the rain. After high tide, the water turned and started to pull back out, creating eddies, oily calm patches and ripples, and after a particularly heavy downpour that sent most of the others on the headland scarpering for cover, two Risso’s surfaced just that little bit closer. Once, twice and then they gone, and that was the end of our Anglesey adventure, for another year…
Wild Barley 