Identifying Common Seabirds Along the British Coast

There is a particular pleasure in walking a British shoreline and knowing precisely what just skittered past the breakwater. Seabirds are tricky at first — grey against grey, moving fast, often backlit or half-hidden by spray — but you do not need to be an expert to name most of what you see. You need a handful of silhouettes, a few calls and a bit of patience.

Start with the Silhouette, Not the Species

Beginners try to identify every feather at once, which is exactly why a distant bird stays a mystery. Work in three simple steps instead: how big is it next to a herring gull, how does it fly, and where is it sitting?

• Size: the herring gull is your measuring stick. A gannet is noticeably bigger and longer-winged; a kittiwake is daintier; a turnstone is sparrow-small.
• Flight: gulls row along on loose, steady wingbeats. Auks whirr past low and fast on whirring wings. Gannets and fulmars glide on stiff, straight wings, rarely flapping.
• Position: birds on the water, on cliff ledges, on the tideline and on harbour posts are usually different species. Where a bird chooses to be narrows the options enormously.

The Ocean Gliders: Gannet and Fulmar

The gannet is the easiest big seabird in Britain once you know it: dazzling white, black wingtips, a creamy-yellow head and a long dagger bill. Adults cross the water with slow, deliberate flaps followed by a long glide, and in summer they fold into dramatic plunge dives from twenty or thirty metres up. Watch for them offshore in almost any season, and in great numbers at cliff colonies such as Bempton, Bass Rock and Troup Head.

The fulmar looks like a small, tubby gull from a distance but flies like nothing else — stiff-winged, banking low over the swell, skimming wave tops with rigid wings held forward. Close up you can see the tube-shaped nostrils on top of the bill, a family feature. They nest on narrow ledges and greet intruders with a throaty, cackling chuckle.

The White Cliff Crowd: Gulls and Kittiwakes

Most "seagulls" on the British coast are one of four species, and telling them apart comes down to leg and back colour. The herring gull is pink-legged with a silver-grey back and a laughing, yelping cry that defines the seaside. The lesser black-backed gull is slimmer with yellow legs and a darker slate back. The heavy, brutish great black-backed gull — the world's largest gull — has a near-black back and a slow, tyrannical air about rockpools.

The kittiwake is the daintiest of the lot: small, neat, with solid black wingtips like dipped-in ink and a lemon-yellow bill. It nests in clattering ranks on vertical cliffs and gives itself away with its name — a high, repeated "kitti-wake". Note also that a black-headed gull in winter has a white head with a dark smudge behind the eye, not a black one; the chocolate hood is a summer costume.

The Divers and the Dark: Auks, Cormorants and Shags

Guillemots stand upright in dense, shoulder-to-shoulder ranks on ledges, chocolate-brown and slender, with a fine pointed bill. Razorbills look like squat, black-and-white penguins with a blunt, thick bill crossed by a white line. Both hurtle past headlands on rapidly whirring wings, low to the water.

Cormorants and shags are the dark, snaky birds that perch with wings spread to dry after diving. The shag is smaller and slighter, with a steep forehead, a bottle-green sheen in good light and a jaunty crest in spring. The cormorant is heavier, with a thicker neck, a hooked profile and a white thigh patch in the breeding season — and it increasingly turns up inland too, which can be a useful clue.

Along the Tide Line: Waders Worth Naming

As the tide pulls back, a different cast appears on the sand and shingle:

• Oystercatcher: black and white, bright orange legs, carrot-coloured bill, and a loud, piping "kleep-kleep". One of the most recognisable birds on any British beach.
• Turnstone: small and mottled, with short orange legs, busy flipping over seaweed and pebbles.
• Ringed plover: runs a few steps, stops dead, then runs again, usually across open sand in front of you.
• Redshank: leggy and noisy, feeding at the water's edge and objecting to your presence with a repeated "teu-teu-teu".
• Curlew: our largest wader, with a long, down-curved bill and an eerie, bubbling call that carries across an estuary at dusk.

Calls, Kit and a Simple Routine

Sound often names a bird before you see it. Learn half a dozen: the oystercatcher's pipe, the curlew's rising "cur-lee", the redshank's alarm, the kittiwake's name, the gannet's harsh grating croak at the colony, and the fulmar's cackle. A cheap pair of 8x42 binoculars is plenty, and grey, low-contrast days are actually better than bright sun — keep the light behind you and scan slowly, left to right.

Practical habits make the difference. Check the tide table before you set out, because two hours either side of low water is when the tideline comes alive. After a gale with an onshore wind, find a headland and seawatch for half an hour; that is when gannets, auks and skuas are pushed close in. Dawn is the best hour, and summer evenings are a close second.

One last thing, and it matters: between April and July, nesting birds on cliffs and shingle are balancing on a knife-edge. Keep your distance, keep dogs on leads near colonies, and never linger below an active ledge. Watch, listen, name what you can — and let the birds get on with the business of the coast.