Carried by the Wind: Lessons from the Shearwater Migration

Mid-August and I find myself sat on the rugged cliffside that supports the red and white tower of Pendeen Lighthouse, gazing out into the incomprehensible expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. I have come to witness an incredible yearly migration event. Today, Manx Shearwaters are passing this headland in a steady stream. At approximately 700 birds every minute, it was as if the sea itself was alive with birds dancing across the water surface, the sleek black and white forms cutting through the air with effortless grace. They headed south with purpose, skimming or shearing (as the name suggests) the waves on stiff wings, starting a journey of unbelievable magnitude that will see them cross hemispheres. Among them, a few Balearic Shearwaters. A close relation of our Manx but a bird of the Mediterranean rather than the Atlantic, they are duskier in appearance, not the crisp black and white of the Manxies. Fulmars pass by on their stiff, thin wings like miniature Albatross and the occasional small group of Gannets flapping clumsily in comparison to the refined beauty of the Shearwaters. But it was the Manxies that dominated the scope view, their numbers seemingly endless.

Just a few weeks ago, I'd experienced a panic attack at global Birdfair, an overwhelming flood of fear that had left me shaken and struggling to regain control of my thoughts. Because of this, I'd restarted therapy, trying to rebuild my mental well-being and deal with the root cause of my depression and anxiety, rather than relying just on tablets to mask the symptoms. Starting therapy was terrifying. It left my brain feeling overwhelmed and incredibly vulnerable. This is why I had headed to Cornwall. Some time for me to sit and take stock, A chance to be still with no other people around me. Sitting watching the seemingly delicate Shearwaters with the contrasting backdrop of the rugged North Cornish coast, I found something incredibly profound about the sight of their determined flight.

Manx Shearwater

The Manx Shearwaters had been breeding throughout the summer on remote islands around the West of the UK just North of where I sat, the windswept slopes of islands like Skomer, Rum and Bardsey. These places far from the disturbances of human life, provides safe Burrows for them to raise their young. They nest in the dark, hidden away during the day, only emerging undercover of night in order to avoid predators like Gulls and Skuas. With the seasons moving headlong into Autumn now, it was time to leave. Parents that have raised their chicks and fledglings that are headed off from the only place they have ever know so far, all taking to the air and following the instinctive pull of migration. These birds, which had spent the summer on the cliffs and islands of Britain were now embarking on a journey that would take them into the unknown, a pelagic odyssey that puts Odysseus to shame. 

Their ultimate destination was far to the South, in the rich, cold feeding grounds of the Argentine Sea where they would spend the winter months. It's hard to imagine the distance they would cover flying from their breeding grounds in the North Atlantic to the southern hemisphere. It's one of the most remarkable migrations, a journey they undertake every year, guided by instinct. And the pull of survival.

The significance of that journey wasn't lost on me. These birds were driven by an unbreakable connection to the cycle of life. To breed, to feed, to survive. They didn't question their path. They simply moved with purpose. In that moment, watching the birds disappear over the horizon, I found a parallel in my own struggles. I too had a journey to make. Therapy is my map helping me to find my direction again.

Manx Shearwater taking off

The rhythm of the bird passing began to soothe me. They moved in harmony with the elements. Wind, sea, sky. Carving a path forward with each passing wave. The steady flow of life moving past me without pause began to quiet the restless thoughts that have plagued me since the panic attack. My thoughts, which had felt chaotic and uncontrollable, began to fall into a slower rhythm, much like the birds themselves. 

Healing our minds is very much like migration. It's a long journey, sometimes arduous and with many different routes, but one that's essential for survival. Like the Shearwater, I need to trust the process to move forward, even if the destination feels a long way off. 

Watching them, I was reminded that while the journey might seem daunting, it's one I can make, one step at a time, guided by the tools I have, therapy, nature, and moments like these where I can find peace and perspective.

These birds weren't just passing that headland. They were showing me a way forward, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming odds, there is a path to follow. And the strength to endure. In the presence of the Shearwaters, I felt a quiet strength, a strength that belied the birds diminutive size and appearance, and a sense too that I, could also keep going.