Photograph by Islay McLeod
‘Do you know what that is not?’ I asked the bothersome boy, as a jellyfish swam into view. The boy momentarily stopped kicking the boat, and grunted. Then the dull kick, kick, kick started up again.
The boy’s response was not much, but the temporary silence brought hope of a quiet journey to all of us on board. The hiatus also had me wishfully hoping that my bait was working; the unusual form of my question was luring the irritating boy away from his irksome kicking.
‘The jellyfish is not what a starfish is not’ I continued, in what I hoped was a mysterious way, but I had hardly finished before the kicking had started up again. I was losing him; the exasperating boy was not as interested in jellyfish and starfish as I had been as a child. I hurried on, hoping to regain even temporary peace, for fear that the boy’s boredom would ruin my enjoyment of the day’s bird-watching cruise. ‘Neither jellyfish nor starfish are fish,’ I stated. ‘And, despite the lack of shell, squid and octopus are shellfish,’ I added with aplomb, aware that most of the other passengers were listening in on my unusual choice of conversation.
There may have been fleeting interest, but I didn’t stop to give the annoying boy the chance to question the ostensible illogicality of my statements. I wanted to get him well and truly hooked first. Without pausing for breath I launched into my favourite fascinating fish facts which, in a rare instance of useful preparedness, I had collected in case of crisis. The emergency had come – I urgently needed to instil a sense of amazement in the young boy.
So I spoke of how lungfish can live out of the water for several years, of how mudskipper fish use their fins to walk on land, and of how electric eels have enough electricity to knock a horse over. The boy’s kicking was still going, albeit slower and quieter than before, so I challenged myself to one fact for every kick: sailfish can swim as fast as a car on the motorway, whilst flying fish can glide the length of a football pitch and twice the height of a basketball hoop. I moved on to tell of how most fish cannot swim backwards and can drown in water if there’s not enough oxygen in it.
In the heat of the moment my prejudiced view of boys got the better of me and I changed tack, moving onto what I hoped might be more gory facts to better capture his imagination. I explained to the fidgeting boy how the great whale shark can grow to nearly 60 feet and has over 4,000 tiny teeth but will sink if it stops swimming. I recounted what I have heard about piranhas eating human carcasses and the risks Japanese chefs take to prepare puffer fish with its deadly poison. I told of how hagfish can fill a bucket with slime in one minute and of how many brands of lipstick contain fish scales. My facts were not particularly relevant to the Scottish seas, but they succeeded in capturing the boy’s full attention. I threw in a final comment: scientific studies have shown that herring like to fart in company.
Gannets are, to my mind, one of the most beautiful birds and watching them never fails to excite me. Their spectacular fishing skills have them plunging into the ocean at breakneck speed to catch fish much deeper than most airborne birds. Earlier in the year they also have a beautifully delicate courtship display, where a pair will face each other and hold their heads skyward, accentuating their beauty and strength as they renew their bond with their partner. Alongside the gannets were razorbills, guillemots, shags, whilst in the water eider ducks and seals were bobbing about around the boat. Even the boy was mesmerised by the sights and smells of the Bass, and his excitement was palpable when he spotted his first clown-like puffin, buzzing about in a ridiculous fashion.
I was simultaneously relieved and delighted; I could watch the spectacle without interruption, and in full knowledge that others were also cast under the magnificent spell. Even when the now interested boy commented on ‘seagulls’ I managed to restrain myself with a mere mutter under my breath. As any birder will know, the correct name is ‘gull’ because many of the birds commonly referred to as ‘seagulls’ reside on land and do not travel to sea for long periods of time. However the mistake was an entirely forgivable one: it is far more important to be in awe of the splendour of nature than to be able to label it correctly.
I smiled and let the boy’s newly found enthusiasm take over. One day the boy may learn the subtleties of nature’s names, but that day had not yet come. That a previously uninterested boy had discovered a wonderful world was more than enough success for one day. I had no desire to recount my remaining fascinating facts for the return journey, and there was no kicking of the boat as we sailed back.
