Gannets glided by in their hundreds close under the cliff, while swarms of Manx shearwaters streamed west, struggling past the headland to get back out to open ocean. Among them, larger sooty shearwaters careened along, these "mini-albatrosses" from the South Atlantic less affected by the rough conditions.

All the while tight flocks of kittiwakes passed, calling to each other while sinister, dashing skuas plunged through them, hoping for an easy meal.

Hour after hour I watched. More Arctic and great skuas, then two rarer long-tailed skuas. Shortly after, a petrel, close in, moving slowly. A Wilson's petrel - a rare bird indeed, and astonishingly, within ten minutes, another. Three passed in half an hour, then no more.

Further out, a majestic great shearwater glided past on stiff wings, another visitor from the South Atlantic. The local peregrine falcons dashed low across the waves, hunting Leach's and storm petrels while all the time, the seabirds streamed by. More divers, auks, terns and fulmars, and toward the end of an exhilarating day, one of the rarest of all seabirds, a little shearwater, flew close by, landed on the water for a few minutes, then continued west back out to sea, joining the tens of thousands of seabirds continuing on their global voyages.

Michael O'Clery illustrated The Complete Guide to the Birds of Ireland. Online work: www.birdsireland.com/oclery.html

Oulu, at the north east corner of the Gulf of Bothnia is just 150 km short of the Arctic Circle. On our arrival we watched our first owl species of the day, a short- eared, a familiar sight from back home.

After catching a few hours rest we headed inland to meet our Finnature guide for a late evening session: we were treated to a six more owl species in seven hours: a family of hawk owls were calling in a patch of clearfell, one young still in the nest. In thicker cover we crawled into forest to be stared at by four motionless black furry balls: young Tengmalm's owls.

We moved on to check a nestbox for pygmy owls. The box was empty but after persistent calling a pocket sized owl buzzed us.

From the smallest to the largest: a great grey watched us sternly and without motion as we marveled at its five young, safely ensconced in a huge disused goshawks' nest.

Eagle owl followed in a nearby farm, massive swooping flight and burning eyes - if we were tired we weren't showing it.

One last trek was for Ural owl: We waited patiently near a known nest site, one young bird sat on a bough. We searched anxiously for the adult female, known to be aggressive near the nest and typically attacks intruders from behind.

We learnt that the Finns wear safety helmets when researching this species: we need not have worried on this perfect evening, though camouflaged, she was teased out by telescope from a tapestry of forest leaves, the final act of an unforgettable Finnish evening in June.

Oran O'Sullivan is general manager of BirdWatch Ireland

A Ferrero-Rocher chocolate has a circumference of 30mm and weighs 20 grams.

Coincidentally, an Arctic tern egg has the same dimensions.

There the resemblance ends. The egg takes three weeks to hatch, the chick flies in just under a month and, by this month, the youngster I held at Belfast Lough in July should be catching fish in the Weddell Sea off the coast of Antarctica.

This guy had come a cropper before its maiden vogage to the other end of the Earth even started. It had become entangled in fishing net but was now free to go. A final ungrateful stab at the hand that saved it, and then it was airborne; in an instant the epitome of grace and elegance.

The statistics are mind-boggling. In three months it will fly 15,000 kilometres, navigating without a parent, yet blessed with an innate GPS taking daily account of latitude, longitude and the unseen guiding light of our planet's magnetic field. Frodo would have been proud of it. The undying mystery and romance of bird migration still leaves homo sapiens gawking from the sidelines.

It is good to feel humbled by a bird that travels the Earth by using a map of the stars.

Anthony McGeehan is a warden in Belfast for the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds

It seems all day long that the call of the cock pheasant, which has so much of the smoker's cough in it, rings out. A knowledgeable neighbour explains it thus. He will have a small harem of nesting females in the area. This is his reminder to them that he is on duty and his warning to them that they had better stick with the job - sit on those eggs no matter what or who passes close by.

Right enough the calls come now from up river, now from down river, now on this side of the road, now on the other. He is not only doing his duty, he is making a public declaration of it.

Something like 50 per cent of the readers of this piece are saying: how masculine.

Y

(This column, by the late Douglas Gageby, was published in The Irish Times on April 23rd, 1987)