There is a Russian turn of speech that can be awkwardly translated as "to blackness in the eyes." It is best used when describing mosquitoes, say, in the swampy deltas of Siberian rivers in late summer. We do not have the good fortune to study mosquitoes on our not-so-little island. But the birds, oh the birds, they teem in the skies to blackness in the eyes.
Before I came to Antsiferov, I chitchatted with an acquaintance who studies sea birds. I told her I was looking forward to looking at birds, about which I know little. We tentatively made plans to meet so she could give me a briefing on sea birds, on their taxonomy, behavior, ecology, a road map to govern what I might expect to see.
It was one of those lovely little to-do's that sinks like a pebble in the swamp of more pressing (and less pleasant) to-do's. When, however, I did run into her about a week before leaving, she said that it was better not to know too much. See what I can see, learn what I can learn. If need be, name the birds myself.
Wonderful advice, to be an empirical naturalist. Refreshing. And this is the spirit with which I've come to this island to look at birds.
I must admit, the purity of the experiment is diluted first by the fact that Sergei, as a professional biologist and wildlife manager, is more or less an expert on all the local fauna, and second, by the presense in the humble library of our little home of a comprehensive Russian field guide called "Marine Birds and Mammals of the Far East," by Yu. B. Artyukhin and V.N. Burkanov (yes, the very Burkanov, our fearless leader). In it, there is a fairly complete catalog of sea birds, with identifying features, photographs, and readymade names in Latin, English and Japanese.
This relieves the rather delicate and difficult burden of naming. Nonetheless, the following (not necessarily very scientific) observations and (not necessarily very professional) photographs are all mine: