published July 12, 2007

written by Susan Adele Colletta - photo ©David Wimpfheimer

Horned Puffins off our Coast

The puffin is a football shaped quizzical looking bird who owns the nickname sea parrot and clown-face. Their wonderfully prominent and colorful beak shines brightly in the grocery store isle as the icon of a Petaluma company’s natural cereal. The puffin is so adorable that I buy the crunchy peanut butter snack and daydream about seeing this precious bird one day. That day came when birders reported horned puffins in the ocean off Point Reyes.

Horned puffins were reported in high numbers this spring along the California coast, from Point Conception to Mendocino. Poor conditions such as limited or crashing food resources in the central North Pacific may be one cause of why they moved both further south and closer to shore. Much data and thoughts of reasoning must be weaved together before a definitive conclusion.

This rare occurrence prompted a National Audubon Society sea-watch on June 9. Fifty volunteers documented 37 horned puffins in 11 California counties. Point Reyes has seen as many as eight in one day off Chimney Rock as well as one off Muir Beach.

Puffins live on the open sea and only go toward land for breeding on coastal cliffs or off-shore islands. The of-age Horned Puffin population should be off coastal Alaska, revitalizing old relationships or courting new friends, nesting and raising their one brood.

When Mother Nature designed the puffin, she assembled a creature with some interesting adaptive features. It’s conspicuous dull gray beak and feet turn to a bright reddish-orange during breeding season to attract a mate. As the bird ages, the beak gets longer and wider, which adds to the puffins hubba-hubba appeal. Adding to its sexiness, are temporary “horns” which are actually just fleshy spikes above each eye.

The puffin’s beak is specialized to hold bundles of fish. Its raspy tongue holds each fish crosswise against spines on the palate. The average catch is 10 fish, such as herring or smelt. The record mouthful is a walloping 62 fish, delivered to a soon-to-be extra fat puffling.

A puffin can fly the Hwy 101 speed limit. They can swim underwater so well that people used to claim that a puffin was actually a cross between a bird and a fish. This was a good excuse for some people to eat puffin meat on lent and Fridays to avoid the prohibition of meat by the Catholic Church on those days.

I listened to a sound recording of the puffin. Their charming moan, sounds like a less-savage chainsaw. I forgot my fear of this toothy tool since running out on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre back in 1974, and played the wonderfully haunting sound repeatedly.

Armed with spotting scope and binoculars, we braved the clumsy winds and precarious cliffs of the jutted peninsula leading out to Chimney Rock. We searched for three hours and did not find the puffins in the moody ocean swells that day. Two days later, Bolinas artist Keith Hansen gleefully spotted three. Darn. It’s back to the cereal box for me.