northern gannets—some thirty thousand pairs. He pointed out a
pyramid-like structure atop the island. This was a platform for a webcam
that Iceland’s environmental agency had set up. It was supposed to
stream a live feed of the gannets to bird-watchers, but it had not
functioned as planned.
“The birds do not like this camera,” Sveinsson said. “So they fly over it
and shit on it.” The guano from thirty thousand gannet pairs has given
the island what looks like a coating of vanilla frosting.
Because of the gannets, and perhaps also because of the island’s
history, visitors are not allowed to step onto Eldey without special (and
hard-to-obtain) permits. When I first learned this, I was disappointed, but
when we got right up to the island and I saw the way the sea beat against
the cliffs, I felt relieved.
THE last people to see great auks alive were around a dozen Icelanders
who made the trip to Eldey by rowboat. They set out one evening in June
1844, rowed through the night, and reached the island the following
morning. With some difficulty, three of the men managed to clamber
ashore at the only possible landing spot: a shallow shelf of rock that
extends from the island to the northeast. (A fourth man who was