The day is quiet, calm, grey. The sea slaps gently against the rocks below. Auks float north on the tide, their numbers occasionally augmented by birds flying from their breeding ledges. There is no urgency, their eggs haven’t hatched yet, so there are no chicks clamouring for food. It is a peace that will not last much longer.

The white plumage of herring gulls and fulmars contrasts with the dark rock. Occasionally the gulls shriek with excitement, or with anger at intruders too close to their nest sites – even if they are halfway down the cliffs, and the humans are at the top. The fulmars cackle their greetings. Somewhere way down below, guillemots gargle and razorbills growl. A singing wren seems to out-do them all.

A puffin flies out from the cliff base – could it be nesting here? They are on the other islands – Skomer and Skokholm, and on the small islets of the Bishops and Clerks around Ramsey.

An oystercatcher pipes loudly as it flies past, perhaps even louder than the wren.

The rope around the rock pulls tight as Tim descends into a crevice, he can’t reach the chough nest – it isn’t far down, but there isn’t enough room to manoeuvre. The parent choughs watch from a distance – they’ve been through the process before, so they know they’ll get to their chicks later. Lou takes her turn, and being smaller, finds just enough space. The three chicks arrive at the top in a padded bag, and the ringing process begins.

Now adorned with individually coloured leg bands, the 17-day-old birds are ready to go home. The adults swoop down and call from within the rocks. Tim reports they are lower down, and therefore not seeing the empty nest. That’s a relief. Lou places the chicks back where they came from and returns to the cliff top.

The cliffs are a riot of green lichens and leaves, orange lichens, and bright pink thrift.

Sunshine . . .  we walk back to the farm for lunch. A single lapwing calls, numbers have declined to a single pair – the other Pembrokeshire islands lost theirs long ago, and they are very few and far between on the mainland in summer.

At the farm, chough, fulmars, ravens, crows, and jackdaws call. House martins are enjoying their new artificial nest boxes under the house eaves.  Greedy chickens steal lunch from whoever they can. Down below, the tide is running fast through Bitches (photo above).

Peaceful, warm, sunny, and hazy at the other nest site, but where are the chough? The adults appear after 30 minutes, but don’t go to the nest. Sarah says they tend to hang back if anyone is around. Tim climbs down, then crawls and wriggles into the crevice.

The Chough pair watch from a distance. Razorbills growling from below, linnets singing, and drinking from the stream, wheatears gathering food for chicks in a nest just down a rabbit hole. Movements in the grass prove to be pill woodlouse, green caterpillars, and grasshopper nymphs, A bank vole scurries through the heather.

Tim climbs back up. The nest is empty, the ravens likely got the chicks over the last two days but the adults will hang on to their territory ready for next year – they have been successful here most years.

A dew moth lands nearby – a nationally scarce species, found only on Ramsey locally. It doesn’t seem to want to be photographed, but persistence pays off and everyone gets a picture in the end.

Finally, it is time for a leisurely walk back to the farm and boat, time to enjoy the flowers and spectacular scenery at the southern end of the Island.