The Faroe Islands - Mykines
As my parents are avid bird photographers, no trip to the Faroe Islands would be complete without a visit to the famed island of Mykines. The westernmost island in the Faroese Archipelago, it is known to be a significant nesting site for seabirds, such as puffins, fulmars, and gannets. While I had spotted a lone puffin on our first day in the Faroe Islands, I was particularly excited to see my first puffin colony. Mykines is connected to the other islands only by ferry from Sørvágur and required the accompaniment of a local guide to tour it.
We arrived in Sørvágur to find well-marked parking but a remarkably unmarked ferry pier. We actually walked right on past it and wandered the docks for a time before Google Maps eventually pointed us to a patch of seaside concrete. When a small tour group congregated in the same area, I presumed we were in the right spot. It wasn’t long before we were piling on to the small ferry and humming out of the harbour.
Our 45-minute journey afforded us views of basalt columns, distant waterfalls, and rugged cliffs dotted with clusters of turf-roofed houses. We passed the Drangarnir and Tindhólmur sea arches, the tops of which looked as if they had been cleaved by a giant Viking axe.
We ultimately docked at a tiny harbour, surrounded by cliffs and a colony of nesting fulmars (seabirds). A steep staircase greeted us and ascended to the small village. Population: 11! A woman greeted the ferry goers at the entrance to the village to check our tickets and ensure we had booked a guide. We soon learned from our guide, who would be servicing about 15-20 of us, that we would need to wait about 30 minutes, as he also functioned as the island’s helicopter pad personnel.
While we waited, I took the opportunity to explore the charming little village. No cars are allowed on the island, so I had only the sounds of circling birds, rushing streams, and the odd sheep to keep me company. Soon enough, our young guide was discharged of his helicopter duties, and we were on our way. He told us his backstory—born and raised on Mykines, he and his sister were the youngest residents on the island (the median age is in the 70s apparently). He walked us past the small schoolhouse, where he was schooled until grade 7, after which they had to go to school on one of the bigger islands. It was a feat to find teachers to school them even until grade 7, as the teacher would oftentimes need to be helicoptered in several times a week.
Because this was a required tour, I had no control over the route or distance covered. We soon learned it was to be quite the uphill battle, somewhat literally. We ended up hiking about 4-5 km, largely uphill. I was definitely concerned for my poor parents, who valiantly huffed and puffed their way up the paths.
As we trailed along some distance behind the group, we were nonetheless treated to some beautiful views overlooking the village, sea cliffs along the western edge of the island, and along the ridge to reach the puffin colony.
Eventually, we espied the long sought-after puffins. The guide showed us to the sea cliffs where they were nesting, and everyone was immediately captivated by their orange-beaked little faces. As they nest on the ground, we carefully crept around the colony edge, with our telephoto camera lenses fully extended, snapping photos of the adorable creatures, waddling around and peering at us curiously.
While the folks rested up, I scampered off up the hill to check out the lighthouse. Set on the islet Mykineshólm, this lighthouse was built in 1909. Normally, you can hike all the way out to it, but a landslide in 2021 closed its path. I was happy enough to take it in from afar, its dramatic perch atop a tilted landscape that looked as if it were ready to slide into the ocean.
After we’d had our fill traversing the colony, we were free to make our way back to the village ourselves. Instead of the long, circuitous route we’d taken to get to the colony, we now had the option of making the very steep walk straight downhill. There was much shuffling and holding onto each other to guard against any impromptu grass sledding, but we eventually, victoriously, made it to the bottom. We celebrated the achievement by popping into The Locals Café in the village for some hot chocolate, carrot soup, and a “French” hot dog (basically an overly long hot dog wrapped in pastry).
We had time to kill before the returning ferry, so we slowly made our way back down the steep stairs to the harbour and sat on the ferry pier, watching the nesting fulmars swoop along the cliffs and listening to the lapping water against the dock. All in all, a scenic, aerobic little avian adventure!
