Perhaps I would be too late to save them. The last dozen had been spotted on a remote island in the North Atlantic, on a bare ledge of rock, but it was already rumoured the final breeding pair had been killed - their skins sold to private collectors - and the single egg between them needlessly crushed. These were only rumours, I kept telling myself. But as I set out for the Liverpool docks, on that breezy April morning in 1845, I couldn't help hoping that I might be able to reach them in time, the last of the birds. I pictured myself surrounded by an inlet of seawater, listening to their strange and deep murmurs. An empty ocean in front of us, crisscrossed with the lines of migration that only they could sense, the fluxes in magnetism that has flowed through them for countless years. I would stand there, in awe, and I would be a barrier for them, beyond which there was only one thing: extinction.
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High adventure and an extraordinary ending.
- Nick Corbett
Not for me
- Ruby Gloom