Northern Giant Petrels don’t get a lot of love. Their various nicknames include ‘stinkpot’, which is, if occasionally accurate, a little rude. Having been the recipient of the self-defence projectile vomit of their chicks, I can confirm that the stink is real. When not vomiting, though, they actually have the quite pleasant warm musky bird smell that many petrels share. They’re quite fastidious about cleaning themselves, and I spend many evenings above one of their favourite bathing spots in Anchorage Bay watching them thrash around in the water to get rid of the residues of the day’s meals.

They’re also difficult birds to get close to. While they’re bold around food and at sea, on land is a slightly different story. Accidentally startling birds tucked into the ferny fields will send them scampering off in a hurry. This year, though, they’ve decided to nest in areas we walk through every day. As a result of seeing us more often, they’re more relaxed and less inclined to charge away when we appear on albatross-rounds or while burrow-scoping for white-chinned petrels. I took an evening wander to spend some time near them, and lay tucked into the ferns with a long lens to watch how they interact with each other. For intimidating looking birds, they’re remarkably gentle with each other, and I watched this pair dozing and preening, calling as incoming birds landed around them. They’re very social birds, often gathering together in groups to sit around nesting sites where fledglings are growing up. It’s spending these quiet moments with them that makes me appreciate them all the more.