Flamborough Head: Seabirds & Cliffs on Yorkshire's Coast

The rugged cliffs of Flamborough Head and Bempton Cliffs have a way of calling you back.

I'd been once before, but I knew I had to return.

This time, I planned the visit for late June, dreaming of a coastline at its absolute peak: the air thick with seabirds, tiny chicks in the nests, and puffins dotting the clifftops.

What I hadn't factored into my dream was the need for a thick jacket and fingerless gloves. In June.

A City Built on Wind

As we approached the cliff edge, the sound hit us. It was a wall of noise carried on a ferocious wind: the raw, chaotic calls of thousands upon thousands of nesting seabirds.

Gannets, Kittiwakes, Guillemots, and Razorbills clung to the cliffs, each one defending a tiny territory in a city built on wind and sea spray.

The immediate problem wasn't the sound; it was the cold.

A relentless gale blew straight off the North Sea, and no amount of clothing could stop my teeth from chattering or my eyes from watering.

My first thought was, 'How on earth am I going to hold the camera steady in this?'

I was so thankful I'd lugged the heavy tripod and gimbal head (a fluid mount that lets you track moving birds smoothly, essential in this wind) from the car; without that stability, I'd have packed up and left.

But then I noticed something incredible.

The wind, which felt like my enemy, was my unexpected partner. Flying against the headwind, the birds were forced to slow down, almost hovering in mid-air.

That windy afternoon taught me more about cliff flight photography than any tutorial. I've since written a full guide on how wind direction, sun position, and cliff lift bands work together for head-on bird flight shots: Best Wind Direction for Head-On Bird Flight Photos.

And that's when a little voice in my head, born from a dozen past failures, started chanting, 'This is your chance. Now, don't mess it up.'

Puffins, which normally fly at a blur with wings beating 400 times a minute, were now hanging in the air right in front of me.

My numb fingers felt like sausages on the small buttons, as I changed the setting on my camera. Shutter Priority mode lets me control how fast the camera freezes movement and at 1/1250th of a second, even those frantically beating puffin wings go sharp.

I remember thinking, "Now, just keep it in the frame."

It's in those challenging moments, when you have to trust your gut, and your camera, that it all comes together.

Seabird City Gallery

A Different Battle on the Water

If Friday was a battle against the wind, Saturday was a battle against the waves.

An email the night before warned of a significant swell at sea, but the gentle breeze in Bridlington Harbour gave us false hope.

The calm did not last.

Once we rounded the headland, the Yorkshire Belle began to roll side to side in the choppy water. My stomach did the same!

Trying to photograph birds from a moving boat that's pitching in the swell is a whole new level of difficulty. It was a humbling experience; for every one decent shot, there were twenty blurry images of sea and sky.

The water was covered with thousands of floating Guillemots and Razorbills.

While our skipper navigated with care, maintaining a respectful distance, we witnessed something that soured the moment.

A pair of jet skiers blasted directly through the rafts of resting birds, scattering them in a panic.

The RSPB guide on board explained this violated the protective guidelines designed to safeguard the colonies.

Watching those jet skiers scatter the birds, I felt a surge of protective anger. But it also made me realise something important: every time we approach wildlife with respect and patience, we're making a choice.

We're choosing to be part of the solution rather than the problem. That's a responsibility I carry with me on every shoot now.

If you're thinking about a boat trip, know that it's a very different challenge, and worth trying at least once.

The Smaller Stories

But the big spectacles of gannets and guillemots weren't the only stories unfolding.

Back on land, we were lucky enough to watch a family of Swallows fledge. The parents worked tirelessly, catching insects for the four youngsters who wobbled on fences, testing their new wings.

I also kept an eye out for Tree Sparrows, partly because they're on the Red List of species in serious decline in the UK, but mostly because searching for them taught me patience.

When everything around you is dramatic and obvious, learning to spot the quiet, overlooked species sharpens your eye for detail. It's a skill that serves you everywhere.

It's these quiet, intimate moments that often stay with you the longest: a handsome male Linnet posing briefly on a hedge, or the fleeting glimpse of a Short-eared Owl at dusk.

What I Learned at the Edge of the World

That weekend, I took over a thousand photographs.

But the real takeaway wasn't a memory card full of images. It was the humbling, thrilling feeling of standing at the edge of the world, in the teeth of a gale, and finding a way to capture the story unfolding around me.

You don't need the best camera gear for that.

What you really need is patience, warm gloves, and a willingness to see the wind not as an obstacle, but as an opportunity. If that idea appeals to you, I've pulled everything I've learned about wind and bird photography into a practical field guide: see the link in the further reading section below.

It's a lesson that Yorkshire's rugged, dramatic coastline is always waiting to teach.

Birds of Flamborough Head: What You'll See

The cliffs are the headline act, but Flamborough Head rewards a slower look too. Here's what I've watched here, from the obvious to the easily missed.

• Gannets: the giants of the cliff, tender and fierce on their ledges, and breathtaking in flight when the wind holds them almost still in front of you.
• Kittiwakes: small, gentle gulls that nest in their thousands. Listen for them calling their own name across the noise.
• Guillemots and razorbills: packed along the ledges, and rafting in great floating crowds on the sea below.
• Puffins: present among the bigger seabirds. See the section below for where and when.
• Fulmars: stiff-winged gliders riding the updraughts along the cliff face.
• The smaller stories: back from the edge, watch for swallows fledging, the red-listed tree sparrow, a male linnet on the hedge, and, if you're lucky at dusk, a short-eared owl.

If you only learn to spot the quiet, overlooked species among the spectacle, you'll come away a sharper watcher than when you arrived.

Puffins at Flamborough Head

Yes, there are puffins at Flamborough Head. They nest among the guillemots and razorbills on the cliffs, smaller and less obvious than the crowds around them, so it's worth scanning patiently rather than expecting them to announce themselves.

They're here through the breeding season, roughly April to late July, after which they head back out to sea. For the very best puffin viewing on this stretch of coast, the neighbouring RSPB reserve has the closer, more reliable vantage points: see my visit to Bempton Cliffs.

When to Visit

For the seabird city in full voice, come in late spring to midsummer, when the cliffs are at their loudest and busiest. I planned my own visit for late June and found the colony at its absolute peak: the air thick with birds, chicks in the nests, and puffins dotting the clifftops.

A word of warning from experience: even in June, dress for a gale. A relentless wind blows straight off the North Sea at the cliff edge. Bring warm layers, a sturdy tripod, and as much lens reach as you have. That same wind is your best chance of slow, sharp flight photography.

Visiting Flamborough Head

Flamborough Head is a chalk headland reaching out from the East Yorkshire coast near Bridlington, with cliff-top paths that give you the colony at eye level and the open North Sea beyond.

For a completely different view of the same cliffs, take to the water. The Yorkshire Belle sails from Bridlington Harbour and rounds the headland beneath the seabird colonies. Photographing from a rolling boat is a humbling challenge, twenty blurry frames of sea and sky for every keeper, but it's worth doing at least once for the perspective alone.

Further Reading

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