Alex Ash is 25, good-looking, articulate and gregarious: he enjoys pubs, clubs and going out with his mates. Odd then, that he should choose to spend nine months of each year on an island that lacks electricity and running water, counting puffins.

The Farne Islands, off the northeast English coast, are an important sanctuary for nesting sea birds. The islands are owned by the National Trust, and trust wardens care for and monitor all the wildlife, including puffins, seals, guillemots kittiwakes and shag.

“Puffins are everyone’s favourite,” Ash says as we board the tiny boat taking us to Brownsman Island. “They live out at sea most of the year, coming ashore to breed. They make burrows, but they’re rubbish on land — they often get stuck. We try to rescue them — from the well, the vegetable patch, the bathroom . . . I woke one morning to find one under my bed.”

The trip takes only 15 minutes, but everything is drenched by torrential rain, including my wide-brimmed hat, bought for the trip.

“Keep it on,” Ash warns.

A deafening cacophony and a strong faecal odour hit me. He laughs. “You should smell it after it’s been raining and the sun comes out.” Suddenly I discover why the hat is essential. In a scene straight out of The Birds, we are dive-bombed by scores of Arctic terns angry at our disturbing their nests. In a cunning Darwinian move, they have learnt to wield both ends — pecking furiously with razor-sharp beaks and using guano as an effective follow-through.

During the breeding season four wardens live cheek-by-jowl in a partly ruined lighthouse cottage. It is cosy in a damp, seaweedy way. Mismatched sofas and cheerful clutter fill the living room, dominated by a giant cast-iron range. There is a bathroom for strip-washes and the loo is flushed with seawater. A generator runs for a short time each day, and there is a rush to charge batteries for radios and mobile phones. Gas and fresh water are brought across by local boatmen, depending on the weather — “The longest time we’ve gone without supplies is 18 days,” Ash says. “We lived on porridge and tinned peaches.”

This is Ash’s third year on the island. “I only came out for one year; I don’t know what happened. I just keep coming back.” Conservation was a childhood dream: “I did a degree in biology and environmental science, and then voluntary work to get experience. My mum understands, but my sisters think I’m bonkers.”

For Jerry Gillham, too, this is a first choice. Neil Dawson, however, trained as a chartered accountant and Dave Clare, 42, worked in the chemical industry before changing course. They are clearly happy with their new life. “We don’t really fall out,” Dawson says. Despite sharing a bedroom for nine months, three of them went to India together last winter. “A complete change of surroundings,” Ash says. “Yes, but we still ended up doing a daily bird count,” Dawson says. “We can’t help ourselves.”

At six the next morning, we open the cottage door, sporting waterproofs and ready for the daily bird count on Brownsman and nearby Staple Island. Watery sunshine bathes the cliffs. According to the rota, Gillham is counting guillemots today. There are thousands of them, huddling so close to one another on the cliffs that their nestcount is easily the hardest. Bobbing around in the boat, there is palpable concentration as everyone, armed with clickers, counts their allotted breed.

Aren’t they tempted to cheat? “No — well, yes,” Ash grins. “But we actually care about the birds. I honestly can’t imagine what I’d do if I didn’t do this work.”

Injuries are rare, and most are bird-related. A tern draws blood through Ash’s hat. “It’s nothing,” he says, wiping the blood away. “When we do the puffin census it’s far worse. Every burrow on every island has to be counted.”

I wonder what the wardens miss most about the mainland. “Nothing,” they chorus immediately. There is a pause. “Trees coming into leaf,” Clare confesses. “The seasons are different here.”

“I miss my family,” says Ash.

“Girls,” Dawson smiles wistfully.

“Don’t you have a female research student coming soon?” I ask. “I assume she’s out of bounds?”

“Of course.” The reply is quick. “We’ll behave ourselves,” says Ash.

“D’oh!” exclaims Ash as a tern scores a direct hit.

“It’s supposed to be lucky,” I observe.

“Then we must be the luckiest people on earth.”

“Mmm,” I think wistfully later, walking back along the jetty towards real life.

Island outpost

Farne Island wardens are part of The Coast Exposed photographic exhibition touring the UK (www.nmm. ac.uk/coastexposed). Inner Farne and Staple islands are open to visitors between April and Sept; £5 adults, £2.50 children. The birds’ breeding season continues until mid-July.

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