60°10”N, 24°55”E #3
Their destination is Aspsk?r, a cluster of four islands, a miniature world out in the open water.
They choose Aspsk?r because it is home to an old fishing hut that Estonian fishermen once built to offer protection from the elements.
Nowadays, the hut is nothing but a battered old shack, but it will give them shelter for the night, and they have brought timber to mend the new holes that winter has left in the roof.
After a little bit of renovation, the hut will provide them with some perfectly decent lodgings, and when rough winds whistle through the walls, they will huddle under their blankets, light the storm lanterns and boil water for tea, and nothing could be more perfect.
They approach the island, and razorbills greet their boat.
The birds land amid the waves with a squawk, and the boys note down their numbers.
They are adept at identifying the species living on the island, razorbills, great cormorants, black guillemots, nimble skuas, they learn their Latin names and test one another on them, and as summer draws on, the birds get to know them too.
The first time the boys step ashore, they take flight, swoop above the boys’ heads, trying to draw their attention away from the fledglings waddling among the rocks, but they leave the nests and the young in peace, and soon the birds learn not to fear them.
On their excursions, they only ever shoot a few birds and gather a few eggs.
The four mostly live on fish and the provisions they have brought with them, preserves and crispbread, and any birds they shoot, they use most carefully.
They keep the skins, and during the long winter months they use their prey for practice – every self-respecting artist should know how to reconstruct a bird – arranging a frame under the feathers to imitate a living creature.
And when the sea is cold and the birds have flown away, they sketch the cormorants and seagulls posing on their windowsill.
It is the only way to see a bird up close.
No living winged creature would allow an artist near enough to draw the feather patterns around the beak or the streaks running along the sides.
All four of them have learned how to collect and blow eggs at school, but when it comes to these finds, John is more competent and diligent than anyone else, and when Harald throws away a Eurasian oystercatcher egg after it cracked when he was trying to drill a hole in it, John picks up the pieces and patiently puts them together again, restoring the specimen to its former glory.
He joins the fragments together with a set of pincers, a magnifying glass and endless reserves of patience, and once the fragile jigsaw is finally ready, he hides the cracks where two pieces have been joined together.
There is no glue in the world quite the same colour as the oystercatcher’s brown eggs, but John mixes colours together until he finds just the right hue, so that his handiwork can no longer be distinguished from nature’s own perfection.
The boat glides closer to the island’s shore, and their excitement is great.
They have been waiting for this day since the last time they left Aspsk?r: their first summer’s day on the island.
They carefully steer their boat towards land and tie the ropes to the rings sunk into the rock.
The weather is glorious: a south-easterly wind pushes scum towards the shoreline, the ryegrass sways in the breeze and the chive flowers gleam against the stones.
A day like this will give John enough energy to carry him through the black winter mornings; but now, as he stands on the rocks along the shoreline, happiness will not come.
They haven’t had time to count the nests, but they can see right away that there are only a handful, fewer with every visit.
The island should be full of sounds, squawks and feathers, but now there are only a couple of nervous seagulls swooping above them.
John runs his shoe back and forth across the bullet shells left scattered on the ground. Brass scratches against rock.
Fishermen have always hunted birds, gathered eggs for their pans and feathers to pad their coats.
Local crofters aren’t allowed to hunt on private landowners’ grounds, but if it’s only a spot of shooting, the gamekeepers tend to look the other way.
Now the gamekeepers are gone too. The lords of the manor move to the cities and sell off their land, and suddenly anyone can get their hands on a motorboat and head out to the islands with a gleaming new rifle.
Aspsk?r was always renowned for the abundance of its bird life, and now that abundance has attracted the hunters.
The results are appalling. They count the remaining birds, and the numbers committed to their jotters make for sombre reading.
Worse still, their island is no exception.
More and more hunters have discovered the easy prey on these islands, and with each passing autumn fewer fledglings take flight from these rugged outcrops.
They return from the island quiet and downcast. John is sitting in the kitchen, fresh migratory statistics from the ornithological association in his hands.
He looks at the numbers, then glances up at the stuffed birds on the windowsill, the great cormorant he immortalised and Gio’s guillemot, and places his cup on the table.
The coffee has turned bitter in his mouth.
Frecko invites him out for a spot of fishing, but he shakes his head and concentrates on his plans, and when his brothers return with a pike, he beckons them into the kitchen.
These last few days John has been quieter than usual, spent his time alone, thinking, rummaging in boxes, but now he picks up a beautiful black bound folder bearing the ominous words Bird Protection on Aspsk?r and places it on the table.
That evening, they form an association. John has no need to coax his brothers into it.
They each felt the same anxiety upon seeing the nests kicked to pieces.
Frecko collects all the photographs he took on the island, Harald reads up on legal matters and Gio, who has a way with words, writes to newspapers and meets with local leaders and politicians.
And each of them goes door to door with the folder that John compiled, showing the residents of Loviisa the islands of Aspsk?r and the beauty of its resident birds.
The campaign is a success. The fishermen find it within their hearts to protect the islands.
Their love of birds is all the greater because so many of them make a little money selling moonshine on the side.
In the dark hours of the night, Finnish and Estonian fishermen meet one another far out at sea, and boxes change hands.
The fishermen would be more than happy if the coastguard were to turn their attention from the bootleggers to the sawmills, from the factories to the hooligans and their rifles, and they sign the brothers’ petition without a moment’s hesitation.
The residents of Loviisa are amenable to their project and donate funds, but Harald has scrutinised the letter of the law, and he has bad news for his brothers.
The President can decide that any part of state land can be cordoned off and turned into a nature reserve to keep its flora and fauna untouched.
But Aspsk?r is not state land. The landowner could apply for permission to protect his own land too, but a private decision to protect the land needs the permission of the local governor, and it is widely known that the governor upon whose desk this application would arrive is a keen rambler and a fervent opponent of hunting restrictions.
Even if they could get Aspsk?r’s landowners to file this complex application, the chances of success would be vanishingly small.
The brothers listen to Harald’s explanation in a mood of resignation: not even the law can protect the birds.
In the evening, John gathers all the money they have collected.
He counts it up, does some quick calculations, and the following morning he calls his brothers into the kitchen.
The residents of Loviisa have donated a total of 4,445 marks towards the protection of the island.
It isn’t quite enough to purchase Aspsk?r outright, but it will be enough to rent it, then they can start protecting it themselves.
This means they will have to live on the island right through the long nesting season to protect the birds and their offspring.
When he realises this, Harald hesitates.
He has recently secured a job at a local printer with responsibility for their garden, where he has planted fruit trees and berry bushes alongside beautiful, delicate flowers that require his attention throughout the season.
He can’t spend all summer looking after the birds.
Frecko and Gio, however, are thrilled. They have grown up reading boys’ books full of stories of adventures and expeditions, and they are forever bemoaning the timid world into which they were born by a cruel turn of fate.
Now they can become heroes, defend the innocent inhabitants of the island against human evils!
Frecko and Gio’s excitement makes John laugh, and he promises to take care of Harald’s share of guard duty.