From a Bahamas beach brimming with swimming pigs to a Scottish cliffside crowded with puffins, these remote islands are home to unlikely animal residents – and quietly remarkable stories of survival, science, and serendipity.
In famed French novelist Jules Verne’s 1864 science-fiction novel, Journey to the Centre of the Earth, there’s a strange, subterranean sanctuary where prehistoric creatures – hidden from the prying eyes of humanity – continue their reign in relative peace. Aside from the fantastical element, it’s hard to imagine a real-world scenario where animals exist without any interference from people. Today, humans dominate much of the globe and have set up camp on every continent and across numerous widely scattered islands. Geographical isolation doesn’t always offer the protection to wildlife that it once did, as technological advances continue to open up paths to previously unreachable lands.
Despite this, however, there remain pockets where animals continue to flourish. Among them are several islands, which, through either planned introduction or natural conditions, have become unique (if sometimes controversial) habitats for certain species. Indigenous creatures are completely at home, while those introduced by human hands – often via colonialism or piracy, but occasionally for conservation or scientific purposes – have adapted to the environment in which they’ve involuntarily been placed. Some of the species in the latter category have become invasive, which has had a detrimental impact on local wildlife, though it’s worth remembering that there are other population explosions that have happened purely by chance.
Whatever the background, these unique places – from a Bahamas beach brimming with pigs to a Scottish cliffside crowded with puffins – are undeniably curious and quirky, perhaps even worthy of a science-fiction tale of their own.
1. The horses of Sable Island, Canada
Location: Nova Scotia, North Atlantic | Population: approximately 500–700 wild horses
Known for its wild landscape, Nova Scotia is a Canadian Maritime province that never ceases to enthral admirers. No humans, though, are as familiar with its ruggedness as the horses of Sable Island. This 40-kilometre-long and 1.3-kilometre-wide National Park Reserve in the North Atlantic, is occupied by windswept dunes, grassy verges, and approximately 500–700 horses, which, according to the island’s acting park ecologist Sarah Medill, have had a constant, if sometimes perilous, presence for centuries.
‘The Sable Island horses are believed to be descendants of animals introduced in the 1700s,’ says Sarah. ‘In the 1950s, the Canadian government planned to ship them to the mainland to work in coalmines or be killed for food or their hides. In 1961, a campaign to save the horses was successful after children across Canada sent drawings and letters to the government pleading for their protection.’
Today, says Sarah: ‘Parks Canada works with different research groups from government, academia, and environmental non-profit organisations to help monitor and understand the island’s ecological health. The opportunity to observe wild animals as they go about their natural lives is a privilege. But along with this opportunity comes the responsibility to treat the wild animals with the respect they deserve and need.’
2. The pigs of Big Major Cay, Bahamas
Location: The Exumas, Bahamas | Famous for: Swimming pigs that paddle out to greet tourist boats
The Exumas, a Bahaman archipelago of over 365 islands (also known as cays), renowned for its white-sand beaches and turquoise waters, is home to sea turtles, tropical fish, and reef sharks. Less expected, perhaps, is the sight of hungry pigs swimming from the beach of Big Major Cay towards tourist boats, their little legs paddling tirelessly, their snouts lifted in the air, grunting. Some say the pigs were left on the island by sailors in colonial times, or even pirates, who intended to come back and eat them but never did. Another theory suggests they were survivors of a centuries-old shipwreck, swimming to shore and settling beside land crabs, iguanas, and non-poisonous snakes, their numbers growing steadily over generations.
An alternative story goes that decades ago, when tourism to the Exumas was in its infancy, pig-breeding helped sustain the island’s community. The stench of domestic pens in the summer heat was so bad, however, that the hogs were moved to nearby Big Major Cay. And then there’s the claim by an American man that he brought the first pigs to the island with his business partner in the late 1990s, to ensure a food supply in case the feared Y2K computer meltdown became a reality.
In the past, the pigs were considered a tourist deterrent but now people come from far and wide to see them trot along the beach or wade into the ocean.
3. The monkeys of Cayo Santiago, Puerto Rico
Location: Off the coast of Puerto Rico | Population: over 1,600 rhesus macaques
Cayo Santiago, a small island off the coast of Puerto Rico, harbours upwards of 1,600 primates, descended from 409 rhesus macaque monkeys brought from India for scientific observation in the late 1930s. The colony is monitored by the Caribbean Primate Research Centre and the University of Puerto Rico Medical Sciences Campus, both of which leave the animals to form social groups, define territories, and roam freely across the 15-hectare private island. The researchers’ minimal intervention involves feeding and health checks. Otherwise, primatologists are there only to study and better understand the monkeys.
In 2017, Hurricane Maria caused widespread damage to Cayo Santiago, including to vast swathes of vegetation. It was believed the rhesus macaque population would be devastated by its effects. But nearly all of them weathered the storm and survived. Scientists later observed that the monkeys formed stronger bonds within their respective networks post-hurricane, demonstrating, perhaps, that there’s a lot that humans can learn from the inhabitants of animal-kingdom islands.
4. The cats of Aoshima, Japan
Location: Ehime Prefecture, Japan | Population: around 80 semi-feral cats (outnumbering humans)
Fans of felines might be thrilled to learn that there are around a dozen so-called “cat islands” off the coast of Japan. The most famous, Aoshima in Ehime Prefecture, gained its reputation when the local fishing village brought in cats to deal with a mouse problem on its boats. Suffice to say, it worked.
What remains today is a sizeable, semi-feral community of furry residents, estimated to be approximately 80. According to 2019 records, one thing is certain: cats outnumber humans. Fewer than five full-time residents live on the island, most of them elderly, and many have taken it upon themselves to care for the cats. A neutering program helps control breeding, and regular veterinary checks are in place to monitor the animals’ wellbeing.
In the absence of natural predators, the cats are free to saunter through the village and surrounding areas, taking over abandoned buildings and gathering at the docks, ready to welcome visitors.
5. The puffins of Lunga, Scotland
Location: Treshnish Isles, Argyll and Bute, Scotland | Population: around 5,000 breeding pairs of puffins
Nova Scotia might be Latin for ‘New Scotland’, but Scotland itself boasts an animal isle of its own – one that’s especially popular with seabirds. Lunga belongs to the Treshnish Isles in Argyll and Bute, where significant colonies of guillemots, razorbills, Manx shearwaters, and storm petrels soar above the wave-battered cliffs. It’s here, too, that one of the most beloved seabirds – the puffin – nests in burrows and raises its chicks from May to August.
Ian Boyd of the Hebridean Trust, which cares for the Treshnish Isles, says: ‘There are about 5,000 breeding pairs of puffins on Lunga. The numbers vary between years but have increased gradually over time. Each pair produces a single chick each year if they can, which fledge between late July and August. Like many other seabirds, puffins live for a long time. Some on Lunga are likely to be over 50 years old.’
In what could be a rare example of tourism helping rather than hindering wildlife, Ian says there’s a theory that visitors might keep black-backed gulls from preying on the young puffins, though this hasn’t yet been proven. The puffins, which appear outwardly unperturbed by human visitors, are still at risk from those exploring. ‘Whether we like it or not,’ Ian says, ‘the biggest threat is the visitors, who are most likely to transport alien species and cause habitat degradation… Problems can happen if humans cause the puffins’ burrows to collapse by standing on them, but, on Lunga, people and puffins seem to have found a balance, at least for now.’
