Ozzie too lost height and could see nothing save the cloud and rain, which had become constant. The light was fading fast. He had no option but to fly in the dark, using the sound of the sea as his only clue to his position in the airspace. He had been out over the sea for over ten hours now and he was exhausted, his gunshot wounds, small as they were,  ached. As the sea raged below him he became aware of an orange glow to his left. Changing direction he headed toward it and details began to emerge. It was a massive structure towering out of the sea, lit up by a flame and numerous lights. Before he knew it he was practically under it and had to work hard on tired wings to pull himself up towards the lights. It was noisy. It was mesmerising. In the squally rain the lights dazzled him, drawing him in.

Suddenly there were struts and metal girders in front of him. He desperately stalled to avoid a collision only to brush another metal girder and some cable with his wing. He lost all momentum and lift and groped for a stairway rail, slipping down it, wings flapping, unable to get a grip, before finally dropping onto the metal grilled stairs where he came to rest on a landing in an untidy, wet heap. Safety was an oil rig.

The offshore oil and gas industry operates many rigs across the North Sea. At night they are lit up with lights and burning gas flares. They attract birds migrating across the sea at night. Some birds take a welcome rest, others are killed crashing into the structure, or burnt in the gas flares.