Falkland Islands – The First Week

Blogging is actually even harder than I thought it would be in the Falklands. I knew internet connection would be poor but it’s actually the amount of time I have (or don’t have to be precise) which is hindering my blogging. I would love to have put up a post every day but each one is so full and I go to bed so tired that I just don’t have the time or reserves of energy. Anyway, I’ve decided to blog properly when I get home but thought I would provide a couple (or so) of updates before I have to leave the islands.

Since arriving last Tuesday afternoon the days have been hectic and I have so far stayed in five different places; Darwin, Pebble Island, Carcass Island and Saunders Island. I’m now on Bleaker Island to the south east of the archipelago. Travelling has been interesting and exciting, with flights between places being on small, eight-seater Britton-Norman Islanders – the workhorse of the Falkland Island Government Air Service. These little planes give a very different perspective on the islands including just how big and rugged they are. I’ve also had a boat trip out to West Point Island which was very rough on the way out, making a few of the passengers just a little ill (not me of course!), but less so on the way back with the wind behind us and the waves actually overtaking the boat. We were joined and entertained by a couple of dolphins riding the bow wave.IMG_0598Each place I’ve stayed has provided something different, from the battlefields at Darwin and the memorials, war wreckage and old buildings at Pebble Island to the hill walking and elephant seals at Carcass Island and seabird cliffs, large sandy beaches and wind-formed rocky mountain tops of Saunders Island.

At each place, the wildlife has been spectacular but, so far, it is the outlying islands that have proven to be true natural havens with birdlife in abundance.  The mammals aren’t too bad either, with elephant seals, sea lions and Commerson’s dolphins all seen so far – and there may even be killer whales before I go home!

The weather so far has been well above expectations and certainly variable. With the exception of the last couple of days, the weather has been changeable in the extreme. On Carcass Island, I was taking shots of an almost tropical-like paradise one minute with snow coming down the next. On the same day, I was treated to near blizzard conditions but within a short period the sun came out burned it all off. Even the wind hasn’t been constantly strong and I’ve even experienced cloudless skies, which appear to be very rare in these parts.

The people I’ve met have made a real difference to my trip and everyone has a story to tell or an interest in asking about others. It’s certainly a small community down here with everyone knowing everyone else but there are also many people from overseas and I have already met Americans, Australians, Germans and Chileans.

That’s all for now!

The Falkland Islands: The Journey South

Well, that was a journey and a half!

Setting off from home on Sunday afternoon, I made my way down to RAF Brize Norton, getting stuck on the M6, as usual, but then after the M5 leg I drove through the beautiful autumn colours of the Cotswolds. My journey down was filled with paranoia about each step on the way to the Falklands and the many opportunities to be turned away at each step. On arrival at the air base I had to pass through the main gate security before I could access the terminal. This was the first nervous moment – would they let this usually very suspicious-looking person onto the site? It was first hurdle cleared (phew)!

On the base, I drove as slowly as possible, trying to look normal again but made it to the terminal okay and then waited for check-in to open – not as long as I was originally told. Would I pass this second hurdle? Yes, and they didn’t even check the weight of my carry-on luggage. I then had to drop off my car at the long stay car park and make it back to the terminal – no problems again. Then started the long wait until the flight; five hours in one of the most boring terminals in the world.

The long wait seemed to go much quicker than expected and eventually we were called through security and passport control – with the nowadays unusual ability to take a big bottle of water through. With military VIPs called through first, the rest of us were then boarded by row number and we walked out into the dark of the apron and onto one of the RAF’s new tanker aircraft – which also has over 200 seats. Just after 11:00pm, we were launched into the night, not to land until we had crossed the equator.

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After skirting the west coast of Africa, watching the stars above the Atlantic and seeing the sun rise (unfortunately I had a window seat on the wrong side) we landed on the volcanic island of Ascension, rumbling down the runway past dark hills of black and red. The island was surprisingly cool for this time of year, only 21 degrees at 8:00am. We had two hours to wait in ‘the cage’ – the fenced-in and mostly open air part of the terminal ‘air side’ of security. With a bit of moisture in the briskly blown air, most were probably keen for the two hours to move quickly, although a chance to stand after hours on the plane were very welcome.

An announcement was made that the weather over Mount Pleasant runway in the Falklands was causing dangerous ‘rotor’ winds and that it was too risky to land, so we were delayed by an hour. Eventually, we were called to board the plane, only to be told, once we had nicely settled in, that there would be a twenty-four hour delay at Ascension and we all had to get off again.

We trooped back to the cage and waited instruction – to be honest, they were very organised and in only about half an hour we were given room allocations in the transit camp accommodation and bussed across to the far side of the island. Travellers’ Hill is the main living area for the British military personnel on the island and there are rows of four-bed rooms set aside for just this eventuality. I was roomed with two soldiers and another civie. One of the soldiers wandered off with his unit, while the other dozed for most of the rest of the day, the other civie went to see some local colleagues, while I relaxed on the ‘veranda’ keeping out of the strong mid-Atlantic sun. I would have gone for a walk and seen how far I could get up the nearby tallest hill on the island – Green Mountain – but as this was ‘only’ a 24hr delay, our hold luggage was left on the plane and I wasn’t going to walk up there in the heat in the only clothes I had – pity really.

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After two meals in the Combined Mess and a spot of essential shopping, three of us went to the Naafi bar for the evening. With a nice pint of John’s Smiths costing £1.30 a pint, it seemed rude not to take full advantage, however, I regretted that somewhat when the alarm woke us all at 3:45am. Climbing onto the coach 15 minutes later, travelling back to the airbase and waiting in the cool morning air did wonders and by the time we took off at 7:35am I was feeling a little bit more human again.

There wasn’t an awful lot to see out of the window for the next eight hours but shortly before landing, we spotted land; the land I’d been wanting to see for over 20 years. We flew over the coast of East Falkland, passed Stanley and over the mountains of its western approaches. As we came into the airbase, you could sense the apprehension in the plane as we had been warned that the landing would be rough. In the end, either the pilot was very good or the conditions weren’t that bad.

As we stepped off the plane, the wind was significant but the most striking thing was the clear, bright blue sky and intense early afternoon sun. After queuing for immigration and customs (getting a Falklands stamp in my passport), I grabbed my luggage, saying goodbye to friends I’d made on the extended journey and made my way outside to start the next stage of my trip.

Being on the ground of these south Atlantic islands for the first time, seemed unreal, even more so in the strong glare of the late spring sun. The 51 hours it had taken to get from my home to touching down at Mount Pleasant Airbase were certainly the most eventful of my travels to date and will stick in my memory for a long time – maybe I should plan to take my next holiday in Ascension!

Nearly on my way…

Well, it’s nearly time to start out on a trip I have been dreaming of making for over 20 years.  I’m suffering from a mixture emotions – paranoia (that something will stop me from getting there), excitement (obviously) and slight dread (of spending 20 hours on a plane – I usually find short haul mind-numbingly boring!).

So, after a night and the best part of a day on a plane, stopping at Ascension Island and crossing the Equator for the first time in my life, I’ll be landing at Mount Pleasant air base. For the following 15 nights I’ll be spending time in Darwin settlement, Pebble Island, Carcass Island, Saunders Island, Bleaker Island, Sea Lion Island, before returning to the sprawling and hectic metropolis that is Port Stanley.

There will be a bit of military history, plenty of wildlife and, as I will be wandering around on my own for a bit, plenty of daft mumbling.

Bucket List Item No.1

If I was to write a proper bucket list (I’ve only half-heartedly done it so far), there would only ever be one thing at the top of it – visiting the Falkland Islands.

I can honestly say that from my mid-teens to my early twenties, I developed something close to an obsession with the place and I think it all started with a Channel 4 documentary series marking the 10th anniversary of the 1982 war. The war ended a month before my sixth birthday but despite my age at the time, I do remember some of the news commentary. I remember the TV images of the burning Sir Galahad and the radio bulletin announcing that white flags were flying over Stanley. Most of all, however, I remember the images of servicemen being carried on stretchers off a ship newly arrived back from the South Atlantic. As a young child those images particularly stuck in my mind and probably helped to spark my interest 10 years later.

Whilst I still have an interest in the war, particularly after reading so many books about it, the islands now hold another fascination for me – their natural environment and the wildlife they support. From the very different bird species, including loads of penguins, to the equally different sea mammals and the dramatic, windswept landscapes; the islands have a lot to offer someone interested in all things natural. IMG_4650 Well, although I only have a part written bucket list, I may as well start ticking things off and there’s nowhere better to start than right at the very top! So next Sunday I’m off to make a 22 year old dream come true – I have an RAF flight to catch!

I’m going to blog as much as I can while I’m down there, but will have to wait and see when it comes to getting internet connection.

Nature can stir the soul

Today, I made the first of my usual autumnal pilgrimages to the Wildfowl and Wetland Trust’s (WWT) Martin Mere reserve near Ormskirk, Lancashire. I have been there so many times that I have long lost count. I return there every year in late September or early October to witness what is, for me, a true wildlife spectacle to rival many better known natural sights.

As autumn begins to grow in its seasonal beauty, the winter visitors to our shores start to arrive. Amongst the many different species to spend the colder northern hemisphere months in the British Isles, there is one that really connects with me – the Pink-footed Goose.

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These smaller geese, more petite than their canada or greylag cousins, breed just below the arctic circle, in Iceland. Only a few weeks after hatching, the goslings follow their parents from their early homes and fly across the north Atlantic all the way to our small islands. Around 240,000 pink-feet winter here, usually spending much of their time on the east coast but they use Lancashire as a first major staging post, with many thousands resting there before heading on their way further east.

I find the sounds of these geese have a soul-splitting ability. A single calling pink-foot, perhaps the lead of a small skein flying over an otherwise silent salt marsh, ‘wink-wink, wink-wink, wink-wink’, seems to be one of the loneliest and wildly remote sounds of nature. It brings visions of the wide open valleys of Iceland, and of the long struggle between their birthplace and their wintering fields here in the UK. Counter to that is the combined stirring chorus of a many thousand strong flock taking to the air in a mass force of nature. This is an invigorating, breathtaking and heart-pounding moment, a wave of noise as the flock erupts from the ground, turning the immediate sky into a flickering darkness, then splitting to form swirling clouds of avian purpose.

Three springs ago, I made a trip to Iceland with the aim, amongst other things, to see the breeding grounds of the pink-feet. I had seen them so many times in the autumn and winter, in Lancashire and in Norfolk, that I felt a great need to see them at the other end of their journey, in their other home. Feeling particularly sentimental at the time, I wrote the following:

“We drive through the high mountain passes, with small villages and scattered farms. The tall rock faces supported by brown scrub and green pasture. Out onto the valley bottom, the river flattens its course and man-made obstructions claim some of the plain. Out of shelter in the vehicle, the wind whips past and roars through the valley. Rolling clouds of sand and dust maraud across the plain, making eyes dry and scratched.

This is where they are, in small groups and pairs, preparing to nest after the long struggle north. Their colour now matching the surrounding ground. They are quiet here, now only an occasional call; not the great waves of noise from their winter glories.

Not as imagined; they are not alone here, amongst the farmland, fences and roads. Not as wild as thought but still more wild than most. A sense of seeing their other home; their real home. A sense of seeing it all, from journey start and journey finish.”

Today, there were over 20,000 pinkies at Martin Mere, a true spectacular in both sight and sound. The WWT website for the reserve has a sunset video that gives something of the emotional experience – but you have to be there to really feel it.

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Hard work and dedication don’t guarantee happy endings…

A few posts ago, I was celebrating the fact that a chick from the first year I helped to protect the Glaslyn osprey nest (2012) had successfully returned to the UK for the first time. It was, for me, a reason to be very happy and proud that I had played a small part in helping this to happen – many others, and the osprey itself of course, can take much more credit!

However, this joy has now been tempered somewhat.

On one protection shift this year, I took along a friend, Jack (fellow wildlife enthusiast, womble tsar, long range cyclist, unstoppable camera-trapper and very poor whisky drinker), to show him what we do. He seemed to enjoy himself and hopefully will come along again next year.

Over the course of the summer, Jack got a job with the RSPB on their (now award-winning) Skydancer project doing the same role that the volunteers undertake at Glaslyn, but for hen harriers rather than ospreys. Based in the Forest of Bowland in north Lancashire, Jack spent many nights watching over a hen harrier nest from within a hide. Whilst there, Jack got some great views of wildlife in general as well as the hen harriers themselves. Unfortunately not all of the locals were friendly and many a night was spent fending off the unwanted advances of overly insistent midges (an experience I know all too well!).

In England, hen harriers are even rarer than their fish-eating cousin raptors and no pairs successfully bred in the country at all last year. So it was with some relief that three nests managed to fledge chicks this summer (two nests in Bowland and one in the Lakes). However, it was with great sadness and extreme anger that I heard today that two chicks from the Bowland nests have disappeared. They were fitted with trackers, which have both now fallen silent. The trackers are very reliable and it is highly unlikely that one of them, let alone both, will have failed whilst the birds were still alive. The most likely explanation is that both birds have been killed and probably at the hands of man. Whether this can be blamed on their nemesis, the gamekeeper, we may never know, but if I were a betting man…

It just goes to show that the collective will of many does not always overcome the selfishness of a few.  It also shows that the hard work of species protection teams is still of importance in the fight against our fellow humans who will not let a little thing like legal protection get in the way of their destructive hobbies.

IMG_6427.1 I don’t often see hen harriers (obviously, I suppose) but when I do, it’s usually pretty memorable.  No other sighting I’ve had, however, can beat seeing a male harrier mobbing a wolf; and I even got a snap! In the photo above, the wolf is in the centre, on the track, while the light-coloured spot above and to the left is the harrier (it is, honest – they were at least a mile away after all!)

An end to a warm autumn day

It certainly has been an unusual start to the season with the weather still in summer mode.  Many of the autumn signs are there, and have been for some time; the changing of the leaves, the darkening of the evenings and the cooling of the mornings.  Yet the days are warm and I’m still seeing the last few swallows and house martins around.

I went for another of my increasingly regular wanders around Wybunbury Moss a couple of days ago.  The wood at the edge of the Moss was quiet, with most of the summer migrants gone, and it took a took a lot longer to notice a good handful of birds amongst the trees or flying over.  There were roving mixed tit flocks passing from cover to cover, a sure sign that the breeding season is over, but I was also still seeing dragonflies over the open Moss – summer remains. The trees around the Moss are certainly changing colour; in fact one or two are almost bare already, while others seem to be in their high summer prime.

Wandering back to the open fields, I got a rarely seen view of a green woodpecker being chased by a sparrowhawk.  I hear woodpeckers at the Moss quite regularly but they are usually great spotted. I hear the greens only a couple of times a year and probably only see one once a year.  The woodpecker was yaffling away as is sprinted low across the Moss, while the hawk didn’t seem all that intent on catching its quarry, as it glided behind.  I’ve had some nice sights at the Moss over the last year or so but its often the case that you have to spend a lot of time at a location to get that kind of glimpse of wildlife.

As dusk started to fall and I walked up the slope towards the church tower, out of the bowl-like depression in which the Moss sits, I could feel the temperature increasing; there had certainly been a nip in the air open fields.  The bowl was acting as a sink, with the cooling air flowing downwards into the lower lying ground and what remained of the day’s warmth, was rising upwards with me.

Driving away, I got a glimpse of the sunset over Wybunbury, the church tower standing out in silhouette. The last of the sun’s rays were still warm but the air flowing in through the open car window was cooling by the minute. 2