The South Atlantic is notorious for its rough seas, so it is with some trepidation that we board a small, bright yellow fishing vessel to make the crossing from Carcass Island to West Point Island. The sky has turned an ominous grey and black, and we wonder if our trip will be canceled. It spits rain for a short time, then clears out as we clamber out of the Land Rover and climb on board.

The MV Condor, an old metal hulled fishing vessel, is under the command of Captain Mike and his wife, Jeannette, who will sail us over the seven miles that separate the two islands, through the open waters of the South Atlantic. All around us are penguins and cormorants, bobbing in the water, while southern giant petrels, albatross and various species of gulls and other seabirds soar above.

About an hour later we drop anchor in a small protected bay near the West Point Island settlement, a single house on the hill with outlying buildings. There are only two inhabitants, the island manager and his spouse.

The small garden around the settlement is filled with trees and a riot of flowers — yellow and white lupines, daisies, shrubs. There are also about 10 turkey vultures perched on the roof as we enter for a cup of tea and cookies before starting our explorations.  It looks a bit like a scene from Hitchcock’s “The Birds!”

West Point Island is not very large but there is an enormous amount to see. There are some 1,500 sheep on this 3,630-acre farm, although we see only a few as we make our way to see the wildlife. Originally known as Albatross Island, it has belonged to the same family since the 1860s.

Captain Mike drives us about 5 minutes up the hill to the western side of the island to Devil’s Nose Cliffs and, before leaving us, leads us through six-foot high tussac grass, on the edge of a cliff, to the colony of black-browed albatross for which West Point Island is famous. This species of albatross gets its name from the diagonal black line just above its eyes that looks like an eyebrow.  We can smell and hear the birds long before we see them. It is a cacophony of squeaks, pips, grunts as the albatross and the rockhoppers, which also nest here, go about their business.

Ahead of us, spread across a small valley in the cliff tops is a field of nests, round pots made of twigs and mud. Fluffy, gray albatross chicks sit in the nests. Some are being groomed by a parent, other waits for the return of an adult to forage for food inside the enormous orange beak.

The wind is blowing strongly as the birds wheel and soar, sometimes inches over our heads, before hovering as they land, tail feathers spread and splayed and webbed feet outstretched. The albatross build their nests on the top of the slope so that they can take off and land without too much difficulty. With a wingspan of seven feet, they need a lot of room to maneuver. Even so, the timing of the landing can sometimes be difficult with the albatross landing in the middle of a rockhopper creche or on top of another bird. Indignant squawking fills the air as the unexpected intruder is forced off.

Usually, the albatross is a silent bird, gliding right over your head, looking left or right for potential enemies, before heading out to sea. However, when two albatrosses greet each other, it is a different story. There is chattering and grunting, wheezing and clicking as they touch beaks, bobbing their heads left and right — sort of like the way the French kiss each other hello!

Rockhoppers also nest here, interspersed with the albatross. The penguin highway that they use to get to the water takes them up and down the steep cliff face, using only their sharp claws to hang on. The young rockhoppers, furry balls of dark brown, are clustered in creches, under the watchful eye of a few adults, while the parents are out fishing. There is a constant procession of them coming and going.

This large number of birds and chicks attracts the usual predators, the skuas, turkey vultures, and striated caracaras, which lurk around the edges of the colony, waiting for a sign of weakness from a chick or sick bird, to pounce down for a feast. One caracara takes a particular interest in our backpacks, pulling on the zipper to get inside until we shoo it away. They are particularly intelligent and savvy birds.

We sit amidst the tussac grass photographing the colony,  sometimes no more than a few feet from the birds. Several rockhoppers come up to see what we are doing. They are such inquisitive little guys, bouncing along, stealing a bit of nesting here, raising their beaks and calling into the air.  One pecks at our boots before looking up quizzically and heading back into the colony.

The albatross ignore us. They have no reason to fear humans and, as long as you don’t startle them, they show no signs of distress. Of course, should you annoy one, expect to have a stinky, sticky glob of saliva mixed with red algae and squid guts hurled your way. People who have been the victims of such an attack tell us that the smell is impossible to remove!

It is difficult to know where to photograph since there is always something going on.

We spend several hours photographing the birds and their various behavior. Meanwhile, dark clouds are gathering, and we see a squall dumping rain out to sea. There is nowhere to shelter except under the tussac as the wind-driven rain and hail pelts down on us. As is usually the case in the Falkland Islands, though, the storm passes quickly and the sun comes out.

It is time to start hiking back to the settlement. As we walk along the shoreline, giant rock formations appear, visible because it is low tide. We skirt the beach for several miles and then cut up through the tussac. It is a challenge to navigate your way through this thick, high grass, keeping an eye out for sleeping sea lions. At times we are forced to turn back and look for a less impenetrable route. Twice we fall into holes made by Magellanic penguins that sometimes dig their burrows in the tussac.  We see some song-birds including long-tailed meadowlarks, Black-chinned siskins, thrushes and grass wrens.

Finally, we reach the cove where the MV Condor is anchored. Bad news! The tide is exceptionally low, and the ship is stuck on a sandbar. There is nothing to do but wait. Tea and cookies pass the time. We also spend some time examining a shipwreck on the beach that is uncovered at low tide.

Finally, two hours later, the tide has risen enough to float the boat, and we can leave. As we sail past the western shore of West Falkland Island, we pass a gentoo penguin colony. There are hundreds of birds in the water, jumping, swimming, dolphining through the waves as they make their way back to shore. The water is a frothing frenzy as they turn and wheel.

As we make our way through the evening, a pair of Commerson’s dolphins, with their distinctive black and white coloring, accompany the boat, frolicking in the water, swimming under the bow and leaping into the air. 

Although the trepidation we felt in the morning has been unfounded when the Carcass Island settlement appears in the distance, we are more than ready for a glass of wine, a bowl of Roldin’s rich beef stew and cake drowning in double thick home-made cream.

 

Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2014-2017 Diana Russler