En-Route to the Falklands

The sea is running 6-10 ft. now in a gentle swell. The First Officer estimated we'd had a force 7 wind last night, with 20-25 ft. seas. The kitchen staff duly wet down the table cloths to reduce slippage, are using their plastic china and do not set a place until you actually show up. The morning lecture was on "Ice," by Stefan Lundgren. It actually was a recounting of his 20+ years in the Arctic and Antarctic. He's a gifted photographer, with a dry sense of humor. Many of his pictures were from the book that he autographed for us. It was a great presentation.

We are about half way to the Falklands. The temperature is much milder than it has been.

Matt gave a lecture elaborating on the political history of the Falklands. Ownership has been disputed for centuries but never so dramatically as in 1982 when the Argentine Junta decided to take on Margaret Thatcher and got their collective butts kicked. Matt is a great speaker. He knows his stuff.

The seas calmed considerably during the afternoon and were quite comfortable by evening, 3-5 ft., wind 15-20Kt., temperature 45F. Sunset was at 2115 and was quite nice. We photographed it from the porthole. We were joined for dinner by Larry Prussin, a naturalist and (on other trips) an expedition leader. He told us about trips he's led to Papua New Guinea.

Tuesday, 26 January 1999, 1045 S51°47"; W61°16", temperature 51F.

Off New Island, in the Falklands, maneuvering to anchor. By 1130 we embarked the Zodiacs for an easy, calm landing at the tiny settlement. We opted for the short hike across the island to a rocky cliff that was home to a good-sized colony of Rockhopper penguins. These look a bit like the Macaroni, with a less elaborate crest. They were mingled with king shags (cormorants). Black-browed albatross soared overhead. Back at the landing beach, Paul bought a first-day cover as a souvenir. These islands, while greener than Antarctica, are quite bleak, wind swept with few bushes and no trees, except those planted by settlers for wind protection. It is very rocky.

There was no lunch, today. We were served a late tea, instead, while the ship repositioned herself off West Point Island where, at 1500 hours, we took the Zodiacs ashore for our only "dry" landing of the trip. The family that lives here and run 1050 head of sheep, have a concrete quay (covered in guano) on which we landed. The droppings from sheep, geese, cows and assorted birds prompted us to keep our boots on. We took Land Rovers driven by the island's owners-residents, Roddy and Lil Napier, to a pasture from where we hiked up a boggy hill to the rookery on the other side of the island and watched intermingled colonies of Shags, Albatross (black browed), Rockhopper penguins and various petrels. There is thick tussock grass growing in a soft, wet, peat bog. The penguin have found tunnels through the thick grass which grows up to our armpits in great clumps. Paul wandered out into the grass to get close to one rocky nesting site and found Rockhoppers underfoot.

We watched a parade of penguin coming up from the sea. When they saw us obstructing their path they ducked into tunnels between the grass clumps and reappeared 50 yards beyond on their favorite rock.

Everyone made an effort to photograph the Albatross in soaring flight. Their wingspan seemed in excess of 6-8 feet. It was difficult to do because they keep swerving to catch the wind and it is hard to maintain the focus.

The Napiers served tea in their home. There is a calendar on their wall listing all of the cruise ships that will call: Marco Polo, Discovery, Cal Star. . . We suspect that with, the current poor price for wool, catering to the tourists may be a major part of their income.

We sat at the hotel manager's table for dinner. His name is Robert Houston, and has been with various ships of Special Expeditions for a number of years. The Falkland's customs lady, Barbara, was aboard. She and the Napiers were at the captain's table. It was Customs Agent Barbara's birthday and the wait staff did their thing to everyone's delight. It is quite apparent that the ship's staff is quite skilled in stroking local egos and PR.

In the lounge after dinner and, we suppose, after a few drinks, Jim Kelley launched into a Highland Fling, barefoot, to recorded bagpipes and our rhythmic applause. He was the highlight of the evening's entertainment. Turns out he pulled something dancing the jig and limped about the ship for days afterward.

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