Westpoint and New Island
Land ho! From a distance the islands appeared as a dark silhouette in a hazy blue sky. The sea became crumpled silver foil in the ever brightening light and where our shadow fell upon it, the waters seemed coal black. The wind squeezed through the “Woolly Gut”, whistling in the rigging and setting the fabric flags to wildly flapping. It snatched the tops of the waves and stretched them into misty strips. The low angled sun painted only the cliffs of Westpoint Island and it became our whole focus momentarily. But only briefly did we scan the ledges littered with albatross nests. They would have to wait until the mammalian escort left our bow. Pushed along by our pressure wave, Peale’s dolphins leapt, occasionally turning sideways to peer with one eye at the many looking from above.
The odor of coconut lotion reached our nostrils even before our feet touched the soil of Carcass Island. It strengthened as we wandered down the lane and through the fields for the gorse was in full bloom. Its abundant yellow blossoms invited all to pause, to investigate this strange odiferous display. But danger lurked beneath for this dense green shrub bears a multitude of nasty thorns. If one looked upon the island as through a picture frame, it would seem a puzzle of confusion. A tidy cottage nested within a grove of cypress trees, protected from the winds that rushed across the bay. Clusters of tall cabbage palms took one’s mind to more temperate climes. But the reality existed upon the hillsides where diddle-dee and pig vine hugged the ground trying to hide delicate white scurvy grass blooms. Tall tussac grass waved at the end of the cove and from a tiny islet. And the birds sang everywhere! “Johnny Rook” (or striated caracarapracticed his thievery in the yard, on the heath and along the shore. A smattering of Magellanic penguins sat beside their burrows or stood on rocky ledges accompanied by a plethora of geese and goslings.
The winds continued to churn the seas where albatross soared. The occasional wave broke upon the bow sending cascades of salt spray across the deck. High cirrus clouds gave way to an overcast sky as we tucked ourselves into the harbour on the east side of New Island. Here it was calm and quiet but the sea lashed against the precipitous cliffs on the western edge and it was at the very top that a diverse community existed. Black-browed albatross settled into clay chimney-pot like nests, rising occasionally to stretch their wings or perform an intricate courtship display. Their neighbors, imperial shags, yellow caruncles perched upon their beaks like spectacles for their blue-rimmed eyes, lived in grass houses that seemed to be permanently under construction. Between them all small but feisty rockhopper penguins sat in simple scrapes cradling two precious eggs against their chests. Like voyeurs we viewed their most intimate moments before streaming downhill to our own floating abode filled with images of the Falkland Islands.
Land ho! From a distance the islands appeared as a dark silhouette in a hazy blue sky. The sea became crumpled silver foil in the ever brightening light and where our shadow fell upon it, the waters seemed coal black. The wind squeezed through the “Woolly Gut”, whistling in the rigging and setting the fabric flags to wildly flapping. It snatched the tops of the waves and stretched them into misty strips. The low angled sun painted only the cliffs of Westpoint Island and it became our whole focus momentarily. But only briefly did we scan the ledges littered with albatross nests. They would have to wait until the mammalian escort left our bow. Pushed along by our pressure wave, Peale’s dolphins leapt, occasionally turning sideways to peer with one eye at the many looking from above.
The odor of coconut lotion reached our nostrils even before our feet touched the soil of Carcass Island. It strengthened as we wandered down the lane and through the fields for the gorse was in full bloom. Its abundant yellow blossoms invited all to pause, to investigate this strange odiferous display. But danger lurked beneath for this dense green shrub bears a multitude of nasty thorns. If one looked upon the island as through a picture frame, it would seem a puzzle of confusion. A tidy cottage nested within a grove of cypress trees, protected from the winds that rushed across the bay. Clusters of tall cabbage palms took one’s mind to more temperate climes. But the reality existed upon the hillsides where diddle-dee and pig vine hugged the ground trying to hide delicate white scurvy grass blooms. Tall tussac grass waved at the end of the cove and from a tiny islet. And the birds sang everywhere! “Johnny Rook” (or striated caracarapracticed his thievery in the yard, on the heath and along the shore. A smattering of Magellanic penguins sat beside their burrows or stood on rocky ledges accompanied by a plethora of geese and goslings.
The winds continued to churn the seas where albatross soared. The occasional wave broke upon the bow sending cascades of salt spray across the deck. High cirrus clouds gave way to an overcast sky as we tucked ourselves into the harbour on the east side of New Island. Here it was calm and quiet but the sea lashed against the precipitous cliffs on the western edge and it was at the very top that a diverse community existed. Black-browed albatross settled into clay chimney-pot like nests, rising occasionally to stretch their wings or perform an intricate courtship display. Their neighbors, imperial shags, yellow caruncles perched upon their beaks like spectacles for their blue-rimmed eyes, lived in grass houses that seemed to be permanently under construction. Between them all small but feisty rockhopper penguins sat in simple scrapes cradling two precious eggs against their chests. Like voyeurs we viewed their most intimate moments before streaming downhill to our own floating abode filled with images of the Falkland Islands.
