We wait and kick our heels but it's not all 'doom and gloom' at the Mad Ratters Tea Party, down here in South Georgia.
We always knew that for just one days baiting we might have to wait on average 4 days for the right weather, to safely operate the bait buckets and the helicopters.
The Mad Ratters hadn't baited for 10 days--- until yesterday! A weather window of opportunity opened up to the west in Possession bay and the team launched.
This time all 3 helicopters were available and 4 hours later an effective 12 hours worth of bucket baiting had been carried out.
This one afternoon brought our total score up to 48% of the rat-infested zones from the 42% we had been holding on to 10 days. 6% of the whole rat task in just one afternoon!
10 afternoons like that could have the mission complete! Just 5 full days with 3 serviceable helicopters we could nail the job. As little as that! It's worth the waiting.
It's not technology and specialist aviation that will save South Georgia from ecosystem collapse and 'ratmageddon'.
It's plain old patience!
Bear with us! Smoke us a kipper; we'll be home for breakfast.
Only just not tomorrow!
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Saturday 30 March 2013
Tuesday 26 March 2013
The Blue Bar
We are being held to ransom. Not by renegade seals but by the appalling weather!
We have been delayed for at least a week now, plans on hold, while the wind and clouds tease and taunt us. Sometimes we enjoy clear blue skies and calm air in the location where we are waiting but we have completed our task here and no further bait can be sown. 10 miles westward along the coast, on our next sector, the air is howling and bait flying is simply not possible. Other days it is clear in the new target areas (we have lads camping out as forward observers) but we are 'clagged in' at base by low, unyielding cloud.
Everyone is itching to get the job done; the longer we wait the closer real winter edges towards our insubstantial refuge on this unforgiving island.
Slack times mean non-essential tasks can be completed and then 'relaxation and escape areas' can be created. The 4 pilots and 2 engineers are 'housed' in the old radio shack of a disused whaling station. We now have a communal 'rest' area where the sorrows of frustration can be drowned and plans hatched and the world be generally put to rights.
In the middle of this small room is an old pine table that some previous temporary inhabitant of this arcane building has painted with bright blue gloss paint.
The Kiwi pilots have put a label up on the door to name this relaxation area:
"The Good Bastards Club (no tossers allowed)"
With the coloured table taking centre stage, it is known by the rest of the team as; "The Blue Bar".
Conversation in "The Blue Bar" is lively and colourful Kiwi metaphors abound.
When we discuss music and literature, the strange Island of South Georgia seems to take over our train of thought. We do not talk of Michelangelo but enthuse over the lyrics of Billy Bragg, the landscapes of South Georgia, like the 'dark side of the moon' and the links between Pink Floyd and the Wizard of Oz.
I also learn stuff about rats I never knew; that they can tread water for 2 days, climb vertical wires and compress their bodies so they can squeeze through holes the diameter of a UK pound coin.
From my 'pit space' (sleeping area) in the radio shack, I can see into The Blue Bar'. The quiet weather-strangled days have meant that personal supplies of 'medicinal tincture' have slowly migrated to the shelf above the blue table that acts as a bar.
Looking over from where I am typing, I can see on the shelf there are several bottles laid out neatly, just like in the bar of a friendly village pub.
In no order of preference I note:
Whisky:
Highland Park
Macallan Select
Jura 10 year old
Laphroaig Quarter Cask (48%)
Famous Grouse
Irish Whiskey:
Bushmills Original
Rum:
Havana Club
Cockspur Barbados
Captain Morgan Spiced
Gin
Gordon's London Dry Export (47.3%)
Bombay Sapphire
Others:
VSOP Brandy
Kahlua
Taylors Late Bottled Port 2005
Finlandia Vodka
Beer:
Bottles of Grolsch, St Miguel and Fullers IPA.
Tins of Guinness.
2 bottles of Merlot.
Tonic Water.
A container of fresh river water, (filtered for the removal of fly larvae and seal dung)
A Kiwi pilot enters the radio shack and heads towards "The Blue Room". He is an old hand, a veteran of the old venison flying days in New Zealand. He has many thousands of hours flying helicopters in the worst weather the New Zealand Mountains can throw at a helicopter pilot. He has survived all that. He runs his own helicopter company now but has chosen to spend some months in South Georgia on a bit of an adventure.
He had been tasked out in what seemed like a temporary calm 'weather window' this morning to fly some much needed supplies about 15 miles to 2 lads at one of the forward camps at Peggotty, on the South side of the Island.
Peggotty is a very windy spot. Shackleton, the intrepid explorer, chose to name the area after a Dickens fictional destitute family. We have renamed the area 'Purgatory'.
The pilot has just flown back to the base camp. He couldn't delivered the supplies.
He is shaking his head.
"I've just tried to land a helicopter at Purgatory, in the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. Not possible."
The Blue Bar is open.
,
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We have been delayed for at least a week now, plans on hold, while the wind and clouds tease and taunt us. Sometimes we enjoy clear blue skies and calm air in the location where we are waiting but we have completed our task here and no further bait can be sown. 10 miles westward along the coast, on our next sector, the air is howling and bait flying is simply not possible. Other days it is clear in the new target areas (we have lads camping out as forward observers) but we are 'clagged in' at base by low, unyielding cloud.
Everyone is itching to get the job done; the longer we wait the closer real winter edges towards our insubstantial refuge on this unforgiving island.
Slack times mean non-essential tasks can be completed and then 'relaxation and escape areas' can be created. The 4 pilots and 2 engineers are 'housed' in the old radio shack of a disused whaling station. We now have a communal 'rest' area where the sorrows of frustration can be drowned and plans hatched and the world be generally put to rights.
In the middle of this small room is an old pine table that some previous temporary inhabitant of this arcane building has painted with bright blue gloss paint.
The Kiwi pilots have put a label up on the door to name this relaxation area:
"The Good Bastards Club (no tossers allowed)"
With the coloured table taking centre stage, it is known by the rest of the team as; "The Blue Bar".
Conversation in "The Blue Bar" is lively and colourful Kiwi metaphors abound.
When we discuss music and literature, the strange Island of South Georgia seems to take over our train of thought. We do not talk of Michelangelo but enthuse over the lyrics of Billy Bragg, the landscapes of South Georgia, like the 'dark side of the moon' and the links between Pink Floyd and the Wizard of Oz.
I also learn stuff about rats I never knew; that they can tread water for 2 days, climb vertical wires and compress their bodies so they can squeeze through holes the diameter of a UK pound coin.
From my 'pit space' (sleeping area) in the radio shack, I can see into The Blue Bar'. The quiet weather-strangled days have meant that personal supplies of 'medicinal tincture' have slowly migrated to the shelf above the blue table that acts as a bar.
Looking over from where I am typing, I can see on the shelf there are several bottles laid out neatly, just like in the bar of a friendly village pub.
In no order of preference I note:
Whisky:
Highland Park
Macallan Select
Jura 10 year old
Laphroaig Quarter Cask (48%)
Famous Grouse
Irish Whiskey:
Bushmills Original
Rum:
Havana Club
Cockspur Barbados
Captain Morgan Spiced
Gin
Gordon's London Dry Export (47.3%)
Bombay Sapphire
Others:
VSOP Brandy
Kahlua
Taylors Late Bottled Port 2005
Finlandia Vodka
Beer:
Bottles of Grolsch, St Miguel and Fullers IPA.
Tins of Guinness.
2 bottles of Merlot.
Tonic Water.
A container of fresh river water, (filtered for the removal of fly larvae and seal dung)
A Kiwi pilot enters the radio shack and heads towards "The Blue Room". He is an old hand, a veteran of the old venison flying days in New Zealand. He has many thousands of hours flying helicopters in the worst weather the New Zealand Mountains can throw at a helicopter pilot. He has survived all that. He runs his own helicopter company now but has chosen to spend some months in South Georgia on a bit of an adventure.
He had been tasked out in what seemed like a temporary calm 'weather window' this morning to fly some much needed supplies about 15 miles to 2 lads at one of the forward camps at Peggotty, on the South side of the Island.
Peggotty is a very windy spot. Shackleton, the intrepid explorer, chose to name the area after a Dickens fictional destitute family. We have renamed the area 'Purgatory'.
The pilot has just flown back to the base camp. He couldn't delivered the supplies.
He is shaking his head.
"I've just tried to land a helicopter at Purgatory, in the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. Not possible."
The Blue Bar is open.
,
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Friday 22 March 2013
Restaurant at The End of The World
Driving winds have prevented the mad Antarctic ratters from baiting for several days. The radical conservation, toxic warriors have been kept on the ground by the atmosphere that just seems to hurtle round relentlessly in these latitudes. The cloud base has been fine but the unpredictable 40kt gusts and vicious downdraughts, lurking in the generally manageable 20-25 winds, make flying with the heavy bait buckets simply too much of a liability.
We sit and plan. We also take the opportunity to walk and enjoy the stunning scenery all around us; steep alpine-like peaks running straight down to the sea, vast glacier heads, their blue grey ice fracturing into the sea in colossal blocks.
We also eat.
But not camping food as you might imagine it. For a start, simply for the views from the window alone, the old abandoned whaling station room we are using as a dining area, must rate at least one Michelin Star, in my opinion. Now add our brigade of 3 chefs experienced in the rigours of Antarctic life. Their artistry, skill and imagination all add up to producing some of the most memorable meals I have eaten while 'roughing it'. We are temporally living in a land that is completely uncompromising in regard to safety and rescue but we eat in a 'restaurant at the end of the world'. We enjoy views that few have experienced while savouring high quality food.
Home made, roasted granola at breakfast. Freshly made and baked New York bagels at coffee break. A daube of mutton with puy lentils at lunch. Venison fillet carpaccio with capers and shaved parmesan followed by the rare roast loin with redcurrant jelly, at dinner.
Oh and did I mention the sunrises? Every day a different Technicolor extravaganza as we enjoy our fresh ground coffee, looking out over the bay and headland from our unique 'restaurant', the fur seals, elephant seals, skuas, petrels, king penguins, and gentoo penguins gathered before us on the beach 100 yards away.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We sit and plan. We also take the opportunity to walk and enjoy the stunning scenery all around us; steep alpine-like peaks running straight down to the sea, vast glacier heads, their blue grey ice fracturing into the sea in colossal blocks.
We also eat.
But not camping food as you might imagine it. For a start, simply for the views from the window alone, the old abandoned whaling station room we are using as a dining area, must rate at least one Michelin Star, in my opinion. Now add our brigade of 3 chefs experienced in the rigours of Antarctic life. Their artistry, skill and imagination all add up to producing some of the most memorable meals I have eaten while 'roughing it'. We are temporally living in a land that is completely uncompromising in regard to safety and rescue but we eat in a 'restaurant at the end of the world'. We enjoy views that few have experienced while savouring high quality food.
Home made, roasted granola at breakfast. Freshly made and baked New York bagels at coffee break. A daube of mutton with puy lentils at lunch. Venison fillet carpaccio with capers and shaved parmesan followed by the rare roast loin with redcurrant jelly, at dinner.
Oh and did I mention the sunrises? Every day a different Technicolor extravaganza as we enjoy our fresh ground coffee, looking out over the bay and headland from our unique 'restaurant', the fur seals, elephant seals, skuas, petrels, king penguins, and gentoo penguins gathered before us on the beach 100 yards away.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Tuesday 19 March 2013
King of an Ice Crystal Castle.
I was busy yesterday hauling loads of bait to the Kiwis working hard in an adjoining baiting area. I found myself in the most unusual spot I've ever been in a helicopter. I thought; 'I wonder what anyone back home would think of this?'
The bait layers were short of bait from an earlier depot we had underslung off the research vessel, the Ernest Shackleton, last month. (In 8 days of flying we had shifted 700 heavy loads of fuel drums and bait, between 3 pilots.)
They had called for an extra 'pod' of bait. So I'm in a 40-year-old BO105, an ex-air ambulance, with a 500kg bait pod slung on a 40ft strop. My door is removed, it's freezing cold but I need to get my head right out of the door, shoulder harness off, to look down to 'long line' the load visually and accurately to the waiting baiting crew.
They are 10 miles away over the massive Fortuna Glacier. I'm climbing 2000ft out of a sea level bait dump in the Fortuna basin, bound for Antarctic bay, over a 5-mile wide glacier and snowfield. I'm flying at 60 mph with a heavy 500kg load. Somewhere beneath me on this featureless desert of ice are the remains of 2 Wessex helicopters from '82 conflict. The expansive snow panorama, stretching 5 miles in any direction, is brilliant white in the sun and there are jagged peaks menacing to the south of me, about 2000ft higher. (It is 'safer' for us to fly overland, over the glaciers, than round the steeply sided coast, over a freezing cold sea.)
I am many miles from the nearest person, alone on top of a frozen world it seems, in my little Bolkow helicopter. The world is my frozen oyster. I am king of an ice crystal castle.
I drop down about 500ft over the curving snow dome then almost autorotate, gliding down 1500ft of steep jagged cliff to get to the crew waiting on the beach below.
The Kiwi agricultural pilots are tireless and skilful work horses, flying up to 8 hours in a day, when the weather allows, on GPS/computer guided 'baiting lines', to an accuracy of 5-10 meters horizontally.
I get to do all the other flying, the 'utility' work, which suits me.
Mark and Paul, our Team Rat helicopter engineers, are doing an excellent job keeping the aircraft serviceable. The British Antarctic Survey team, the Government staff and the fine gang of builders (Peckers Antarctic Services) presently at King Edward Point have also been very helpful to our 2 engineers whenever we have had to 'drop in' for essential helicopter maintenance. Their help is much appreciated.
We are more than half way through the areas allocated for this season but now the weather is getting poorer as we move towards the winter months down here. 70kt horizontal snow is not fun! Buried us for two days last week. I'm amazed how the choppers are coping with the elements, parked out, just blades tied down and covers on.
This veteran just hopes he can keep coping with the weather as well as those vintage helicopters can!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
The bait layers were short of bait from an earlier depot we had underslung off the research vessel, the Ernest Shackleton, last month. (In 8 days of flying we had shifted 700 heavy loads of fuel drums and bait, between 3 pilots.)
They had called for an extra 'pod' of bait. So I'm in a 40-year-old BO105, an ex-air ambulance, with a 500kg bait pod slung on a 40ft strop. My door is removed, it's freezing cold but I need to get my head right out of the door, shoulder harness off, to look down to 'long line' the load visually and accurately to the waiting baiting crew.
They are 10 miles away over the massive Fortuna Glacier. I'm climbing 2000ft out of a sea level bait dump in the Fortuna basin, bound for Antarctic bay, over a 5-mile wide glacier and snowfield. I'm flying at 60 mph with a heavy 500kg load. Somewhere beneath me on this featureless desert of ice are the remains of 2 Wessex helicopters from '82 conflict. The expansive snow panorama, stretching 5 miles in any direction, is brilliant white in the sun and there are jagged peaks menacing to the south of me, about 2000ft higher. (It is 'safer' for us to fly overland, over the glaciers, than round the steeply sided coast, over a freezing cold sea.)
I am many miles from the nearest person, alone on top of a frozen world it seems, in my little Bolkow helicopter. The world is my frozen oyster. I am king of an ice crystal castle.
I drop down about 500ft over the curving snow dome then almost autorotate, gliding down 1500ft of steep jagged cliff to get to the crew waiting on the beach below.
The Kiwi agricultural pilots are tireless and skilful work horses, flying up to 8 hours in a day, when the weather allows, on GPS/computer guided 'baiting lines', to an accuracy of 5-10 meters horizontally.
I get to do all the other flying, the 'utility' work, which suits me.
Mark and Paul, our Team Rat helicopter engineers, are doing an excellent job keeping the aircraft serviceable. The British Antarctic Survey team, the Government staff and the fine gang of builders (Peckers Antarctic Services) presently at King Edward Point have also been very helpful to our 2 engineers whenever we have had to 'drop in' for essential helicopter maintenance. Their help is much appreciated.
We are more than half way through the areas allocated for this season but now the weather is getting poorer as we move towards the winter months down here. 70kt horizontal snow is not fun! Buried us for two days last week. I'm amazed how the choppers are coping with the elements, parked out, just blades tied down and covers on.
This veteran just hopes he can keep coping with the weather as well as those vintage helicopters can!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Saturday 16 March 2013
Poetry on steroids
As we move the camp further away from the 'seat of civilisation' on South Georgia (King Edward Point, population 10) the land gets divided by more and more glaciers, increasingly steep fiord-like bays and generally inhospitable and extreme terrain.
We hope for the best (task completion without incident) but we plan and practice for the worse case, an aircraft incident. I am pleased to say that our team doctors are 2 of the most knowledgeable and skilled rescue medics that I have had the pleasure of meeting. Dr 'No Problem" Jamie and Dr 'Mountain Queen' Deirdre are both experts in difficult terrain rescue and remote medicine. I feel very heartened that they are an integral part of our 'mad ratters tea party' in this wild land.
Most resourcefully the 2 doctors have doctored our simple, basic aircraft 'first aid' kits. These are normally plastic boxes like you might buy at a garage, containing a few bandages, plasters and pins. They are fitted to an aircraft simply as a legal requirement. The doctors have waved a medical wand over these boxes, transforming them into first aid kits 'on steroids' Now at least if we have to wait a day or two to be picked up we can wait with arterial bleed staunched and pain and infection free.
I am working with a group of wild Antarctic style experts and skilled aircraft engineers on an Island that itself is 'on steroids'. Weather that is hopelessly unpredictable, wild cliffs and mountains rising straight out of the sea. Skies of complex, unbelievable patterns; clouds like anesthetised patients, flopped on a table.
Charles Dickens wrote when he visited the magnificent Glencoe in Scotland that it was akin to stepping into 'the height and madness of fever'. I can tell you with that thought in mind that being in South Georgia is like visiting a whole kingdom of Glencoes at once.
We linger on the fringes of this Kingdom by the edge of the cold sea. The seals are like mermaids, wreathed with seaweed red and brown and the wind blows the water white and black.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We hope for the best (task completion without incident) but we plan and practice for the worse case, an aircraft incident. I am pleased to say that our team doctors are 2 of the most knowledgeable and skilled rescue medics that I have had the pleasure of meeting. Dr 'No Problem" Jamie and Dr 'Mountain Queen' Deirdre are both experts in difficult terrain rescue and remote medicine. I feel very heartened that they are an integral part of our 'mad ratters tea party' in this wild land.
Most resourcefully the 2 doctors have doctored our simple, basic aircraft 'first aid' kits. These are normally plastic boxes like you might buy at a garage, containing a few bandages, plasters and pins. They are fitted to an aircraft simply as a legal requirement. The doctors have waved a medical wand over these boxes, transforming them into first aid kits 'on steroids' Now at least if we have to wait a day or two to be picked up we can wait with arterial bleed staunched and pain and infection free.
I am working with a group of wild Antarctic style experts and skilled aircraft engineers on an Island that itself is 'on steroids'. Weather that is hopelessly unpredictable, wild cliffs and mountains rising straight out of the sea. Skies of complex, unbelievable patterns; clouds like anesthetised patients, flopped on a table.
Charles Dickens wrote when he visited the magnificent Glencoe in Scotland that it was akin to stepping into 'the height and madness of fever'. I can tell you with that thought in mind that being in South Georgia is like visiting a whole kingdom of Glencoes at once.
We linger on the fringes of this Kingdom by the edge of the cold sea. The seals are like mermaids, wreathed with seaweed red and brown and the wind blows the water white and black.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Monday 11 March 2013
A little taste of things to come.
Mon 11th March
Yesterday, I sat on a rocky outcrop 400ft above a tranquil inlet called Jason Harbour. I over looked the beautiful Cumberland Bay, on the northern side of South Georgia.
I had flown over from our base at Husvik, the old whaling station, to clear up empty fuel drums from a depot site where we had deposited bait pods in the environmental plan to rid South Georgia of its alien rat parasites. 'Wiz' our environmental officer came along to supervise.
At Husvik there had been a few flurries of snow off the mountain top, 2 miles to the south of us, the enigmatically named 'Foxtail Peak' (There are no foxes in South Georgia. There are no indigenous land mammals at all)
In Jason Harbour, a little over 5 miles away eastwards and a mountain pass away from Husvik, the sun shone. There was little wind and the two of us soon had the area cleared. We stood for a while enjoying the solitude, majestic mountain ranges, warm sunshine and the deep blue sea of the Bay.
We flew back to Husvik, a five-minute trip, passing by Diamond Peak; I could almost imagine the sunshine glinting of the scattered jewels of this Treasure Island.
Today I woke to a different scene. A bleak, white realm of suffering.
During the night the fickle spirits of South Georgia changed the tune they had been playing yesterday on that glorious afternoon. No longer a classic "Lazy Sunday Afternoon" it was now a seriously modified "Ride of the Valkyries"
The weather in just a few hours had swung from peaceful pop to full blown pomp. Horizontal, 60mph snow right down to sea level. Serious weather.
From a heavenly life on Sunday to a living hell on Monday.
We hunker down and wait for a break.
The new seal pups, on the beach a few metres from our camp, love the snow. They make slides, like children experiencing snow for the first time and slip and slide into the sea. The skuas open their wings and simply jump upwards to fly backwards across the icy white beach, gliding in reverse through the horizontal blizzard.
Our helicopters stay on the ground however, securely tied down. The snow builds up on our tents and the old whaling station out buildings and outlines slowly blur as the drifts of thick snow build up covering tents, helicopters and sides of buildings.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Yesterday, I sat on a rocky outcrop 400ft above a tranquil inlet called Jason Harbour. I over looked the beautiful Cumberland Bay, on the northern side of South Georgia.
I had flown over from our base at Husvik, the old whaling station, to clear up empty fuel drums from a depot site where we had deposited bait pods in the environmental plan to rid South Georgia of its alien rat parasites. 'Wiz' our environmental officer came along to supervise.
At Husvik there had been a few flurries of snow off the mountain top, 2 miles to the south of us, the enigmatically named 'Foxtail Peak' (There are no foxes in South Georgia. There are no indigenous land mammals at all)
In Jason Harbour, a little over 5 miles away eastwards and a mountain pass away from Husvik, the sun shone. There was little wind and the two of us soon had the area cleared. We stood for a while enjoying the solitude, majestic mountain ranges, warm sunshine and the deep blue sea of the Bay.
We flew back to Husvik, a five-minute trip, passing by Diamond Peak; I could almost imagine the sunshine glinting of the scattered jewels of this Treasure Island.
Today I woke to a different scene. A bleak, white realm of suffering.
During the night the fickle spirits of South Georgia changed the tune they had been playing yesterday on that glorious afternoon. No longer a classic "Lazy Sunday Afternoon" it was now a seriously modified "Ride of the Valkyries"
The weather in just a few hours had swung from peaceful pop to full blown pomp. Horizontal, 60mph snow right down to sea level. Serious weather.
From a heavenly life on Sunday to a living hell on Monday.
We hunker down and wait for a break.
The new seal pups, on the beach a few metres from our camp, love the snow. They make slides, like children experiencing snow for the first time and slip and slide into the sea. The skuas open their wings and simply jump upwards to fly backwards across the icy white beach, gliding in reverse through the horizontal blizzard.
Our helicopters stay on the ground however, securely tied down. The snow builds up on our tents and the old whaling station out buildings and outlines slowly blur as the drifts of thick snow build up covering tents, helicopters and sides of buildings.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Friday 8 March 2013
Weather whinge
Rain. Cold. Miserable. Mist. Wet.
After several days of relatively clear weather and light winds that enabled us to make great baiting progress across 2 large areas of South Georgia, we are now enduring days of torrential rain and low cloud. (Just like the UK, I imagine!) Only down here it is now only just above freezing and the incessant deluge is a relentless drain on our high spirits. We huddle together like the penguins on beaches. We are slightly more protected in the relative warmth of the disused whaling station manager's villa, waiting for a break in the mist.
In this weather even the fur seals seem to spend more time in the sea than basking on the land.
Antarctic fur seals. They are social animals especially the puppies. Playing and cavorting in the water and very agile on the land, considering that they have flippers, in some spots we have even seen them over a mile from the beaches, 400-500 ft. up in the hills.
Another 'animal of the moment' for me here at Husvik camp is the Brown Skua. This is a bird about the size of a very large chicken but shaped like a sea gull (also with very ugly webbed feet) There is a very tame and fearless pair keeping station around our camp, they fly gracefully down then waddle right up to our feet, looking for morsels. These birds predate and scavenge like crows but have the most gorgeous plumage, reminiscent of golden eagles. Altogether an ugly yet beautiful creature, entirely in keeping with the bird
Finally (on a lighter note!) my other favourite, of which I have only seen a few, is the 'Sea Swallow' or Wilson's Storm Petrel. For all the world in size and look like a swallow or swift back home, they dart and hover, dancing across the waves. They all migrate to the North Atlantic in April away from the cold Antarctic winter.
Hopefully the rain will stop and we too will get our job done here in the next couple of months and we can then migrate North again!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
After several days of relatively clear weather and light winds that enabled us to make great baiting progress across 2 large areas of South Georgia, we are now enduring days of torrential rain and low cloud. (Just like the UK, I imagine!) Only down here it is now only just above freezing and the incessant deluge is a relentless drain on our high spirits. We huddle together like the penguins on beaches. We are slightly more protected in the relative warmth of the disused whaling station manager's villa, waiting for a break in the mist.
In this weather even the fur seals seem to spend more time in the sea than basking on the land.
Antarctic fur seals. They are social animals especially the puppies. Playing and cavorting in the water and very agile on the land, considering that they have flippers, in some spots we have even seen them over a mile from the beaches, 400-500 ft. up in the hills.
Another 'animal of the moment' for me here at Husvik camp is the Brown Skua. This is a bird about the size of a very large chicken but shaped like a sea gull (also with very ugly webbed feet) There is a very tame and fearless pair keeping station around our camp, they fly gracefully down then waddle right up to our feet, looking for morsels. These birds predate and scavenge like crows but have the most gorgeous plumage, reminiscent of golden eagles. Altogether an ugly yet beautiful creature, entirely in keeping with the bird
Finally (on a lighter note!) my other favourite, of which I have only seen a few, is the 'Sea Swallow' or Wilson's Storm Petrel. For all the world in size and look like a swallow or swift back home, they dart and hover, dancing across the waves. They all migrate to the North Atlantic in April away from the cold Antarctic winter.
Hopefully the rain will stop and we too will get our job done here in the next couple of months and we can then migrate North again!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Wednesday 6 March 2013
Rock around the Block
Early morning 6th March, a dense layer of fog hangs just above the surface all around our camp in Stromness Bay on the North side of South Georgia.
At last I have time to catch up here on the keyboard while the helicopters are grounded by the weather.
The final move from our support ship was a whirling flurry of netted loads and containers filled with everything to sustain our team to the middle of June. We are now settled around a sort of halfway house to our fully tented base.
A disused wooden house from the whaling era is acting as our HQ and affording a fair amount of shelter.
The bait-loading experts, led by Nick have been setting out their delivery systems. The GPS wizard; Dave has been feverishly programming and calibrating the aircraft digital equipment. The new Zealand pilots, Peter and Dave, seasoned agricultural application operators, have been 'flying the block'; the boundaries of the grounds to be covered; the coastal, vegetated inland strip and the higher rocky hills and crags, in order to set up the digitally mapped areas to be baited. It is all-skilled, exacting work necessary to get this environmental job done accurately and successfully.
I'm the transport pilot now; loads that need shifting, crew to baiting sites, the odd trip to King Edward Point for our 'management to liaise with the SG Government reps. If someone gets 'crook' I might be given some training time with the baiting buckets and GPS logging system but even I realise it's a real art form requiring a good year of flying practice to produce the required accuracy and economy with the bait!
Meanwhile I've also been helping out transporting ground baiting teams to the disused whaling stations that need bait inserted into buildings dangerously contaminated with asbestos. The roofs of these old buildings prevents the bait, falling from our aerial applications, getting to potential dark, warm rat nesting areas
At Stromness Whaling Station, (the point of civilisation that Shackleton staggered into after his epic journey) we march around deserted, uniformly rust coloured sheds and machine works. We are dressed in protective gear from head to foot, in blue coveralls, hard hats, respirators, carrying buckets of bait.
We insert the bait into likely rat areas. There are thousands of seals all around the spooky collection of buildings and oil tanks. They are more aggressive than at other areas where we have met them. They rush up and snap at our legs, barking and screaming.
I suddenly imagine what I have been transported to; an urban film set; mad scientists, decrepit buildings and rail tracks, wild shrieking animals. I have fallen down a 'Mad Ratters' rabbit hole into the set of "Zombie Apocalypse"
We find fresh rat droppings in only one building. Curiously it is on the floor in the remains of the 'managers villa' just inside the door that Shackleton knocked on after his grueling march to safety over the Island in 1916.
Afterwards, away from the asbestos risk, I take a breather, mask off, sitting down on the dark grey pebbles at the shoreline, about a meter away from the sea. The young seal pups are shooting up and down along the surf line like little porpoises. Suddenly a much larger adolescent seal launches himself directly at me, in a feigned attack from below the surface. I shoot up like a scalded cat and retreat. The team, sitting 20 meters further up the beach, falls about laughing at my sudden seal surprise.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
At last I have time to catch up here on the keyboard while the helicopters are grounded by the weather.
The final move from our support ship was a whirling flurry of netted loads and containers filled with everything to sustain our team to the middle of June. We are now settled around a sort of halfway house to our fully tented base.
A disused wooden house from the whaling era is acting as our HQ and affording a fair amount of shelter.
The bait-loading experts, led by Nick have been setting out their delivery systems. The GPS wizard; Dave has been feverishly programming and calibrating the aircraft digital equipment. The new Zealand pilots, Peter and Dave, seasoned agricultural application operators, have been 'flying the block'; the boundaries of the grounds to be covered; the coastal, vegetated inland strip and the higher rocky hills and crags, in order to set up the digitally mapped areas to be baited. It is all-skilled, exacting work necessary to get this environmental job done accurately and successfully.
I'm the transport pilot now; loads that need shifting, crew to baiting sites, the odd trip to King Edward Point for our 'management to liaise with the SG Government reps. If someone gets 'crook' I might be given some training time with the baiting buckets and GPS logging system but even I realise it's a real art form requiring a good year of flying practice to produce the required accuracy and economy with the bait!
Meanwhile I've also been helping out transporting ground baiting teams to the disused whaling stations that need bait inserted into buildings dangerously contaminated with asbestos. The roofs of these old buildings prevents the bait, falling from our aerial applications, getting to potential dark, warm rat nesting areas
At Stromness Whaling Station, (the point of civilisation that Shackleton staggered into after his epic journey) we march around deserted, uniformly rust coloured sheds and machine works. We are dressed in protective gear from head to foot, in blue coveralls, hard hats, respirators, carrying buckets of bait.
We insert the bait into likely rat areas. There are thousands of seals all around the spooky collection of buildings and oil tanks. They are more aggressive than at other areas where we have met them. They rush up and snap at our legs, barking and screaming.
I suddenly imagine what I have been transported to; an urban film set; mad scientists, decrepit buildings and rail tracks, wild shrieking animals. I have fallen down a 'Mad Ratters' rabbit hole into the set of "Zombie Apocalypse"
We find fresh rat droppings in only one building. Curiously it is on the floor in the remains of the 'managers villa' just inside the door that Shackleton knocked on after his grueling march to safety over the Island in 1916.
Afterwards, away from the asbestos risk, I take a breather, mask off, sitting down on the dark grey pebbles at the shoreline, about a meter away from the sea. The young seal pups are shooting up and down along the surf line like little porpoises. Suddenly a much larger adolescent seal launches himself directly at me, in a feigned attack from below the surface. I shoot up like a scalded cat and retreat. The team, sitting 20 meters further up the beach, falls about laughing at my sudden seal surprise.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Saturday 2 March 2013
Bait and fuel delivered. Our support ship has gone.
We off loaded fuel and bait at a little beach carved out of the 400ft cliffs in Antarctic bay. There were many hundreds of baby fur seals, there just sleeping, swimming and playing around, passing the time, the long days, waiting for their mothers to return heavy with fatty milk, from their sea feeding. A seal kindergarten.
On a roll, making best use of breaks in the generally harsh weather. The depot area in Fortuna bay was quickly done and the 3 helicopters were then parked up in the high ground behind the disused whaling station at Leith. Gentoo penguins had made this place their home, enjoying a lake created by the dam of the old whalers hydro power scheme. It was almost like a freestyle zoo or safari park but without fences and with totally tame animals. No fear of man whatsoever. Eden?
3 small helicopters nestling at the base of a ring of 1000ft high hills, glorious sunshine but the ever constant threat of sudden changes in the weather. Sure enough curly clouds twisting and spiralling off the edges of the sharp hilltops signalled a good chance of strong winds coming soon.
I try photographing all I can see around me in the vain hope I can record some essence of this place. High cliff walls, buttresses capped with snow, incredibly tame animals. The aroma of many animals assailing the nostrils. Feral calls of the seals echoing round the cliffs, the sound carried from the colony on the beach over a mile away.
Since 30th January I must have taken well over 1000 photos of this amazing journey. One or two photos are 'ok' in composition; the others simply record the scene. They are easy to check and keep or delete.
But how to capture the 'essence' I feel here? A mental landscape, a memory is easy; just look, listen and feel both sensually and imaginatively. But how to develop that mind photo so that someone else can get a taste, a feeling of what the experience was like. How can the almost overwhelming, monumental beauty and the naïve primitive inhabitants be encapsulated in a message?
It would be all to easy just to sit back and enjoy the experience and not even bother trying to convey a composition.
I guess my 24 colleagues here have each taken many more photos than me. Our group must have generated at least 25,000 images, this month alone, to remind themselves of this Island. I have seen some of their images; there are several talented photographers here. Even so they are keen to read the word pictures of my own experiences. I will keep on trying to capture the spirit of South Georgia as I feel it, in the slim chance that I can convey for my family and friends, in my very limited style, at least some of the enchantment, indeed madness, of South Georgia.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
On a roll, making best use of breaks in the generally harsh weather. The depot area in Fortuna bay was quickly done and the 3 helicopters were then parked up in the high ground behind the disused whaling station at Leith. Gentoo penguins had made this place their home, enjoying a lake created by the dam of the old whalers hydro power scheme. It was almost like a freestyle zoo or safari park but without fences and with totally tame animals. No fear of man whatsoever. Eden?
3 small helicopters nestling at the base of a ring of 1000ft high hills, glorious sunshine but the ever constant threat of sudden changes in the weather. Sure enough curly clouds twisting and spiralling off the edges of the sharp hilltops signalled a good chance of strong winds coming soon.
I try photographing all I can see around me in the vain hope I can record some essence of this place. High cliff walls, buttresses capped with snow, incredibly tame animals. The aroma of many animals assailing the nostrils. Feral calls of the seals echoing round the cliffs, the sound carried from the colony on the beach over a mile away.
Since 30th January I must have taken well over 1000 photos of this amazing journey. One or two photos are 'ok' in composition; the others simply record the scene. They are easy to check and keep or delete.
But how to capture the 'essence' I feel here? A mental landscape, a memory is easy; just look, listen and feel both sensually and imaginatively. But how to develop that mind photo so that someone else can get a taste, a feeling of what the experience was like. How can the almost overwhelming, monumental beauty and the naïve primitive inhabitants be encapsulated in a message?
It would be all to easy just to sit back and enjoy the experience and not even bother trying to convey a composition.
I guess my 24 colleagues here have each taken many more photos than me. Our group must have generated at least 25,000 images, this month alone, to remind themselves of this Island. I have seen some of their images; there are several talented photographers here. Even so they are keen to read the word pictures of my own experiences. I will keep on trying to capture the spirit of South Georgia as I feel it, in the slim chance that I can convey for my family and friends, in my very limited style, at least some of the enchantment, indeed madness, of South Georgia.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)