Today we finally got to grips with Uluru. We had been steadily getting closer over the last few days. Now we were totally up close and personal. The road from the Ayres Rock Resort to Uluru is a half hour drive. Along the way are some splendid views but you are not allowed to stop. I think every viewpoint for the great monolith is carefully planned. There are places to watch the sunrise, the sunset, to see the fields of lights and the drones and all the rest of it. Each of them carefully arranged to give a clear view of Uluru in the background. So possibly there is no stopping on the approach roads to avoid congestion or maybe it is to ensure that vehicles do not spoil the view from the official outlooks. If every picture you have seen of Uluru looks as if it was taken from the same place, they probably were.
The first and most obvious observation from getting close to Uluru is of it being a properly big old rock. There is not crack or a fault, a seam or an intrusion or anything to divide the great mass of solid sandstone. From a distance it looks homogenous and smooth. Closer up, a chiaroscuro pattern emerges. After a few thousands of years, the rock develops a dark patina. It blackens under the effects of a sun. But the surface is flaky. Water gets in under the porous surface and causes small slabs of rock to ablate revealing fresh, bright, unscorched rock. The process creates a pockmarked tessellation of light and dark patches that covers much of the surface of the rock. There are a few cracks but they are small. In places the wind and rain have conspired to carve small depressions and holes. During the wet season enormous amounts of water flow off the top of Uluru. This has created many shallow valleys and pools.
We were shown to a couple of these pools. They are of deep cultural significance and there are signs prohibiting photography. We also got shown some rock art and a place where youngsters were taught bushcraft. In the far north-west of Uluru is the place where, back in the day, you could climb to the top of the rock. Only about 30% of the rock protrudes above the ground. Even so, it rises to 348 m. The route is quite steep, some sections up to forty-five degrees. There were chains that you could hang on to. Even so, the route could be quite dangerous. At least 37 people have died on the climb. Some from falling, others from heart attack or the effects of heat and dehydration. Today all climbing is banned. This is on the request of the local Anangu people, the traditional owners of the land. The very last day of climbing was the 26th October 1991 when hundreds of people flocked to the rock before the cut-off time of 4pm. On the following day, the local hotel closed because they realised, correctly, that if the rock could not be climbed then many potential visitors, particularly from East Asia, would no longer be interested in visiting.
After that, we were essentially left to our own devices. A group of about a dozen of us decided that we should try and walk all the way around the rock. This was fun and gave us a sense of completion. It is not a particularly long walk. Just over 10 km and we had done a chunk of it already. The sky was clear and blue. The sun was warm but not especially hot. Almost perfect conditions for an afternoon stroll. Quite a few other people were walking around the rock. There was not a lot more to see. Possibly the highlight was a boulder that looked like a labrador’s head when seen from a certain angle.
Back to the hotel for a quick shower and then the evening’s entertainment was another outside meal. This time we got to sit at proper tables. The food was served buffet style and was not too exciting unless you are a fan of kangaroo and crocodile meat. There was however a guy playing a digeridoo when we arrived. This was fascinating and sounded terrific. The didgeridoo is an ancient wind instrument developed by the Aboriginal peoples a thousand or more years ago. Traditional instruments are crafted from eucalyptus trees naturally hollowed out by termites and are often decorated with intricate, hand-painted Aboriginal art. The sound is created by buzzing the lips, similar to playing a tuba or trombone. The instrument acts as both a bass and a time-keeping rhythm. Circular breathing allows players to sustain this sound indefinitely. This is an almost impossible sounding technique where you inhale through your nose while simultaneously expelling air stored in your cheeks, creating an unbroken drone. Later, we were given a quick guide to the stars by an expert using a laser pointer that reminded me of a light sabre.
We are in the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. Uluru is the monolith formerly known as Ayers Rock. Kata Tjuta is the other immense rock formation in the area. Both formations were created at about the same time, 600 m years ago and in a similar way. Uluru and Kata Tjuta are made of sediment originating in the Mount Currie Conglomerate and both have a chemical composition similar to granite. Uluru is composed of fine grade sediment that formed a single monolith while Kata Tjuta is built of mixed size deposits. After the sediments were laid down, they were compressed and uplifted while the surrounding land was eroded away. Kata Tjuta, also known as The Olgas, is comprised of several domes up to nearly 500 m height. Higher than Uluru. From a distance they look similar.
Day by day we are inching closer to Uluru. The tour company is teasing us. Today we walked up Walpa Gorge, a deep ravine between two of the peaks of Kata Tjuta. As usual, it was a bright sunny morning. We began by visiting a viewpoint where I spotted some Crested Pigeons. There were also some interesting flowers. One of these, a red one, had its flowers at the bottom of the plant. The reason given to me was that the leaves could shelter the flowers from the sun.
Central Australia has been extraordinarily wet this year. One station owner told us that it was a once in ten years event or rarer. The result of this is that, rather unusually, the desert is green and blooming. It barely looks like a desert, at least, not the sort I have seen before. We are out walking in the cool morning looking out on a predominantly green landscape dotted with many types of flowers. This, we are assured, is very unusual.
Getting closer to the raw rock of Kata Tjuṯa, its composite nature becomes much more apparent. Rocks of many assorted sizes have been packed together to form an aggregate. This is not desperately stable and it is easy to spot boulders that have simply fallen out of the cliffs. Uluru, by comparison, is made of a finer and more consistent deposit that has formed a more stable type of rock.
The walk up into Walpa Gorge was interesting. We could not get all the way to the cleft at the top. This was a small disappointment because I had hoped to see out the other side. Nonetheless, it felt like we had penetrated deep into the rock structure. We could get up close and personal with the strange sedimentary deposits.
In the evening we were treated to another of Bruce Monro’s creations. This is the artist who built a large installation out of empty wine bottles. This time it was fields of light. Fields and fields filled with small lights on sticks. Like illuminated tulips. Acres of them. It was quite a remarkable achievement. The evening began at a viewing platform with drinks and snacks. We had yet another view of Uluru as the sun sank down behind us. This time however, I felt the natural world had the last word. There was the most fantastic sunset with an amazing layer of clouds brilliantly lit in red and gold. After that, we did go and wander around the light fields. I amused myself by trying to take photographs without a tripod. The light fields were pleasant but, on balance, the sunset was spectacular.
Getting up at 8 am felt like a luxurious lie-in after the day before. We had an unhurried breakfast before we were taken out to the Karrke Aboriginal Cultural Experience and Tours. This is an Indigenous owned and operated enterprise. Karrke is the Aranda name for the western Bowerbird.
We were introduced to siblings Peter and Natasha who showed us around various displays of bush tucker and bush medicines. I am not entirely sure of this, but I think the old lifestyle would centre around stopping at a place with water and killing some animals. This was the main stay of their nutrition. In between, the group would be moving and often not have the time or the opportunity for hunting. This is where bush tucker would come in. Roots, berries, fruits and other things collected on the go. A supplement to keep everyone going but not the whole diet.
Witchetty grub
We were shown a wide variety of fruits and berries which could be dried and carried easily. We were also shown how to get the Witchetty grubs out of roots. Natasha assured us that these tasted really nice, a little like fried egg. Diane was not so sure and none of our group was prepared to brave up and try one. A lot was explained to us about the fruits and berries. I was confident that if I photographed them, it would be possible to use Google later to find out the names and specific details. This works quite well for birds. For berries it is hopeless. I guess all dried berries look similar and the only thing I could be sure of from the Google search was that it was usually wrong. So, I present to you, a great pile of unnamed bush tucker.
We were also shown some different types of ochre. A natural clay earth pigment that is rich in iron oxide. The predominant colour in the rock and sand around here is red. Iron oxide in everything. The ochre came in a few different colours each of which could be ground down and used for decoration. Anything from body painting to dyeing cloth.
Ochres
Finally came medicinal plants. There are not so many of these and mostly they are used by burning them. Pete demonstrated how to stand in front of the smoke. This did not seem so difficult so I had a go myself. The plant being burnt was supposed to relax and invigorate. Not sure if it helped or not but I did smell smoky for a while afterwards.
We had a bit of driving to get on with after this. A couple of hours brought us the Kings Creek Station. In Australia, the term ‘station’ is used to describe a farm or ranch. Kings Creek used to be a cattle station but these days it is more about tourism. You can camp there or rent a luxury tent. There are buggy rides, helicopter rides and horse rides. There is also a service station, restaurant and souvenir shop. We had a cup of tea looked at some souvenirs.
Kings Creek Station
In 1872, the explorer Ernest Giles was pushing east from Alice Springs trying to get to Uluru and Kata Tjuta. He could see both these prominent, rounded features but was ultimately thwarted by Lake Amadeus. At 180 km long, this is the largest salt lake in Northern Territory. The predominantly dry conditions mean that the lake is usually dried out and presents a salty crust. Under this is soft mud and Giles discovered that the lakebed could not support the weight of his horses. We stopped by the roadside for a view over the lake which, although interesting, was not especially photogenic.
Over the last few days, we had been sidling up closer and closer to Uluru, the very large, very famous monolith that used to be called Ayres Rock. Late afternoon we arrived at the Sails in the Desert Hotel, part of the Ayers Rock Resort. We were getting closer than ever to Uluru. It was solidly visible a relatively short distance away.
In the evening we went to sit on the viewing platform of an open-air theatre atop a sand dune. Uluru formed the backdrop. In this lovely setting, just after sunset, we watched a presentation of a traditional Aboriginal story told using drones. 1024 drones with lights on and some big speakers hidden behind bushes. It was fun. We were asked not to take photographs. I sympathised and supported this. I think otherwise we would have watched the presentation through a small sea of smartphones. The story made no sense to me at all but I still enjoyed the show and found myself wondering about how to program and coordinate a drone display. We were given an excellent picnic hamper. It was a bit heavy on the falafel and salad but still went down well with the plentiful drinks.
It was well before 5 am, it was dark and I was barely awake. Diane had already declared that she was having none of it so I tried not to wake her. I tip-toed out of the room as best I could in walking boots. It was a few hundred metres to the restaurant. The air was cool and crisp. The sun and moon were notable for their complete absence. Stars were twinkling and I was going for breakfast. What sort of nonsense is this.
We were up early to do the Kings Canyon rim walk. I have always enjoyed the freedom of the hills. I was quite looking forward to it. Here we were, deep in the outback, far from civilisation, in a vast open country, about to hike a trail that takes in some spectacular views around Kings Canyon. I was rather surprised by how many rules there were. Only do the walk clockwise. You must start before 9 am. Stay on the stairs and boardwalks. Do not swim in the waterhole. Do not fall off the cliffs. Honestly, there were signs stating that falling off the cliffs can hurt.
Breakfast and short drive later we were in the car park. So were quite a lot of other people. It might be the middle of nowhere, but there are only a few places to go. Still no sign of the sun. We followed the crowds and arrived at the bottom of a staircase. It was rough and made of rocks but easy walking. 100 m pull onto the ridge. Our guide, Andy, set off at quite a pace. I didn’t. Seriously, I know better. Early morning is heart attack time. Early morning with strenuous exercise; doubly so. Every winter, about 100 people in the US die while shovelling snow. This used to be a mystery but now we understand the dangers of early morning strenuous exercise. I pottered up without trying too hard. Alpine pace. We eventually all assembled at the top just as the sun finally put in an appearance. It was spectacular. Bright sunshine on the ridges and outcrops around us.
The next hour was pretty steady. An easy undulating path clearly marked with blue arrows. The sun warmed us although not too much. The views made it all completely worthwhile. The crowds had dissipated. Not so much dispersed in the open wilderness as spread out along the single allowed trail. We arrived at the head of the canyon. This is where stops being a magnificent, steeply walled valley and turns into a crack. Still quite an impressive gap which we descended into using some wooden stairs. We crossed over the river via a wooden bridge. This was fun but I could not help but think a narrow suspension bridge would have worked better. One of those that swings a lot and has a couple of sketchy wooden planks in the middle.
At this point, we could have ascended to the far side of the canyon. Instead, we followed a narrow walkway signposted to the Garden of Eden. A rocky path and a couple more wooden stairs. The Garden is a lovely pool tucked deep inside the cleft at the top of the canyon. The trapped water here can last a long time after the rains have stopped making it another sacred pool. There were birds and a mass of vegetation. The pool was like a mirror to the sky. Fantastic reflections if a little confusing because of their clarity.
We pressed on and climbed the ladders up to the far side. This gave us some terrific views across the canyon. Very strange looking rock. It is a sandstone. The sediment from an ancient lake or sea. But it is soft. Quite easy to break in your hands. It forms layered pillow-like structures where it is weathered by the rain and wind. One place on the canyon wall it is steep, almost vertical and quite smooth. Polished flat and then peppered with small indents.
Only about a third of our group had come on the rim walk. The rest, including Diane, had a more relaxed morning and a gentle walk along the bottom of the canyon. They greeted us with cheers when we arrived back at the car park just before midday. King’s Canyon Rim Walk – 6 km, 4 hours, grade 4.
Diane and I grabbed a bit of falafel and salad for lunch. Then came one of Diane’s favourite things to do – a helicopter flight. The small heliport was conveniently close to the hotel. Four people at a time. Heaviest got to sit in the front next to the pilot. That was nice, I like sitting in the front.
Garden of Eden
It was a bit of a quickie. A fifteen-minute flight up and around the canyon. We could both see where we had walked in the morning. We could also clearly see the rock formations around the canyon. They looked even stranger from the air. Some sections looked a little like a riverbed albeit on a gigantic scale. The lowlands regularly flood during the rainy season in places this was quite clear. Patches looked just like a dried-up lake. Possibly that is exactly what they were. Fifteen minutes is not very long. Far too soon we were back on the ground. It was, however, an excellent flight.
The program stated, “As afternoon turns to evening, we’ll enjoy sunset drinks and canapes at Light-Towers, an immersive sound and light installation by the acclaimed artist Bruce Munro”. This started off well. Sunset, drinks, canapes. All very enjoyable. Then we ambled along a walkway to see the light installation. It was a series of towers. Each one made of empty wine bottles containing a small light. In the centre of the tower, ethereal music was quietly emanating from a small speaker. Sadly, my missing artistic gene asserted itself again and I was left with a profound sense of “why?”. I imagined the artist had woken up one morning after a particularly good session with friends, seen a great pile of empty wine bottles and thought “what can I do with these?”.
Bags packed and we were ready to leave Alice Springs. Today we are going to head out into the real outback of the West MacDonnell Ranges and Kings Canyon Resort. Many miles to be covered today. Some of them on unpaved corrugated tracks.
First stop was Ellery Creek. A pleasant, short walk to another watering spot in a gap. The morning was cool and fresh. The creek was green and dappled with sunlight. Again, we were told tales of wallabies but saw none. There was, however, tea and cake.
Next stop was Ormiston Gorge. Here Diane and I went our separate ways. Not because we had fallen out but because there was a choice. I took the high road up many steps to a lookout. Diane went for the low road and a gentle stroll down to the river. It was nice to stretch my legs a little and the views were well worthwhile. I even got to spot Diane down in the bottom of the gorge. At the lookout was one of my favourite signs so far. It stated that you should not throw rocks at the people in the bottom of the gorge. No doubt this reminder has saved many lives.
Diane and I were back together again. We had lunch. Salad and falafel in the Ormiston Gorge car park. Then we got settled into the truck for some serious driving. Several hours of it. The road sections were a bit tedious although I enjoyed watching the scenery roll past. The corrugations reminded me of trips in Africa and elsewhere. Uncomfortable and noisy. Everyone was happy when we arrived at our hotel in the Kings Canyon Resort. In this case, resort meant a campsite, some motel style rooms, a filling station and a combined bar and restaurant. Beyond that – nothing. Scrub bushes, sand, distant hills.
Time for an early night. In the morning, I was going to have to get up spectacularly early to walk the rim of the Kings Canyon.
Breakfast in the Alice Springs Hotel was excellent. A good variety of food, proper cappuccino coffee and omelette with chillies. We all assembled at the truck turned into a coach and set off to explore the local area. First stop, only just up the road, was the memorial for Reverend John Flynn at the base of Mount Gillen. His claim to fame is being the founder of the Royal Flying Doctor Service. I guess that is a pretty good one. The 8-ton boulder was requested by his wife. A suitable rock could not be found locally in 1953 so one was fetched from the Devils Marbles (Karlu Karlu) area. Unfortunately, nobody asked permission from the traditional owners of the site, the Warumungu and Kaytetye people. They got upset because these boulders have extraordinary powers and their damage, or removal, can have life threatening consequences. At the same time the people local to Alice Springs, the Arrernte, were concerned about someone else’s sacred boulder on their land. There was much discussion, debate, concern, arguments and even an incident when the stone got painted. In 1998 things were finally sorted out. The original stone when back to where it came from, a suitable replacement was found with permission from the Arrernte. Everyone was happy now they had their rocks back in the right place.
The West MacDonnell mountain range stretches East-West for about 650 km with Alice Springs roughly in the centre. They are not especially high, 1,500 m, but they dominate the landscape and create a variety of interesting features. We began at Simpsons Gap. Black-footed rock wallaby purportedly live here – but we did not see any signs. A short stroll. Some steep rocks and the remains of a river. In the wet season there are rivers all over the place. Most of these stop completely in the dry season. No crocs here. We are too far inland. Many snakes, spiders and other Australian beasts that can kill you but we could at least relax about being crocwise.
Next up was Standley Chasm. Like the previous gap, this is also a place sacred to the Western Arrernte Aboriginal people. It is also a place where water can be found in the dry season. Out here, in the desert, water is massively important. To the nomadic Aboriginals, any sort of settlement, even tents, close to a water source was a threat. This principle was behind many of the early conflicts with European settlers. It took us an hour to walk up to the chasm and back. We were well ready for our lunch, falafel and salad, by the time we got back to the coach.
In the afternoon came the Alice Springs Desert Park. Another of these places that is a combination of a sanctuary, a zoo and a park. The site is orientated around local desert life with a strong focus on birds. We set off following a trail that led us past various enclosures. The first bird area had some cheeky Zebra Finches, a sulking Ringneck and a Triller.
It was hot and sunny. To avoid the worst of the heat we tended to scuttle between the enclosures and the shade of the viewing areas. In the next one we found more finches enjoying a bath. There were also some budgerigars. Long the favourite of Grandmothers around England, these bright birds fly around in the wild outback. These particular budgies were in a cage, albeit a little larger than the one found in the average Rotherham terraced house.
Peaceful Dovebudgerigar
Next enclosure had a perentie monitor lizard in a small, separate section. We also found an oak-titmouse, a red-capped robin and some black-faced woodswallow. At last, we had reached the reptile house. We basked in the coolness as our eyes got used to the dim light. Then I spotted a thorny devil. Incredibly strange looking creatures. Makes me think of Doctor Who monsters from many decades ago. They are, however, very real, very fearsome and fortunately small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.
I spotted a gidgee skink hiding inside a hollow log. In the next tank was a lovely looking rainbow skink. Tiny but very pretty. Then we were back in the great outdoors again. We had to watch the time because there was going to be a bird show and we were assured we would not be allowed in if we were late. One more bird enclosure. This one had a magnificent red-tailed black cockatoo and some tiny bright blue birds. Took me ages to get a photograph of the splendid fairywren. I later found out that the brilliant colours were because it was in its breeding plumage.
Gidgee Skinkdesert rainbow-skinkGrey-headed honeyeaterRed-tailed Black CockatooSplendid Fairywren in breeding plumage
The enclosure was quite large. I found several other birds and spent some more time photographing the cockatoos. I also spotted a delicate little brown bird with just a hint of blue on its tail. This turned out to also be a splendid fairywren that was either a female or a male in its non-breeding plumage.
We made it to the bird show on time. It was similar to the one we had seen in the Territory Park, Darwin but still fun to watch. One of the participants was a tiny willie wagtail. Very cheeky and completely unafraid of the larger birds and raptors. An owl was very impressive. It took food from the presenter’s hand and swooped low over the heads of the audience making everyone duck. A black-breasted buzzard turned up and proceeded to demonstrate how to use a stone to crack an emu egg. I was ready for it this time and manage to get a sequence of photographs showing the destruction of the egg.
Black-breasted Buzzard
In the evening we went to a barbeque. I usually try and avoid these disturbingly gruesome and smelly meat festivals however, this time, it was not an option. In the event, I quite enjoyed it. The evening began in an old quarry that has been repurposed. The sunset was terrific and with the encroaching shadow and rising moon, came a pleasant coolness. Our host, the owner of the quarry, regaled us with local stories while simultaneously making bread. This was interesting if nothing else. Turned out that he was quite the raconteur and, we discovered later, a skilled bread maker. As he talked, he mixed flour, water, brandy-soaked raisins, salt and other ingredients. The dough was then kneaded with one hand while he gesticulated with the other.
Bush stone-curlew
The main course food was centred around enormous steaks. I know, this is normal for a barbeque. Fortunately, there was also a big pile of baked potatoes that were hot and properly crisped up. Spuds, with some salad and falafel made for quite a reasonable meal. It was served far away from the cooking meat, so thankfully we did not have to tolerate the smell of burning flesh. Also, there was plenty of wine. After dinner came some music, singing and audience participation. Finally, the bread was served. It had been baked in a Dutch oven on an open fire. Now it was served up with a dollop of cream. Delicious.
We were going on a train journey of 3,000 km from Darwin to Adelaide in South Australia. The Ghan is one of the world’s great passenger trains. Started in 1929 as a narrow gauge from Adelaide to Alice Springs it was finally extended, as a standard gauge track, to Darwin in 2004. For some odd reason, the track does not quite reach Darwin but stops about 10 km short. To join the train, we had to get up exceedingly early in the morning and assemble in a hotel lobby to board a coach.
The coach delivered us to the station where we checked in and were then served breakfast on the platform. Around 9am the train arrived. 28 cars pulled by two dark red locomotives. My first impression was that it could do with a bit of a wash. The cars were built in the 70s. They are glorious, if slightly dated, stainless steel carriages. The two engines at the front were thunderously loud and caked in diesel soot. We took a small step back in time and were shown to our cabin.
The room was small but adequate. A bench seat turned into two bunks at night. There was a small toilet and shower. The type where you could, if you wanted, sit on the toilet while you were having a shower. The cabin was comfortable enough considering that we did not have to spend very much time in there. We sat there for an hour as the train set off and the countryside began to roll past us. A possibly familiar looking waterfall in Litchfield Park flashed past us and then we off into the unknown.
Lunch was served in the dining car. We had to wait ten minutes before we could be seated. It was cosy. I ended trying to eat with my elbows pinned to my chest. Small trees and endless grassland rolled past. I struggled to eat soup with motionless arms, using just wrist action and a spoon. We chatted with the other couple at the table. “Where are you from?”. “Where are you going?”. The usual stuff. I kept hoping to see a kangaroo. The main course was washed down with a glass of white wine. Even a bird would have been nice but all I spotted was a short, barbed wire fence.
Not long after lunch we arrived at the town of Katherine. Population 10,000. 300 km south of Darwin. Farming country. Many cattle and many mango trees. Mining used to be important but less so now. Tourism is significant. We were loaded onto a coach along with some thirty other people and taken to a cave.
Diane and I like caves. We have visited many. We chose a cave trip because it seemed fun and it would be cool. In the event, it was fun but far from cool. First, we were given a little history of the cave in a small visitor centre. Then we were warned of the bats, snakes and spiders that inhabit the cave. Then we were warned of narrow parts and questioned about claustrophobia. Finally, we got to walk the kilometre or so to the cave entrance.
The cave was quite easy. It was fitted with walkways, handrails and electric lighting. Inside was quite pretty with stalactites, stalagmites and various calcite flowstones. It was mucky. The cave floods during the wet season leaving mud on all the walls and discolouring all the formations.
A few minutes in, I spotted my first deadly spider. Turned out to be a cave cricket. Totally innocuous. Not sure if I was disappointed or relieved. However, there was something strange. The further we got into the cave, the hotter it was becoming. Usually, even in the tropics, caves are cooler inside. The explanation was a hot spring. There was volcanically heated water under the cave. It raised the temperature of the terminal sump to 38 °C or so. As we moved forward the air became warmer and more humid. By the time we finally turned around it was quite unpleasantly warm. On the way out we spotted the discarded skin of a snake. The carnivorous ghost bats and brown tree snakes remained hidden. Or possibly absent. Just before we finally left the visitor centre, I discovered another deadly Australian spider in the toilets. Later research revealed that the Golden Silk Orb-Weaver Spider is generally regarded as harmless to humans.
cave cricket
Back at the train, we settled in for the evening. Dinner was a pleasant affair. The table was no bigger but the food was good and the wine plentiful. While we were eating, someone converted our cabin from a bench seat to two bunks. It had been an early start and a long day so we turned in shortly after dinner. I took the top bunk. Rocked by the motion of the train and soothed by the clicking of wheels on tracks, I quickly fell asleep. Diane unfortunately was jolted by the irregular lurching of the carriage and disturbed by the clanking, rattling and thumping sounds of steel wheels on steel tracks.
golden silk orb-weaver spider
In the morning, just after breakfast, we arrived at Alice Springs. I was relaxed and well rested. Diane less so. In fact she was tired, grumpy and had a headache. Here we left the train. Alice Springs was the end of phase one of the trip. From here we would travel, by truck, into the outback. A week later we would be back to rejoin the train. In the meantime, we were destined for the harsh bushland of central Australia. First, however, we had lunch in the community arts centre. Lettuce leaves and falafel. We were starting to look forward to it now. During lunch we were introduced to our tour guide, Andy, and to each other. 26 tourists sharing a truck with a coach conversion, for a week.
After lunch, everyone had and hour or so to wander the art gallery. I tried. I really did. But at my core I think I am lacking the genes needed to understand and appreciate art. I wandered around getting increasingly bored and eventually ended up photographing birds in the car park. Art gallery done, we had a short drive around to take in the Alice Springs area. This suited me much better and I got to take some more photographs. That was it for the day. We were taken to our hotel for the next two nights. Diane was greatly appreciative of the quiet, stationary bed.
In Darwin, we had a few days of sitting around getting all our stuff sorted. Then we went to see a crocodile farm. Then we were looking for something else to do so we signed up for a trip to Litchfield Park. This is a large national park to the south of Darwin. Along with a few other tourists, we were going to drive there in a minibus, visit a few locations and come back.
Our day began early. 6 am is possibly the coolest part of the day. Even so, shorts and a shirt are adequate clothing. Up here in the tropics the four seasons are simplified to just two; wet and dry. The dry season has just started so everyone thinks it is cool and pleasant. Except for me. I think it is still hot and sweaty. Possibly the wet season would kill me dead in just a few hours. This said, at 6 am, in my shorts, it was not too bad. The minibus was gloriously air conditioned. I dozed peacefully until, an hour later, we arrived at the termite mounds.
Magnetic termite mounds are so-called because they are long, thin and aligned to the cardinal points. This shape and orientation keeps the worst of the sun off them. The tiny termites stay cool and happy inside. They look a little strange, however. Like large flakes of rock stuck into the ground. Elsewhere, tucked into the trees, a different type of termite had been building the more familiar “cathedral” mound. Some of these were quite large. 3 m or more.
MagneticCathedral
Next stop was an outlook where we could gaze across the park wilderness. In the wet season, much of this gets flooded and crocodiles roam through the stumpy trees. Now the rivers were receding taking the reptiles with them. Dry bits were quite safe, we were told, but some of the pools might be a bit “croccy”. A short stroll took us to a lovely pool with a thundering waterfall. Strictly no swimming here however on account of possibly crocs.
Next up was a swampy area. We were allowed to carefully wander around here while lunch was set up. I found a few birds and a monitor lizard. Lunch was nice. Falafel and salad. Later we discovered that this is the standard lunch for vegetarians. Fortunately, we both like falafel.
Mertens’ water monitor
Another, even larger series of waterfalls kept us busy in the afternoon. A network of wooden staircases took us between several plunge pools. This area was much more jungle like and densely packed with trees. Still no swimming. Sometimes you can swim here but not until at least four weeks after the last croc is spotted or caught. For now, it was too early in the season.
Last stop of the day was a small series of pools where swimming was allowed. These were positioned above a significant waterfall. This topology meant that crocs could not get to the pools at any time of the year. Crocodiles can jump, we had seen them, but they cannot climb. Many people were here enjoying the cool water and relaxing without the worry of losing a limb. We dangled our feet in the cool stream for a while.
Back in Darwin, we rounded off the day with a visit to Mindle Beach. An evening market is here on Thursdays and Sundays. The stalls are mostly food. Everything from momos and smoothies to kangaroo steaks and local gin. As the sun began to set, we wandered out of the market and onto the beach. There were many people. A thousand or more. All sitting around with some food or a drink watching the sun set. Our local star did its thing admirably. Brilliant red and yellow skies to silhouette some passing boats and even a camel train. There was a collective hush as the last limb of the sun vanished and then applause. Sun worship is alive and well.
Next day we had to repack our bags ready for the long train ride.
We are in Darwin for a few days. We have hired an apartment where we can slow down for a while and get our lives organised. Here we can cook for ourselves and plan our own days. Darwin is in the north of Australia and close to the equator. It is always hot here. The dry season has just started. For the last six months it has been rainy and humid with many thunderstorms. Now it feels cooler and the skies are clear. That is what they tell me. I would agree that the skies are clear but it still feels thoroughly hot to me.
First off we went out to explore Darwin a little and discovered a trove of street art.
Crocodile showCrocodile handbagsOur apartment
Darwin is crocodile central. During the wet season, the crocs can travel along the swollen rivers and across the flooded plains. They get everywhere. Once the dry season arrives, the tourist spots that are “croccy” need to be made safe. This mostly involves trapping. Sadly, most trapped animals end up in the handbag factory. One guide explained to us that a captured crocodile was once tagged so that it could be tracked. It was taken a long way away and released into the ocean. After a while of swimming around it appeared to get its bearings and then headed straight back to the tourist location where it had originally been caught.
A thousand or so people are killed by crocodiles each year around the world. The vast majority of these fatalities occur in rural and impoverished regions of Africa and Asia where people and crocs live in close proximity. Nile crocodiles account for the most injuries. These crocodiles are considered the most prolific predators of humans among wild animals. Saltwater crocodiles are responsible for dozens of fatal attacks every year, particularly in regions like Papua New Guinea and Indonesia. Australia is infamous for its massive apex predators however, fatal crocodile attacks are relatively rare. Records show an average of 1 to 2 fatalities a year nationally, with most incidents occurring not far from Darwin.
There are two principal types of crocodile; saltwater and freshwater. Salties and Freshies according to the local vernacular. Salties have a gland in their mouths which allows them to expel salt. They can live in salt or fresh water. The males are the biggest problem. They can grow to over 5 m long and be quite aggressive. Freshies and female salties rarely exceed 3 m. It may be that the males can grow even bigger. Some fifty years ago, the crocodiles had been hunted almost to the point of extinction. This is a common story. It surprises me how often I write how this or that species was almost wiped out. Anyhow, the government stepped in, made the crocs a protected species and now they are doing quite well. Like most endangered species, the trick is to leave them alone. This does mean however, that there are no really old crocodiles. Male salties continue to grow throughout their life. These days the most mature crocs are sixty years old and 5 m long. They can almost certainly live longer in which case they may well get to be bigger.
Protected or not, there is a big market for crocodile skins and meat. This has led to the establishment of crocodile farms. Initially this was to satisfy the demand for skins but, more recently, crocodile meat has become known as a fashionable and healthier (for the human, not the croc) alternative to pork. As with most animals, the Chinese will use it in their traditional medicine although they are not great eaters of croc meat.
Turns out that farming crocs is not completely straightforward so the business is often combined with tourism. An argument can be made that farming reduces the risk from poaching. It can also be combined with a program to support the wild population. Similarly, a better understanding of crocodiles through their captive handling may also benefit the wild population.
We went to visit a crocodile farm called Crocodylus Park. It does not advertise itself as a farm. Rather it is “Darwin’s premier wildlife park”. There are a lot of crocodiles along with dedicated breeding pens and other facilities. There is also a small shop which sells souvenirs and handbags.
Blue tounged skink
When we first arrived, we were asked if we wanted to see the jumping crocs. This sounded too good to miss. We crossed the attendant’s palm with silver and proceeded to a small, flat-bottomed boat along with a few parents and many small children. Now, consider that this is a farm, so they must feed the crocs. Each mature snapper gets about a kilo of raw chicken each day. If you dangle that chicken on the end of a pole, the croc will learn to jump out of the water for it. People will pay to see this. Now, you are making money out of your crocs in two ways. Happy days. The reality was not so exciting as I had hoped. The boat had a metal cage around it. This kind of makes sense but when combined with all the small children it made taking worthwhile photographs almost impossible.
The rest of the park was quite interesting. There were many distinct types of crocodile in many different stages of development. Diane got to hold a small, rather disaffected youth of a croc with a taped-up mouth. Even the little ones are good for solid nip and this one looked up for some insults as well. We saw some injured crocs as well. One female was missing part of her lower jaw.
Mostly the park is crocodiles but there were a few other animals. Some were Australian and others simply there for novelty value. On the Aussy side there were some wallabies and dingoes. Representing the rest of the world we spotted a handful of African meercats. Extremely cute but also a bit lonely. A South American capybara, looking long way from its home. An ostrich. Remarkably large when you get eye to eye with one. A very strange looking monkey that I chose to call Colin. Colin the Cotton-Top Tamarin from Columbia.
Colin
We managed to wander around for three hours but then the heat was starting to get to us. There was a small crocodile museum that we enjoyed visiting because of the air conditioning. Then we were done and headed back to our small apartment and more air conditioning.
Turning our backs on the cannibals of New Guinea, we had two sea days before disembarkation in Darwin in Australia. Finally, we are close to the end of the voyage. Since leaving Valparaiso in Chile, we have covered thousands of miles. We have crossed the whole Pacific Ocean. We have visited some wonderful remote islands and encountered many interesting cultures and communities. We have spent many days at sea staring at an endless blue horizon and now it is just about over.
Time to get down to some serious boat building. There was a competition to build a boat. The vessels would be judged on the last sea day. Philip had constructed a basic hull from some water bottles. I added some superstructure and the propulsion system. Diane created a figure to skipper the ship. Susan made the signage. A proper team effort. We had won the daily trivia contest, a week earlier. Our prize was two electric fans. You can wave the fan in your face to keep cool. I mounted two of these on the boat so that they would push it along. A trial run in the bathtub, a bit of ballast and we were good to go.
We named the boat “Seabourn Only Fans”. A nod to the drive mechanism. On the day, when all the boat names were announced, there was a ripple of amusement. Others were puzzled as to what the joke was. The captain was chief judge and obviously a man of the world. He pointed out that if Seabourn actually named a ship “Only Fans” that it might cause some misunderstandings.
Our rivals were a mixed bunch. They included some very decorative entries and a rocket made of tin cans that must have taken weeks to build. In the crunch, our boat was the only one with propulsion. While the others floated or sank in the swimming pool, ours cheerfully steamed up and down. We won the competition.
Catfish
Our prize was a small rucksack stuffed with Seabourn merchandise. Three soft toys, more fans, caps and so on. We had to leave most of it. Our lives are based on a 23 kg suitcase. One in, one out. If I had taken the very cute kangaroo with joey then I would have needed to take out two shirts and some socks.
Next morning, we arrived in Darwin. Usually, the ship will kick you off as soon as possible. This time however we had a day in Darwin. We were quite happy to have an extra night onboard and to go on the included tour. As usual, this involved getting up a little earlier than we really wanted and being bundled into a coach. We were taken out to the Territory Wildlife Park. Something between an park, an animal sanctuary and zoo.
Time was a bit limited. I think really, we could have spent an entire day there but we only had a couple of hours. First stop was the aquarium. This was quite well laid out and gloriously air conditioned. Obviously, there were a lot of fish tanks. There was also a tunnel where you could watch the fish from underneath. A few fish I could recognise from our snorkelling trips. I was quite pleased with that. There were a couple of crocodiles in a larger tank. The tank seemed small however for such enormous beasts. I looked the largest crocodile in the eye and thought it seemed bit bored. Not too surprising. Darwin is crocodile central. There are crocs everywhere. Some in parks but most just swimming around hoping for hapless tourists to wander into their grasp. In the centre of the city is an indoor crocodile display. You can pay to go into the “cage of death”. It is not a cage and you will not die, however, it is a plastic tube that allows you to swim next to the live crocodiles. Right next to crocodile tanks is a shop selling crocodile skin handbags and shoes.
Next up was the nocturnal animal display. Another air-conditioned building. This time it was dark inside. Initially I could barely see a thing. Over time a few tanks and cages came into view. We spotted some rodents, some snakes and some tree dwelling animals. Even after ten minutes, it was hard to spot anything. Photography was quite impossible. I tried but the best I could manage was a blurry picture of a mouse.
Rushing on, we came to an open-air place called the “flight deck” to watch a short show about birds. This turned out to be a small amphitheatre where we could all sit in the shade of a high roof. A young and very enthusiastic girl gave a presentation. Essentially, she fed various birds as they appeared and talked to us about them. The birds all knew their roles and were being let out by someone out of sight. It was quite an impressive show and gave me chance to get a few nice photographs.
A stork, some pretty lorikeets and an Australian Bustard were each marched out, fed and sent away. Then came a lovely barn owl which appeared to enjoy the attention flew right over people’s heads several times. An emu appeared which gave the presenter a chance to introduce an emu egg. Possibly not a real one. It was explained to us that these eggs are very tough to crack open. Next came a Black-breasted Buzzard who proceeded to demonstrate how it uses a rock to crack open the egg. Their beaks and talons are not strong enough so they have learned to throw a rock at the egg. One of the few cases of tool use amongst birds. Apparently, some birds have a favourite rock they use. Studies indicate this is an innate, hardwired behaviour. Not a learned skill passed down from parent to chick. They will even attempt to use rocks on egg-shaped objects like balls. This is probably what we witnessed. Finally, a Brahminy Kite swooped into view. It flew over us several times while catching pieces of food thrown into the air by the keeper.
A short walk brought us back to the entrance area. Here we spotted a Blue-tongued Skink and a keeper feeding a Fruit Bat from a bowl of fruit. Back on the bus we got taken to the world-famous Humpty Do Hotel. We could tell it is world famous because a sign on the wall proclaimed as much. The sign did not indicate just what the hotel was famous for.
Barn OwlEmuBlack-breasted BuzzardBrahminy kite
Our last night on the Seabourn Pursuit was noticeably quiet. Many people had already left. Looking over the balcony I thought I spotted a small shark. It turned out to be a Diamond-scale Mullet. We are done with ships for a while. Time to hole up in Darwin and find our land legs.
blue-tongued skinkDiamond-scale MulletWhat is this famous for??
Last year we cruised around part of Indonesia. We were heading towards Agats in New Guinea when the ship had to divert to Thursday Island, Australia because of a medical emergency. We never got to see anything of New Guinea. I guess there are only a few places in New Guinea that are good for expedition ships to visit because today, on a different ship run by a different company, we were heading for the same small village.
On the previous day, we passed through the Torres Straits. The channel separating Australia from Papua New Guinea is 150 km at its narrowest point. Although it is an international shipping lane, the straits are shallow in many places and littered with small islands. A few of the islands are inhabited. The indigenous people are distinct from the Papuans of New Guinea and from Aboriginal Australians. However, they are related to both. Despite being quite an interesting area, photogenically it is hopeless. Dull grey clouds. Small, undistinguished islands and very few birds. The only photograph of any worth was one Diane took of the pilot boat leaving.
In the morning, the ship parked well away from the coast. There is a river delta here and the shallows extend a long way. The expedition team wanted everyone to arrive at the same time so they launched all the zodiacs. It took an hour to get everyone into the boats and another hour to reach the coast. It was hot and Seabourn made two rather unfortunate mistakes. On the previous day, they had explained that there was only a single, rather unpleasant, toilet in the village. In the morning, they explained that the sea was a bit choppy so people should wear waterproofs to avoid getting wet in the zodiacs. Many people boarded the zodiac in a state of dehydration and wearing far too many clothes for such hot conditions. It was over 30° C with a blazing hot sun. From our boat of ten souls, one had to be sent back with the doctor in a support boat after only twenty minutes. Another poor woman fainted as we arrived close to the shore. Getting a bit wet in the boat was, in fact, a benefit and good hydration was absolutely essential.
As we approached the shore, war canoes came out to greet us. When I say “greet”, what I really mean is a lot of fierce looking warriors chanting, shouting, banging oars against their war canoes and stamping their feet. Stamping your feet in a dugout canoe probably takes a little practise.
Initially, there were just a few canoes. This was impressive. It went on to become even more impressive as more canoes full of fearsome natives in the full traditional regalia of a magnificent war party turned up. Some of the painted men were wielding weapons. I noticed that the oars had a paddle at one end while the other end was sharpened to a point. The oars were spears.
Slowly, the sixty or so war canoes herded the two dozen zodiacs into the river entrance. The RHIBs were all bunched up closely together. The canoes formed a line right across the river. There was no gap for escape. Still chanting, screaming and stomping they steadily advanced. We were forced bit by bit, further and further upstream until the village finally came into view. Then the drums started.
The Asmat people were known as headhunters and cannibals. Captain Cook was the first person to land here. He put a small expeditionary group ashore but they rapidly retreated sensing danger from the locals. Much later, missionaries attempted to dissuade the natives of their headhunting ways. It was difficult. The traditions were deeply embedded and resilient. Many beliefs and rituals surrounded taking the heads of your enemies. Stories of headhunting raids persisted into the 1990s. Some of the people chanting and waving weapons at me might well have tasted human flesh.
The rhythmic, hypnotic pounding of the drums was joined by singing from the hundreds of indigenous people on shore. Woman, children, the chiefs and many others adding to the cacophony from ethe canoes. In front of another line of canoes appeared. A second army of warriors. We were pinned between two advancing forces. The only sensible thing to do was tie up the zodiacs and get our cameras out.
The two opposing forces held a mock battle in front of us. Their skill in controlling the canoes is exceptional. Just to balance a canoe while standing up is probably beyond most people. To do so with several other people in the same canoe, while paddling, while shouting and while waving weapons in the air is quite remarkable. The groups paddled past each other at full speed missing each other by miniscule amounts. It was truly spectacular.
Battle over, we made our way, boat by boat across the river to a landing zone in front of the enormous Men’s House. This is a large building which is home to the bachelors and also where older men pass down cultural traditions, skills and laws. It is the spiritual hub and the store for sacred items, masks, and carvings. At one time they may have kept their enemies’ heads here. The riverbank was slippery and muddy. Getting safely ashore was a bit of a challenge. I got helped up by one of the painted men that, only minutes before, had been waving a spear at me.
The area floods regularly. Most of the buildings are raised on short stilts. Walkways link the buildings together. We wandered around for a short while and looked at some of the craftwork on offer. Asmat art consists of elaborate stylised wood carvings and is designed to honour ancestors. Many Asmat artifacts have been collected by the world’s museums. One of the most notable are those found in the Michael C. Rockefeller Collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Michael Rockefeller, 23, member of the ludicrously rich Rockefeller dynasty, disappeared close to where were. He was on an expedition in 1961 collecting art when he vanished in mysterious circumstances. He may have been killed and eaten.
The walkways led us round to the front of the Men’s House where we settled down to watch the dancing for a while. The drums were beating complex rhythms while the dancers gyrated. Everyone was painted. Some of the dancers wore elaborate masks. Eventually, the dancing finished and the locals used the space to lay out more artwork and other goods for sale.
A large tray of sago palm grubs was brought out. These grubs are several centimetres long and considered a delicacy. They were offered live and wriggling. A few brave people tried them. Did not really fancy them myself.
Diane said she wanted to get out of the sun and went to find somewhere to sit down. Everywhere was very crowded, very hot and very noisy. I followed Diane but got delayed by someone who had fainted and was being helped to the floor by two of the expedition team. By the time I caught up with Diane she had fainted as well. Many people were fainting with the heat. Not just the older guests but also perfectly fit looking people and some members of the expedition team. Diane was not looking very well. We decided it would be best to get back to a zodiac which would take us to the ship. This proved to be harder than it should have. The ground was muddy and I was having to hold Diane up. However, the worst part were the people that did not want to relinquish their place in the queue for the boats. Very inconsiderate. We finally got to a boat and with a bit of help, got Diane in. Soon as we pushed off, there was a small, delicious cool breeze. I found some electrolytes that Diane could drink. That helped enormously. Finally, with the spray over the front of the boat, she started to come back to life.
It was still over an hours driving to get back to the ship. Fortunately, about halfway there, we came across another zodiac from the Seabourn Pursuit. They were serving chilled champagne. The perfect antidote for hot afternoon.
Papua New Guinea is the most linguistically diverse country in the world. At least 840 languages are spoken. I cannot even begin to imagine how this works. English is the language of commerce and the education system. The primary lingua franca of the country is Tok Pisin (Pidgin). PNG is also a megadiverse country. This is a technical expression. There are just 17 megadiverse countries worldwide and they house most of Earth’s species. Approximately 5% of known living species are in PNG. Approximately a third of these are endemic, not found anywhere else. It is a place of volcanoes and jungles. Barely explored rainforests hiding a myriad of tribes. Each tribe has its own customs, traditions and behaviours. Possibly its own language. Cannibalism was practiced here until recently. Very recently. Perhaps as recently as 2012. There is still an issue with Kuru, a rare, incurable, and fatal neurodegenerative disorder. Deceased family members were traditionally cooked and eaten, which was thought to help free the spirit of the dead. Kuru, a spongiform encephalopathy, is transmitted through infectious prions. These are particularly concentrated in the brain which was traditionally eaten by women and children.
All this verdant jungle requires a lot of rain, most of which was happening on the day we arrived. It was seriously throwing it down. Getting off the ship and into a small minibus was more than enough to get soaked. We were docked alongside in the town of Alotau, the capital of Milne Bay Province, in the far south-east of PNG. 14 minibuses arrived to collect pretty much every guest and take them on a tour. Stepping off the ship was like stepping into a shower. Warm and extremely wet.
First stop was the town market. This was surprisingly interesting. A wide range of fruit and vegetables were on sale. I could recognise most of them but not all. Peanuts, groundnuts, still on their roots. Yams, potatoes, spinach like greens, bananas and tobacco. The tobacco leaves were dried and then plaited into ropes. Various craftwork was on display including many brightly coloured bags, carvings and clothing.
Next stop was the cultural presentation. Fortunately, they had a large, covered area for this. The rain was keeping the temperature and the mosquitoes down. We were given a coconut to drink from. It was all quite comfortable. It was all quite dark as well. Between the grey, sullen sky and the open sided building, there was not much light for taking photographs. We watched some dancers. We watched a demonstration of cooking. As far as I could tell, a woman peeled a potato and put it in a pot. Everybody applauded, nonetheless. There was another demonstration of how to prepare a coconut. I was quite impressed by the demonstration of making fire. Doing this with just two sticks and some coconut husk on such a damp day was no mean feat. There was some more dancing and we were done.
Outside were a few stalls selling local craftwork. There was also a fruit from a palm oil tree just lying on the ground. Palm oil is an edible vegetable oil derived from the reddish pulp of the fruit. Although native to West Africa, it grows very well in PNG. Palm oil is the most efficient oil crop to produce, yielding 6–10 times more oil per hectare than alternatives like soybean or sunflower. Most of the world’s palm oil comes from Indonesia but it is gaining traction in PNG.
Palm oil fruitPhilip & Susan
A stop at a local viewpoint was cancelled because of the lack of a view. We did stop at the war memorial. The battle of Milne Bay is commemorated. This was the first serious Japanese defeat in the Pacific part of WW2. Back at the ship there was a terrible queue to get back on board. I wandered off and found some Pacific Swallows sitting on a gutter. Then it started raining again. I photographed some rain and then went back on board.
That was it for Papau New Guinea. I think this is probably a truly fascinating place. Hot, uncomfortable and full of malaria, but still interesting. Sadly, our trip moves on so one soggy day is our lot.
Espiritu Santoe is the largest island in Vanuatu. It supports a population of 37,000. The only real town is Luganville, which is where we docked in the morning. During World War II, after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, the island was used by American naval and air forces. It became a large military supply and support base for a few years. The SS President Coolidge was a converted luxury liner carrying 5,000 troops. It hit a sea mine coming into the harbour area because nobody thought to mention that two of the three entry channels had been mined. The skipper ran the ship aground to avoid capsize or sinking and all but two hands were saved. The shipwreck is now a popular diving spot. Further up the coast is a place where the Americans dumped most of their used military and naval equipment. This is now also a scuba diving site known as Million Dollar Point. In highly fictionalised form, this island is the location of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, South Pacific.
Vanuatu has more freshwater blue waterholes than any other place in the world. Found hidden amongst the lush emerald rainforest, these iridescent blue holes are a direct result of Vanuatu’s unique geology. When it rains, water from the islands’ volcanic mountains flows underground into limestone caves, which corrodes the limestone and creates underground streams. Eventually, these streams resurface as freshwater springs, or what we know as the blue holes. The waters in these blue holes are incredibly clear, creating a dazzling luminescent effect that seems almost too perfect to be natural. That is what the guidebook says. We joined a group to go have a look at one.
A twenty-minute drive in a tiny minibus brought us to a bridge over a river. Here we got into canoes. Four people to a canoe with a man to paddle at the back. We did not have to do anything. Just sit there. The trip took about ten minutes. I quite enjoyed it. Floating along on clear, fresh water through dense, rich jungle. I didn’t see any birds or animals although we could hear birds. We arrived at the blue hole. A platform had been built around one side and this is where we got out. The water here is great for swimming. It is clear, clean spring water. Cool but not cold. Diane and I had brought our snorkelling gear but I think Diane was put off by the temperature of the water. I thought it was perfect and jumped straight in.
We had spotted a couple of small fish as we had come up the river. However, I was quite surprised at how much fish life there was when I started to look. Once I got away from the platform, where everyone was swimming and splashing around, there were a lot of fish. Big ones, small ones and flat ones. Underneath the overhangs and where trees were dipping into the water. Deeper down, I came across a whole big shoal of fish. No idea what any of them are. Google appears to struggle with these. It comes up with answers that do not seem confident. There are fish experts on the ship but they are hard to find during the day. Most of the fish can live in freshwater and seawater. I had a good half hour swimming around. We were all called out of the water. A short walk brought us back to the microbuses.
It was only lunchtime when we arrived at the ship. Still a few hours before we sailed. So, we got together with Philip and Susan and went to hire a taxi. We had no idea where we could go or what it would cost. A gang of taxi drivers converged on us. They were all waving sheets with pictures of potential destinations and they were all talking, loudly, at the same time. Many of the destinations were impractically far away but we eventually came up with an idea. After much discussion, we settled on a destination and a driver and a price that was less than the replacement value of a new car.
First stop was a petrol station where our driver bought fuel for the trip. We were only going a few kilometres so he only filled up with a couple of litres. On the map we had chosen a roughly circular trip with a short excursion along a spit of land. What we discovered was not a road but a very rough track. The driver very slowly and carefully made his way around all the potholes. The noise was terrible. He explained that a hubcap was loose. The reality was that the vehicle’s suspension was completely shot. We made it to the spit of land. It was private property and we could not go far. We stopped to look at some beach and I took photographs of a lad fishing. He had a weighted net which he would throw into the water and then gather back in. Back in the taxi we arrived at a large pothole full of water. Our driver did not want to tackle this. We turned round and headed back.
That was it for Vanuatu. Now we had three sea days as we headed for Papua New Guinea.
While we were having lunch, the Seabourne Pursuit repositioned a short distance. We dropped anchor just off the Vanuatu island of Pentecost. A short zodiac ride brought us to the grey, volcanic beach. We were welcomed warmly and then got to sit around for a while until everyone had arrived. We were all here to watch the Land Diving (Nanggol). Boys and men jumping off wooden towers up to 30 m high. They have two tree vines wrapped around their ankles. These are just the right length so that, if all goes correctly, the jumper just grazes the ground with their shoulder.
Toilet spider
A tight rope walker appeared. He was rather good. A vine had been set up a few metres above everyone’s heads. He walked along the rope. Walked backwards, turned around and balanced on one foot. That part of the entertainment concluded, we were herded up a fairly steep grassy slope. Benches had been set up around the base of the tower. I spotted a shady area a little further up the slope which looked ideal for taking a few photographs while staying out of the sun. As I made my way up there, I was stopped by one of the expedition team. “Are you part of the Image Masters group?”. No, I wasn’t. Image Masters is an optional Seabourn program. If you sign up, the ship’s photographer will spend time with you to help improve your skills. This had initially piqued my interest until I spotted the eye-watering cost. Anyhow, the shady spot under the tree was apparently reserved for these acolytes. Now, I am fairly sure Seabourn paid handsomely for us to attend the land diving. However, they did not actually purchase the hill and this was a public event. I explained this to the team member in terms that were much more polite than I was feeling. In the interests of keeping the peace, I did not go any further. Later, I noticed many people choosing to ignore the Seabourn rules. I also discovered that it was not the ideal position because of the way the cloud and sun were working and I went elsewhere.
The dancing, drumming and chanting started. A large group of people on the hill to the side of the tower. Rhythmically stepping from side to side. Many of the men had sticks like spears or javelins. The women held colourful bunches of variegated leaves. The divers were all up here and part of the dance. So were quite a few other people and the women. The sound of the drums and the chants rang out clearly across the hillside.
The origin story for Nanggol begins with a woman. She disliked her husband’s behaviour and ran off into the forest to hide. A vagueness surrounds the source of her dissatisfaction; however, she was definitely fed up of him. Her husband followed so she climbed a tall banyan tree. He climbed after her. She tied vines around her ankles and jumped back down. Her husband jumped after her but did not tie lianas to himself. Because of this oversight, he plummeted to his death. In respect for the escaping wife, the women of the tribe created the sport of land diving. The husbands, however, were not comfortable with seeing their wives in such positions, so they took the sport for themselves. Later, specifically designed wooden towers replaced the tree. The men continue to perform land diving so that they would not be tricked again
The nanggol ritual is associated with the yam harvest. It is performed annually in April or May. A good dive helps ensure a bountiful yam harvest. It is believed that land diving can enhance the health and strength of the divers. A successful dive can remove any illnesses and physical problems associated with the wet season. Also, land diving is considered a sign of masculinity It demonstrates the boldness of the warrior. Men who do not choose to dive or back out of diving are humiliated as cowards.
The time of yam harvest is significant because tower construction is best done during the dry season. The lianas have the best elasticity during this time. In 1974, Queen Elizabeth II came to see the spectacle of nanggol in the middle of the wet season. The villagers were persuaded to jump anyhow but the vines were not elastic enough. One diver snapped both lianas, hit the ground hard and broke his back. He later died in hospital
During the period of preparation for nanggol, the men seclude themselves from the women and refrain from sex. Women are not allowed to go near the tower. The spirit of the original woman who dived off the banyan tree still lives in the tower. She may seek vengeance, leading to the death of a diver. The men often prepare for their possible death. They will conclude any unsettled business or disputes. The night before the jump, they sleep beneath the tower to ward off evil spirits. The men must not wear any lucky charms during the dive.
The ritual begins with the least experienced jumpers on the lower platforms and ends with the most experienced jumpers on the upper platforms. This means that the first person to jump, before a large and expectant crowd, is a young boy. For boys, land diving is a rite of passage. After circumcision at about 7 years old, they can participate in the ritual. When a boy is ready to become a man, he performs nanggol in the presence of his elders.
The first lad to jump was obviously very nervous. He did well. After a couple of shy hand waves at the crowd, he hopped off the platform and landed nicely. This got him a round of applause. The next lad was equally nervous and had to jump from a higher platform. Each time somebody jumps, the platform on which they were standing collapses to help break the fall. So, each successive jump is higher than the last. Then came a lad who could not do it. He looked completely terrified. I felt sorry for him. It reminded me of at least one occasion when I was very young and very scared. After a long pause he climbed back down. I hope he was not treated too badly.
The construction of the tower takes several weeks. Up to thirty men help build it. They cut trees to construct the body, clear a site for the tower, and remove rocks from the soil. Several platforms stick out 2 m from the front of the tower, supported by several struts. During the jump, the platform supports snap, causing the platform to hinge downward and absorb some of the force from falling. Vines are selected by a village elder and matched with each diver’s weight. The vines need to be supple, elastic, and full of sap in order to be safe. The ends of the vines are shredded to allow the fibres to be looped around the ankles of the jumpers. If the vine is too long, the diver will hit the ground hard. If the vine is too short, the diver might collide with the tower.
Before dawn on the day of the ceremony, the men undergo a ritual wash. They anoint themselves with coconut oil and decorate their bodies. Men wear nambas. A traditional Vanuatu penis sheath. We had already encountered the chiefs wearing nambas in the morning. The two tribes on Malakula (2nd largest island in Vanuatu) are called the Big Nambas and the Small Nambas. They are named for the size of their nambas. Women wear traditional grass skirts and go bare-breasted. Only the men are allowed to dive, but the dancing women provide mental support.
In the mid-nineteenth century, missionaries came to Vanuatu and persuaded the natives to stop land diving. Being missionaries, their tactics for persuasion were probably very direct and unsubtle. By the 1970s the missionaries had gone off to annoy someone else and a righteous anti-colonialism spirit was arising. Nanggol is now seen as a way to demonstrate and reinforce cultural identity.
I moved to the other side of the seating area to get a better view. Each successive jumper was getting older, more experienced and higher up the tower. Each successive jump was more serious. Finally, we got to the very last jump. Right from the highest point of the tower. It was impressive. A long, long way to fall. Must take nerves of steel and the confidence of conviction in the tower, the vines and all the preparation. After a wave at the crowd, he clasped his hands across his chest, leant forward and pitched headfirst off the platform. It really was a long way to fall. I had time for several photographs as he plunged towards the ground. The was a snap from the platform and then the whole tower whipped forwards. He touched the ground and then was pulled into the soft soil below the tower. A perfect jump.
You may have noticed a similarity between nanggol and bungee jumping. The first modern bungee jumps were made in 1979 from the 76 m Clifton Suspension Bridge in Bristol. The students, Kirke and Keeling of the Oxford University Dangerous Sports Club, came up with the idea after discussing the “vine jumping” ritual of Vanuatu. Organised commercial bungee jumping began with the New Zealander, Hackett, who made his first jump from Auckland’s Greenhithe Bridge in 1986. Since then, bungee jumping has become a world-wide, lucrative business. The cultural appropriation has never been recognised or compensated for. In 1995, the people of Pentecost Island, with the support of Vanuatu’s attorney-general declared that they would endeavour to get royalties from bungee jumping enterprises because they viewed the tradition as stolen. I have no idea whether anything ever came of this.
With that we were done. The jumping had taken all afternoon. Everyone made their way back to the beach. The sun was starting to set as we headed back to the ship.
Another sea day and we have arrived at the Vanuatu island of Ambrym. The island is roughly triangular. 50 km wide. The centre of the land mass is dominated by a 12 km wide caldera containing two lava lakes. The caldera was formed around AD 50 by one of the largest volcanic explosions in recent geological history. Several times a century, Ambrym volcano has destructive eruptions. It is one of the most active volcanoes in the world. The island is also a particularly important bird conservation area. There are many rare, special and endemic bird species here. This all sounded extremely exciting and interesting. As we approached, I was scanning the volcanic cone for signs of smoke or other activity.
We went ashore to watch the locals perform a dance.
The Rom Dance of Ambrym is a sacred, ancient ceremony performed by men in elaborate banana-leaf costumes. The tall, conical masks represent ancestral spirits. They become the ancestors and must be burned afterwards because they contain the powerful spirits of the dead. Ambrym is considered to be the black magic epicentre of Vanuatu. This dance is a ritual that tells stories of good versus evil and is traditionally connected to yam harvests and initiation rites, such as circumcision. The ceremony honours ancestors and wards off evil spirits. The dancers are completely covered in banana leaves and wear brightly painted masks. It is a pulsating, hypnotic dance using highly repetitive drum rhythms.
Off to one side were a group of women dancers. The Rom dance is men only. It is fierce and war like. However, since we were also being welcomed to the village, the women were dancing their own thing underneath a large tree.
Tamtam drums are massive wooden slit drums. Made from a hollowed-out hardwood tree trunk with sealed ends and a longitudinal slit. They are struck with a short, solid drumstick. Technically, these are not drums because they lack a membrane stretched across the top. They are idiophones, where the entire instrument vibrates. On most islands of Vanuatu, the drum has little to no decoration. It is played horizontally on the ground. On Ambrym the drums are set vertically into the ground. They are decorated with faces representing ancestral figures. The distinctive shape of these large eyed figures has become iconic of Vanuatu as a whole and is represented on their banknotes.
The ceremony is considered a profound and rare experience, often regarded as one of the most significant traditional performances in Melanesia. Not quite volcanoes and rare birds but sometimes you just need to make the best of what is available.
We were arranged around the edge of a performance area where we sat on rough benches. It took the best part of an hour for everyone to be ferried ashore and helped up the short walk to the arena. Eventually, we were all ready and then the drums started. I quite liked the monotonous rhythm of the drums. The dancers very slowly danced their way into the arena. Village chiefs, wearing almost nothing, formed a group in the centre. Costumed and masked dancers surrounded them. Everybody was swaying to the incessant beat of the drums and stomping their feet. The ground vibrated with the rhythms.
The dance went on for a long time. It went through several phases but I have no idea of the meaning of each section. Eventually, the dance finished and we were invited to photograph the dancers and the chiefs. However, we were given a strict warning to avoid touching the dancers, the masks, the costumes or the drums. In fact, we were not even to get too close to them. The dance had awakened ancient spirits that were now in the costumes and masks. Extremely dangerous. As soon as the photographs were finished the dancers slipped away. Even before we had walked back down to the beach, the dancers were busy burning the costumes, masks and everything. The big drums are not burnt but they are treated with respect and nobody touches them until the next dance.
On the beach was a small band playing cheerful music. A few vendors were selling local craft items. Fruit and coconuts were being handed out for refreshments. We ate some pomelo. A large grapefruit like citrus fruit. Extremely sweet, juicy and with a fantastic taste. We see them in the UK supermarkets occasionally. Unfortunately, by the time they have arrived in Todmorden, they are a dried up, tasteless, sad reflection of the real thing.
We headed back to the ship for lunch. Diane had found two small children that she wanted to adopt. Unfortunately, they were not allowed onto the zodiac because they did not have lifejackets.
After lunch, I heard on the radio that three tourists had tragically died on an Indonesian volcano when it erupted. They were part of a group that, ignoring local advice, were hiking in a restricted area close to the crater rim. The eruption was expected. It had been building for days. The locals were anticipating that it would be a big one and it was. Many people were rescued from around the volcano. It seems likely that others are missing. They sneak into an area that has been closed because it is dangerous. They do not tell anyone where they are going with their drones and cameras. It can be difficult to account for them later.
Next day was the end of another leg. We hauled in at Lautoka, Fiji’s second largest city. The morning was spent getting one set of passengers off the ship. In the afternoon, a different set of passengers was embarked. Meanwhile, those of us that were continuing the voyage, the in transit passengers, were sent off on a trip to get us out of the way. It was not a great trip. We have done some coach trips that set the bar low and this one was right down there. We were driven to a marina. Given some fruit. Shown how to open a coconut. Driven to a shop and finally brought back to the ship. This was stretched over nearly four hours. The shop, a multi-floor upmarket emporium, was aimed exclusively at tourists to the extent that prices were all in US dollars.
Now the ship was full of strangers again. We spent much of the afternoon doing safety drills, listening to safety briefings and generally being bombarded with information that we had already received twice before. Outside, big black stormy clouds were brewing. Rainy squalls were all around us.
Pacific swallows
Next morning we were intending a landing at another small Fijian village called Nabukeru. This time the weather was against us. For the most part, we have been remarkably lucky with the weather on this trip. Today it did not work out for Nabukeru. The swell and wind were just a bit too much. We repositioned to an alternative landing site on the north coast but this was deemed to be just as bad. A group of locals, meanwhile, had come out in their small boat to see what we were messing around at. They were bouncing around in their small white boat without any care for the sea state or wind. They shouted “Bula” to us in loud, cheerful voices. This is the Fijian greeting. Often delivered as an explosive shout with wide open arms. All to no avail though. We waved them goodbye and headed all the way back to our landing site of two days previously close to the village of Yasawairara. Here there was better shelter from the land and we could finally put the zodiacs out.
The rest of the day was just about hanging around the beach and the village. For Diane and I, it meant two more snorkelling trips. While many others were lying on the beach or buying souvenirs in the village, we were in the water.
Lined SurgeonfishBlue FusiliersYellowfin Goatfish
The visibility had improved a little. This helped with the photography. I had found a setting to do with focusing. This helped as well. Unfortunately, I also managed to put the camera in a low-resolution jpeg mode. This did not help. Once you are in the water, it is a bit late to start messing with settings. It is difficult to see well enough for this, so I just tend to assume (hope) everything is set correctly and off we go. Since then I have been studying the manual some more. Partly to help get the right setup but also to find a way to lock everything so that I cannot inadvertently mess it all up when I jump I the water.
My ability to identify fish is still woefully inadequate. Like with bird identification, Google helps a lot. There are also some fish experts on the ship. One thing I have learned, is to not touch things underwater. There are many reasons for this. Much of the coral is quite fragile and also has sharp edges. Possibly worse than this however, are the wide variety of poisonous creatures. The Lined Surgeon fish looks very nice. Bright colours. Easy to spot. Very photogenic. But possesses sharp, venomous spines, or “scalpels,” located on both sides of its tail base for defence against predators.
Surgeon fishTomato ClownfishClam
There was a wide variety of fish on the reef. And a wide variety of corals. I know even less about corals than fish. Corals, somewhat surprisingly, are animals. Although they look like plants or rocks and are sessile (fixed in one spot), they are, in fact, animals. Individual corals have a stomach, mouth and tentacles used for capturing food and defending themselves. They also have a symbiotic relationship with algae. The algae live in the tissue of the polyps and provide oxygen and food (glucose, glycerol, amino acids) through photosynthesis. This process also gives the coral its vivid colours. Over thousands of years, the calcium carbonate skeletons of the coral polyps build up to form reefs. Some of which are enormous.
Doublebar GoatfishBluestreak cleaner wrasse
I saw several schools of yellowfin goatfish. During the day, they often form large, inactive schools for protection. This is great. They stay still so that you can photograph them.
Chevron butterflyfish are very pretty. They feed almost exclusively on the polyps and mucus of the corals.
Indian mackerel
Surgeonfish are generally herbivores that consume turf algae. They are often found grazing on coral and rocks.
Doublebar Goatfish have a big spot around their eye – making them look like they have big eyes.
Gracile Lizardfish
A school of Indian Mackerel swept in. These are strange looking fish. They are a reasonable size (20 – 30 cm) and were swimming in a school of 30 or more. They were moving fast and my first impression was that they had plastic bags on their heads. On closer inspection, they were swimming with their mouths open. These fish are ram feeders. They swim with their mouths wide open to strain plankton and macroplankton from the water using their gill rakers.
Lying on a patterned section of coral was a lizardfish. These are ambush predatory feeders. Normally they camouflage themselves against the sea floor. This one apparently did not realise that on the regularly patterned coral, it stood out like a sore thumb.
Finally, there was a sabre squirrelfish. These are nocturnal and this particular one was hiding in a hole. I waited patiently for it to come out. Good job I did not reach in for it. They have small spines that secrete venom for protection. While not deadly to humans, their stings can be painful. Do not touch things underwater.
Lomaloma is a small village on Fijian island of Vanua Balavu. We arrived there just after lunch and got ferried ashore by zodiac. A tour of the village consisted of walking down the small main road to the post office. Then we looked at the church, the hospital and the school and came back for the cultural presentation. I often find these presentations a little tricky. This one began with sharing Kava. A few of the onlookers were singled out to sit cross-legged and drink out of the coconut cup. Kava is a mildly psychoactive local drink used as a welcoming ceremony. Next the children were pushed in front of us. Along with a begging bowl. The children were made to sing a song while the Americans donated money via the begging bowl. Diane and I headed back to the ship fairly soon after this and then I received a call.
I am in trouble. I am on the naughty step. I am standing outside the headmaster’s study. I have been summoned by Guest Services to the Hotel Manager’s office. The Hotel Manager is tall with white hair and is clearly a wizard. The assistant captain is also there. He is young, small and sports a prominent ginger beard. I don’t know his name. In my mind, he is Gloin Redbeard. Gandalf rather cryptically tells me this is not about yesterday’s incident. So why am I here? The incident has been reported and logged. Someone’s version has been logged. Gloin reads me the rules concerning zodiac operations and the importance of holding hands. I wholeheartedly agree while wondering if the crew member received a reminder to let go of guest’s arms. We all shake hands and I am allowed to leave. I still don’t know if the offence was that I arrived in the boat with someone still attached to my arm, or calling them a dollop, or both. But I am free. I have escaped keel hauling, flogging, walking the plank or being turned into a newt. Time for a celebratory drink.
Next day, we were moored off from the wonderfully named Yasawairara, another small Fijian island village. Yet again, we were all invited ashore for a walking tour and a cultural presentation. This time it went much better. Straight out of the zodiac, I met an island chief called Prince Philip. He shared with me a large cup of Kava. It made my tongue slightly numb and tingly. The walk around the village was slightly more interesting. There were some goats on a rock. We skipped the dancing part of the presentation and went snorkelling.
The expedition team had set up two zodiacs. We could snorkel between them by following a reef wall. This was up to 10 m deep and included a wide range of different types of coral.
Striated SurgeonfishScissortail Fusiliers
The water was often a lot deeper than we had experienced before. This was fun but made photography difficult. Visibility was not so good either. Photographing fish is not so straightforward. I am used to looking at a scene through a viewfinder. Now I need to watch a small screen on the back of a camera, through goggles that are typically a bit misted up. Fish are twitchy, nervous things that vanish at the slightest movement. I end up stalking them. Hanging motionless in the water in the hope that they will ignore me and get on with their fishy lives.
Moorish Idol
I am also having to learn how to use a new camera. Like most cameras, this has a myriad of complex settings. It does not seem very practical to start messing with the camera controls in the water. I spend some time reading the manual. Then try fiddling with a few settings. Jump into the water and see what happens. Fortunately, we have quite a few more opportunities for snorkelling on this trip. Hopefully, this will be enough for me to get the hang of it.
Tonga is a Polynesian kingdom of more than 170 South Pacific islands, many uninhabited, most lined in white beaches and coral reefs and covered with tropical rainforest. 45 are inhabited supporting a population of 100,000. It is a constitutional monarchy. They have a real king. King Tupou VI. There is also a strong democratic movement but like most kings – he does not want to go. The monarchy has taken criticism for some bad decisions including, in the 1990s, when Topou IV considered increasing national revenue by allowing Tonga to be used as a nuclear waste dump. There was also a scheme to register foreign ships which came unstuck when the ships were shown to be engaged in illegal activities, including shipments for al-Qaeda. Male homosexuality is illegal. The economy has a large nonmonetary sector and a heavy dependence on remittances from the half of the country’s population who live abroad. The royal family and the nobles dominate and largely own the monetary sector of the economy. Especially the telecommunications and satellite services. Tonga was named the sixth-most corrupt country in the world by Forbes magazine in 2008. Tonga has one of the highest obesity rates in the world. Tourism is relatively undeveloped although the government see potential and are trying to encourage it.
Cruise ships visit the Vava’u island group occasionally for whale watching. We dropped anchor outside of Neiafu, the second-largest town in Tonga, population 4,000. It is the wrong time of year for whales so instead we were bussed to a botanical garden. The garden looked to me like an area that had just been allowed to grow wild although there were signs nailed to a few trees. It was hot, humid and the mosquitoes were biting.
We wandered around for a while. There were a few interesting plants and an impressive spider. Everything seemed very lush and green. The plants enjoy this weather even if I don’t.
After half an hour or so and three laps around the garden, we were taken down to a building on the beach. Here, we were given some fresh fruit and there was a cultural presentation. It was not very good. We were so crowded into the small, wooden building that it was difficult to see what was going on. There were dancing girls but even so I wandered off down to the beach to photograph some birds.
Back to the ship for an early lunch. We clambered onto the zodiacs from a concrete jetty so there was no need to get wet. It was a very easy two steps down into the boat. Even so, there were five expedition team members helping guests onto the boat. You are required to hold their arms in a fisherman’s grip and follow their instructions. A few guests are quite challenged in the mobility department and essentially get manhandled into place. As I stepped onto the boat, in the approved fashion, one of the people holding my arm forgot to let go. I don’t know if they were daydreaming, gossiping or what but the effect was to swing me around as I arrived in the zodiac. Nothing bad happened. I caught my balance and sat down. I did however remonstrate about hanging onto to me unnecessarily and called the offender a dollop. This was to have consequences.
The ship was repositioned to a nearby, uninhabited island and we went snorkelling. It was only a small island which sported a tiny, brilliantly white beach. Looks lovely but bits of broken coral can shred your feet if you are not careful.
Diane’s confidence at snorkelling is growing all the time. We jumped into the water without any messing around. Just past the beach, the water got quite deep. We could follow the slope around the island. Here there were masses of coral and many fish.
Clam
I keep thinking I should try and learn the names of a few more fish. The reality is that I am quite happy looking at them as if we were swimming in a giant fish tank. It is also fun to try and photograph them. It still feels strange to be operating a camera underwater. I keep expecting it to pack up at any moment.
Latticed Sandperch
There were several blue star fish, some sea cucumbers, a few clams and some feather stars. These are curious creatures. Look a little like a type of plant but they are actually more of a star fish. They can, if the urge takes them, detach from the coral and swim around.
Feather Star
We spotted a few Moorish Idol. A distinctive yellow and black fish. It is popular in marine aquariums although notoriously difficult to keep because it is a fussy eater.
Samoa is another island country. This time just four islands, two of which are uninhabited. 200,000 people live on the other islands. We arrived at the capital and largest city of Apia at the north of Upolu Island. We docked at a place that was called the cruise terminal. However, it looked just like any working cargo port to me. No facilities for passengers but a lot of containers piled up all around the place.
As is the way, we were loaded into a variety of local buses and sent off on a tour. My first concern was as to how our driver could see where he was going. The windscreen was plastered in little mirrors, numerous silhouettes of curvaceous women, brightly coloured fluffy material and a variety of certificates and notices. To see the road, he needed to squint through the remaining, small gaps. I hoped that his utterly enormous bright green gear stick helped in some way.
First stop was the cathedral. We got there without hitting anything. The church was a moderately simple wooden building. Smartly painted in white and blue. Adorned with many intricate stained-glass windows. I was impressed by one design in particular. There, sat amongst the disciples was a Samoan. You could tell he was Samoan from the traditional tattoos. He was looking very relaxed. Laid back, eyes partially closed. Very comfortable. He holds a fan to keep cool and is smoking a big, fat doobie. This explains much that is conventionally considered supernatural. Photograph from Susan. Thank you.
Taro
Then we got dropped off at the vegetable market and told we had an hour. It was a little over 30°C and extremely humid. Not the ideal conditions for spending an hour looking at vegetables but we gave it a go. Because of variations in altitude, the farmers can cultivate a broad range of tropical and subtropical crops. Many of these were on offer in the market. Taro used to be a major source of income for Samoa. A fungal blight devastated the plants in 1993. From a peak of 50%, taro now accounts for less than 1% of export revenue. The roots can be roasted or boiled. Other tables were laden with coconuts, papaya, avocado and citrus fruits. There were bananas still growing upwards from their stalks and prickly skinned soursop. This has an aromatic pulp used to make healthy juices, smoothies and ice cream.
It took about half an hour before the heat and humidity combined with the excitement of raw vegetables was getting to be too much for us. Back at the small, grubby bus we found most of the other members of our group taking advantage of the air conditioning. It was not especially cool in the bus but it was better than sitting outside. Since everyone had come back early, we left early to head up to the museum.
This was the Robert Louis Stevenson museum. After writing Kidnapped and Treasure Island he came here at the end of the 19th century for his lung health. It did not work and a few years later, at just 44 years old, he dropped dead in his purpose-built smoking room. We were shown around a replica of his bed, his wife’s bed, his mother’s bed and somebody else’s bed. We were also shown the only two fireplaces in Samoa. At 30°C it was easy to understand why fireplaces are not really needed. Quite possibly, neither of these have ever been lit but they do provide an nice, homely feel for a family originating in Scotland.
Round the back of the museum a seating area had been set up so that we could watch a cultural presentation. This started with a guided description of the tattoos on the back and legs of a large local lad. Then came the music and the dancing which involved a lot of shouting. The details were all meticulously recorded by a veritable army of phone wielding tourists.
Back at the ship, we had a few hours before departure, so we went snorkelling. It was only a few minutes’ walk to a small beach. We were charged $5 each to enter one of the smallest, least impressive beach areas I have ever visited. I have not visited many beaches. There may well be many worse. Diane opted out of getting into the water. The approach was steep and rocky. Great scope for minor injury or worse. I carefully picked my way down to the water and played with the new camera for half an hour. There were quite a few fish around and after much searching I manged to find some coral.
We were comfortably back on board before the ship sailed. A tug escorted us out. I doubt the Seabourne Pursuit, our ship, needs a tug. However, I imagine that port rules need to be followed and the tug probably needs the money. As the sun began setting, Samoa receded into the distance and Tonga was calling.
The Cook Islands are a group of 15 islands, population 15,000, forming an island country. The country is self-governing while in free association with New Zealand. This means that New Zealand acts on their behalf in foreign affairs and defence issues but only when requested by the Cook Islands government and with their advice and consent. Cook Islands has no armed forces but the Police Service owns a patrol boat provided by Australia. The government is a unitary parliamentary constitutional monarchy. King Charles III is their monarch but I don’t imagine he has much say in island affairs. Maybe just pops in occasionally for a cheap holiday.
The economy is based on tourism. They advertise the country as an affordable, exotic South Pacific archipelago with no crowds. No building is taller than a coconut tree. There are no high-rise hotels, traffic-lights or stop signs. Just unspoiled natural beauty; lagoons ringed by stunning coral reefs teaming with life, isolated beaches, rainforests, waterfalls, caves, unique bird life, and so much more.
We anchored outside the reef at Aitutaki Island. Diane and I went ashore by zodiac and had a short walk. It was hot. A bit too hot for me. We wandered up the road for half an hour and then took refuge from the sun at a table by the beach. The road was not particularly interesting. There were a few small shops and houses. All widely spaced with well kept gardens. Many of the gardens contained graves. Some of which were quite elaborate. I imagined children being told to go out and play by their great-grandparents. The beach was much more interesting. There were some birds fishing along the shore. Little crabs were running around. They rushed to hide down holes in the sand if you went anywhere near them. We went back along the sand under the shade from coconut palms. Carefully, of course, to avoid danger from falling coconuts.
A full-sized coconut weighs about 1.5 kg. If one fell on your head, it would probably hurt. Following a 1984 study on “Injuries Due to Falling Coconuts by Dr. Peter Barss “, exaggerated claims spread concerning the number of fatalities by falling coconuts. By the early 2000s, the urban legend of death by coconut had grown to 200+ fatalities per year. Barss was awarded an Ig Noble Award for his work. A press release from Club Travel, a UK-based travel insurance company, selling travel insurance for Papua New Guinea, stated that coconuts were “ten times more dangerous than sharks”. The truth is that occasionally, rarely more than once a year, people do get killed by coconuts. Sometimes it is their own fault. In Pennsylvania, a man died while trying to crack open a coconut with the butt end of a loaded revolver. The gun discharged and he got shot in the abdomen.
We arrived back at the docks unscathed. In the afternoon was a snorkelling trip. I grabbed my new camera, Diane grabbed a blue pool noodle and we were good to go. After transferring to a local boat, we were taken out into a large lagoon. Here we made a brief landing on Honeymoon Island to admire the white sand. Looked nice but was made of broken coral so it was sharp and unpleasant to touch. A short way offshore we went snorkelling off the boat.
Lagoon Triggerfish
This time my photographic efforts were a little more productive. There was plenty to photograph. Big lumps of coral reef interspersed with giant clams on the seabed. The clams look amazing and often have intricate patterns on the mantle parts. Giant clams are bi-valve filter-feeders. However much of their nutritional needs are supplied by zooxanthellae. These are photosynthetic single-celled organisms that live in symbiosis with the clam. Around the edge of the mantle are primitive eyes. The clams can weigh over 200 kg and live for more than 100 years.
I also spent a lot of time looking at fish. Small fish all around the reef. Some are actually eating the reef. Some eat other fish. Some eat parasites off other fish. Some eat algae. The reef is a whole complex ecosystem. The fish come in all shapes and sizes. Some are quite shy and hide in the reef. Others are very bold and in your face. I am trying to learn the names of some of these fish but it is a steep learning curve. All too soon we were back in the boat. I usually wear shorts and a t-shirt for snorkelling. By the time we were back on board, half an hour later, my clothes were completely dry.
Raʻiātea is the second largest of the Society Islands, after Tahiti, in French Polynesia. We arrived there early in the morning and tied up along side a large quay. After breakfast everyone came out to mill around on the dockside for a while before we were herded into groups. Our flock was shepherded round the corner to a small, local boat. Our new captain introduced himself and then sang to us while he guided the boat to a medium sized island. Then we got into some 4×4 vehicles and were taken to a black pearl farm.
They showed us how they make the pearls. Take a mature, black-lipped oyster and kill it to remove some of the mantle tissue. Take a freshwater scallop from the Mississippi, kill it and send it to Japan. They will reduce it to small, round, smooth beads which get sent to Tahiti. Take another local, black-lipped oyster but try not to kill this one. Instead, prise it open a little bit. Make a cut into its sex-gland and insert the bead from Japan along with the tissue from the donor oyster. The nacre that the gland secretes will cover the nucleus and form the pearl. Takes about two years during which time the oyster lives in an underwater rack. Finally, you can kill the oyster and retrieve the pearl. Inspect the pearl and hope it is a good one. This is Tahiti’s $10m black pearl business. Seems a cruel and unnecessary vanity to me however the number of people worldwide that will pay handsomely to decorate their necks with oyster gonad growths is enormous.
Messing with oysters
Next came a vanilla pod plantation. This was far more pleasant. The pods come from a type of orchid which grows as a vine. Measured by weight, vanilla is the world’s second-most expensive spice after saffron. Growing vanilla seed pods is particularly labour-intensive. At this plantation, the vines were grown up small trees. Each flower must be pollinated by hand. This can only be done in the early hours of the morning when the flowers open for about an hour. The plantation is carefully controlled for moisture, nutrients and pests. Other types of trees and a lot of manual labour are used to create the correct balance.
Artificial vanilla products contain vanillin. This is produced synthetically from lignin, a natural polymer found in wood. Synthetic vanillin is a byproduct from the pulp used in papermaking. The lignin is broken down using sulphates. Vanillin is only one of 171 identified aromatic components of real vanilla fruits and a poor substitute for the genuine thing. Diane voluntarily tested the veracity of this statement by eating a pot of genuine vanilla ice cream.
PlantationVanilla pods
The tour went on. We were driven up to a viewpoint and fed some fresh fruit. On the way we saw avocado trees, various citrus trees, mango, papaya, the ubiquitous coconut palms and many other plants. It rains a lot here. Most days apparently. And it is hot. Pushing 30°C most days. The plant growth is lush and verdant. Our captain magically reappeared at the top of the hill. He whipped out his small guitar and proceeded to teach everyone to dance. Fortunately, for me, this did not last too long. Then we were off back to the coast and his small boat.
Last part of the trip was some snorkelling. This was particularly exciting because I had a new toy, the underwater camera, to play with. We were taken out close to the edge of the reef by a small island. On the island was a bit of a resort with deck chairs and a bar. However, we did not go there. We simply stopped several hundreds of metres away and got in the water. Thirty minutes later I had taken a lot of photographs and encountered a Tahitian stingray. I know little about rays but I did spot a long tail with a spike which I suspected, correctly, was venomous. I gave it a wide berth. Later I looked through my photographs and was a bit disappointed. I was not despondent though. There was bound to be a learning process.
Eventually, we were back on the ship and sailing away. The sunset was gorgeous. Gorgeous but quick. This close to the equator, once you notice the sun beginning to set, there are only minutes before it has actually set and darkness falls. I grabbed some pictures of the beach and vegetation in the golden light. Another cruise ship, the Star Breeze, passed us on the way to occupy our recently vacated berth. We were on our way to the Cook Islands.
Papeete, on the island of Tahiti, is the capital of French Polynesia, a group of 121 islands and atolls spread over an immense area of the South Pacific. Technically, French Polynesia is an overseas collectivity of the French Republic – whatever that means. French Polynesia is associated with the European Union as an overseas country and territory despite being over 16,000 km from mainland Europe – what that means is that the locals here are EU citizens, can vote in EU elections and have freedom of movement across the EU.
Papeete marked the end of the first leg of this voyage. Around two thirds of the guests left the ship this morning. They will be replaced by a similar number this evening. Meanwhile, those of us staying on board were getting in the way so they shepherded us into coaches and sent us on various trips around the island. Our first stop was a small museum dedicated to the American author, James Norman Hall. He co-wrote a trilogy of historical novels about the Mutiny on the Bounty. I imagine that our popular view of the mutiny comes from these stories and the subsequent three films. For me, the museum was remarkably boring. I found I had little interest in the eighty-year-old desk of an author I had never heard of before. Outside was a breadfruit tree. We were assured that it was directly related to those that Bligh was carrying on the Bounty. For me, it was interesting to see exactly what a breadfruit looks like.
Next stop were some black sands where part of the 1962 Mutiny on the Bounty film was made with Marlon Brando. Then we went for lunch. Lunch was served at nice restaurant that was literally on the other side of the island. An hour and a half drive in a coach. The drive was moderately interesting. Our guide managed to talk continuously throughout the entire trip. Sorry to say, I fell asleep.
BreadfruitBlack sands
After lunch, a salad, we set off back around the south side of the island. This was just as exciting as the north side but before I had properly settled down, we stopped at the Vaipahi water gardens. Small but pretty. Nice little waterfall and a collection of exotic tropical plants. I did not recognise any of them but I did take a few photographs. There were a few chickens running around which I photographed as well.
Lunch
Last stop was a very modern museum just outside Papeete. Most of the exhibits are wood. Canoes, drums, statues and pieces of unrecognisable driftwood. All lovingly displayed and labelled. The display room was nicely air conditioned and comfortable. It amused me to see some very serious and intellectual people standing around a lump of driftwood. Even better was an early carving of Groot. However, my favourite piece was a large iron container that looked to be the perfect comic book representation of a cannibal’s cooking pot.
Groot?
Two cannibals eating a clown. One says to the other “Does this taste funny to you”
We got dropped off just before the cruise terminal so that I could go a buy a camera. There was just 30 minutes for this mission. If we dallied, we would miss the ship. Fortunately, I had researched the camera and the shop. There was only one left because they were in great demand that week. At least, that is what the shop keeper explained as he overcharged me for it. No time to argue or even discuss the extras he wanted to sell me. We made the ship with ten minutes to spare and now I had an underwater camera to play with.
Back on the ship, we had a lot of new people to deal with. As the ship prepared to leave, there was a little party on the back deck. Drinks and some live music. We stood around for a while and completely failed to talk to anyone, never mind the newcomers. The sun set so went for dinner.
Two more sea days and we have arrived in French Polynesia. Our route, past Easter Island and Pitcairn, has taken us through the centre of the South Pacific Gyre. This is a system of currents rotating between South America and Australia with a large, static area in the centre. The lack of currents here makes the ocean relatively unproductive. Sometimes described as an oceanic desert. What we experienced was clear blue seas but no bird life and no whales. The ship’s crew have been putting on a variety of games and events to keep us happy. The latest of these was the “Teddy Tumble” or, as I thought of it, teddy tossing. An hour before our arrival at the first atoll many of the passengers were to be found at the top of the main staircase. Five floors below was a small bucket. The objective was to drop a teddy bear from the top into the bucket. Each passenger was given three bears. I think two bears actually made it into the bucket.
Back in the real world, we took on board at pilot just outside Katui, our entry point to French Polynesia. Nobody went ashore here but some officials came aboard to stamp a few passports. After many days at sea, the area seemed alarmingly crowded. There were two more cruise ships, a plethora of yachts, an airport and many buildings. The World caught my attention. This is a cruise ship but it is run like a condominium. It contains 165 cabins which can be purchased outright. The residents live onboard as the ship travels. Some choose to live onboard full-time while others visit periodically. They all have a say in where the ship goes. It has traversed the Northwest passage. In 2017 it broke the world record for being the southernmost ship at the Bay of Whales. The same place that our ship, the Douglas Mawson, pushed the record even further in March. https://salter.blog/2026/03/02/bay-of-whales/
Paperwork done, we left in the evening to anchor off Tahanea Atoll, an uninhabited chain of islands. Next morning was zodiac cruising. This was fun and pleasant in the warm early morning sunshine. We saw some Black Tipped Reef Sharks. Quite small animals. Usually, a lot less than 2 m. As our friend Bruce explained, these are not dangerous unless you pull their tail or try to cuddle them. There were a few birds around but they seemed quite shy and mostly kept their distance.
In the afternoon we went snorkelling. No photographs of this. I am planning to get a waterproof camera because the sights along the reef are amazing. Many brightly coloured fish, giant clams and the occasional shark. Only about the fourth time Diane has been snorkelling ever but she is really getting the hang of it now.
Next day we moved up to Anaa where a small community lives. We were all invited to a cultural presentation. First, however, we got up early for some more snorkelling. There is no stopping Diane now. Warm water. Masses of brightly coloured fish. Interesting coral. Small sharks. Great way to start the day.
A shower and a change of clothes later we arrived at the presentation. They gave us cold, green coconuts to drink. This is terrific stuff. Tasty and not too sweet. We wandered around the place a little. There was some music and dancing girls. There was a demonstration of how to prepare a mature coconut. Coconuts are everything here. They are used for eating, building, decorating and many other things. No part of the plant is wasted. We were served some local foods. To my surprise this was not all fish. I mean, there was quite a lot of fish but there was also savoury coconut fritters, breadfruit fritters, a savoury cake made from coconut milk, some sweets and other things. It was all very tasty. If asked, I will usually say that I don’t like coconut. There is a coconut taste, the flavour you get in a Bounty bar, which I am really not bothered about. But this coconut was lovely. A much more delicate and interesting taste.
Coconuts all finished, we headed back to the ship at lunchtime. The anchor was pulled up and we set sail for Tahiti.
In 1787 the HMS Bounty sailed from London on a mission to collect and transport breadfruit plants from Tahiti to the West Indies. They stayed in Tahiti for five months. Many of the men lived ashore and took wives. Shortly after resumption of the voyage, Captain Bligh became increasingly harsh with the crew. Eventually they mutinied and put Bligh and eighteen loyalists adrift in the ship’s open launch. Bligh managed to get back to England in 1790 and set about tracking down the mutineers. The Admiralty despatched HMS Pandora which apprehended fourteen of the mutineers in Tahiti. The ship went aground with the loss of 31 hands including four mutineers. The ten surviving detainees reached England in June 1792 to be court-martialled. Four were acquitted, three were pardoned and three were hanged.
Meanwhile, Fletcher Christian, the leader of the mutineers had kidnapped several Tahitian women and sailed from Tahiti, along with eight other mutineers in the Bounty. They eventually found Pitcairn at the start of 1790. It was difficult because although the island was known, its position was very inaccurate. They chose to settle on this hidden island. The ship was stripped and then set ablaze. An event which is still celebrated every 23rd Jan using a wooden model that is burned by the shore.
Christian’s group remained undiscovered on Pitcairn until 1808, by which time only one mutineer, John Adams, remained alive. His fellow mutineers, including Christian, were dead. Killed either by one another or by their Polynesian companions. No action was taken against Adams. His grave can still be seen on the island. Today’s Pitcairn Islanders are descended primarily from nine British HMS Bounty mutineers and twelve Tahitian women. In 2023, the territory had a permanent population of 35, making it the smallest territory in the world by number of permanent residents.
A dozen cruise ships call at Pitcairn each year. Very few of them attempt a landing. The approach through the swell is gnarly in all but ideal conditions and they do not occur very often. We were exceptionally lucky. Very little swell and a gentle breeze. Almost perfect. Many people managed to get ashore. We set off quite early with Philip and Susan for a walk. There was an organised trek up to the highest point of the island. We did not fancy being part of a big, organised group so we slipped off on our own.
After a bouncy Zodiac run into the quay, we were faced by the “hill of difficulty”. A steep, iconic, paved incline of roughly 70 meters (about 0.5 km long) that leads from Bounty Bay up to the main settlement of Adamstown. This was hard work. I was quite sweaty by the top.
First stop was a small store selling souvenirs. Diane was attracted to the honey. I got chatting to a local who showed me the avocadoes growing over the road. This was very cool. I have wanted to see avocadoes growing on the tree for a long time. Next came the museum. Here a very friendly American gave us his life story and I took a photograph of a canon in a plastic box.
We walked up to the highest point of the island. 347 m of steep track. Technically quite straightforward but strenuous in the hot, humid weather. The Pitcairn Islands are a British overseas territory with a degree of local government. Traditionally, Pitcairners consider that their islands officially became a British colony on 30 November 1838. The islands of Henderson, Oeno and Ducie (the atoll of two days ago) were annexed by Britain in 1902. Panting and sweating our way up a steep track through dense jungle vegetation did not feel particularly British. Eventually we reached the top. Rather thoughtfully, someone had already been up on a quad bike and left some chilly drinking water.
We had a pleasant break taking in the views, taking photographs and rehydrating. A rainy squall had us running for cover and then we set off back down. This was a lot easier although we got rained on a couple more times. Diane had to swap her boots for sandals part way down but we made it back intact. The villagers had set up a little stall right next to the old anchor from the Bounty. They were selling milk shakes and scones. Ideal post-hike recovery food.
We took a leisurely stroll back through the small village. Diane collected some honey. Pitcairn is famous for its honey. Out here, in the middle of the pacific, there is no air pollution and plenty of flowers. This makes for happy bees and tasty honey. Back down the hill of difficulty, which seemed even steeper in descent. Then another bouncy zodiac ride back to the ship.
Two more sea days and we arrived at Ducie Island. Imagine the archetypal deserted island. Small and sandy with a single palm tree. Sharks circle the island. Ducie Island does not have a palm tree but otherwise there is a strong similarity. It is an uninhabited atoll in the Pitcairn Islands group. A couple of kilometres across and roughly circular. A large atoll fills the centre. The only land is a thin, horseshoe shaped strip. Despite its sparse vegetation, the atoll is known as the breeding ground of a number of bird species. More than 90% of the world population of Murphys Petrel nests on Ducie. Sharks and other dangerous sea creatures encircle it.
We only had time for a half day visit. A landing was out of the question. A couple of young, fit, expendable members of the expedition team did go ashore to investigate a small boat that had been washed up there. However, trying to get over a hundred geriatrics ashore would have taken all day and been a little pointless. There was not a lot to see. Zodiac cruising was fine. We were in the second group to go out. I whiled away the time photographing some boobies.
Brown Booby on final approachFlaps downSmall heading correctionFull flapsTouchdown
Just as they were about to call time on the first group, the rain arrived. Nasty little deluge. Everyone got soaked. We put our waterproofs on. Set off in the rain and got too hot. You cannot win. Fortunately, the sun came out. We bobbed around for a while and I managed to photograph a few birds. Diane saw a shark.
Murphys Petrel
Eventually, we were all done and back on board. As the ship turned to leave, a catamaran yacht came around the atoll. The strangely named “six & half” was heading for New Zealand. They were not in a hurry. Estimated arrival of the small family is about a year from now. Next stop for us is Pitcairn Island, home of the mutineers.
Easter Island is remote. Really remote. You might think that Cleethorpes is a long way away but that is just peanuts compared to Easter Island. From Robinson Crusoe Island, it took us four days sailing to get here. Six days in total from the Chilean mainland. You could fly, from Santiago, 3,500 km, in 5 hours. The island has a population of 5,000 and a surprisingly big runway. It is roughly triangular, 25 km long and half as wide. The closest inhabited neighbour is Pitcairn Island (pop 50), 1,931 km to the west.
Rapa Nui, as the island is also known, is famous for its monolithic human statues called Moai. Polynesians, from islands further west, arrived here in 1,200 AD and created an industrious and successful settlement. They carved enormous Moai, cleared the land, grew crops and kept chickens. When the first Europeans arrived, in 1722, the population was around 2,500 but the ecology was under serious stress. Most of the trees had gone. Soil erosion was becoming a problem. Many endemic species of flora had been made extinct. The Polynesian Rat was firmly established and causing widespread damage. Cannibalism was a widespread practice.
As is usually the story, the arrival of Europeans did not help the locals very much. Diseases, slave raiding expeditions and emigration to other islands such as Tahiti severely depleted the population. Whaling expeditions introduced tuberculosis. Slaving was made illegal and a handful of islanders were repatriated. Unfortunately, they brought smallpox with them. By 1877 the entire population was just over 100. By this time, many of the statues has been toppled although it is not entirely clear why. Clan warfare may have been part of the reason, as might a tsunami.
In 1888 the islands were annexed by Chile and things started to improve. A little. In 1903 the island was bought by the English sheep-farming company Williamson Balfor. The locals were no longer able to farm for food and were forced to work on the ranches in order to buy food. In 1953 the company’s contract was cancelled and administration of the island handed over to the Chilean Navy. In 1966 the island was properly re-opened, and the Rapanui were given Chilean citizenship. At the same time, the airport was built and the Americans came. Between 1965 and 1970, the United States Air Force (USAF) settled on Easter Island, radically changing the way of life of the Rapanui. They became acquainted with the customs of the consumer societies of the developed world and then began to embrace tourism.
The tuff quarry where all the Moai come from
We dropped anchor in the bay off Hanga Roa, the main town. Technically it was a few days after Easter but I liked to think that we were visiting Easter Island at Easter. Zodiacs ferried us ashore and then we were herded, sheep like, into small busses. First stop was a replica village where I nearly fell asleep. The high light was a stone chicken house. Next stop was the quarry where the Moai were carved. This was a bit more interesting and chance to stretch my legs. Approximately 1,000 Moai were made and they were all carved from the volcanic Tuff in this quarry. Tuff is essentially compressed ash. It is quite soft, for a rock. Easy to carve but not exceptionally durable. Most of the Moai look a bit past their best these days. Walking around the quarry it is possible to spot Moai in most stages of construction. So far, I have not found a good explanation as to why the Rapanui stopped carving the statues. What I like to imagine is that, after several hundreds of years of banging out statues, they finally realised it was not working. Nothing happened. There was no divine protection. The mana did not flow. They simply did not function. It was just an awful lot of arduous work. The stone masons discussed this for a while then downed their tools and went off to find a religion that worked a bit better.
We went to see some Moai that had been restored and erected on the coast. Most Moai look inland. They are supposed to be keeping an eye on things. They do look quite nice. I prefer the ones without eyes – gives them a sense of being a bit haughty. There is considerable discussion about how they were moved. Some of the statues weight in at over 50 tons. One idea is that they were rocked while upright while being pulled at the same time. This makes them walk forward. It is an interesting idea but would leave great scope for accidentally pulling one over. We got dropped off in town where we found a nice café for empanadas, chips and some wine.
Next day, we were off in the minibuses again. This time we went to a place where the birdman competition was held. First job was to say hello to our guides grandmother. She was selling souvenirs off a little table just outside the ticket office.
Our guide’s grannyGet your egg from the far island
The guide explained about the birdmen. Turns out my stone mason hypothesis was not too far off the mark. As the island became overpopulated and resources diminished, warriors known as Matatoa gained more power and the Ancestor Cult ended, making way for the Bird Man Cult. The concept of mana (power) invested in hereditary leaders was recast into the person of the birdman, apparently beginning circa 1540, and coinciding with the final vestiges of the moai period. This cult maintained that, although the ancestors still provided for their descendants, the medium through which the living could contact the dead was no longer statues but human beings chosen through a competition. The competition began, where we were standing, on top of a substantial cliff. Candidates needed to climb down the cliff, swim to island, collect a particular type of bird’s egg, swim back and reclimb the cliff. First one back got to be the new chief with all the pleasures, honours and responsibilities that were included.
Looking inland from the birdman cliff is a deep circular caldera. The volcanoes here are long since extinct. The caldera is now just a big lake. Nonetheless, it is still an interesting and impressive feature. We wandered around a couple of viewpoints and then went off to look at some more Moai on the coast. From there it was back into town. This time we found pizza and beer. A stroll back to the harbour, a short zodiac trip and we were done with Easter Island. Next stop Pitcairn. But not for a few days because Easter Island is really remote.
Our second day at the Juan Fernández archipelago was all about zodiac cruising. There are few landing spots anywhere in the islands. We began to the north of Cumberland Bay. It was still early in the morning. Not at all cold but the orange sun was still low in the sky.
There is a cave visible here that, apparently, was where Alexander Selkirk spent the first few weeks after he was marooned. Later, he moved further inland because the density of fur seals on the beach made the ocean completely inaccessible. He mostly lived on goats rather than fish. The goats had been left on the islands much earlier by the very first European explorers. It was common practise, back then, to leave goats, sheep, chickens or similar in remote places. The hope was that they would survive and be of benefit to ship wrecked sailors. This clearly worked well on Robinson Crusoe Island but only up to a point. Although the introduced animals did well, it was to the detriment of the overall island ecology.
Back on the ship I photographed a giant petrel and a masked booby. After lunch, the ship moved down to Santa Clara Island. Meanwhile, I discovered that Selkirk was not the first person to be marooned on Robinson Crusoe Island. 24 years earlier, a Miskito pirate from Mosquitia (now Honduras) called Will was happily hunting goats on the island. He had been landed off an English vessel to gather supplies. He did not notice the Spanish ships approaching and was probably quite surprised when he saw his own ship scarpering over the horizon to escape the Spaniards.
Masked Booby
He survived on the island for three years. At times he needed to hide from the Spanish who came ashore for goats and water. Eventually, in 1684, he was rescued by the English. Later, possibly, his story was the inspiration for Man Friday in Defoe’s famous novel.
The zodiacs were back in the water at Santa Clara. The island is uninhabited. There is no permanent fresh water supply. Many birds nest there including several endangered species. The whole area is internationally recognised as an important bird area. Much of the coastline is steep, treacherous looking cliffs. Despite the uninviting aspect, there are many seals here. More Juan Fernández fur seals. In places, we could spot some deep, inaccessible caves. Possibly a handful of seals hid deep in these cavities to evade the hunters. Now they are back out, breeding well and happily frolicking in the surf.
Santa Clara is a volcanic island. The whole Juan Fernández Archipelago was erupted from a hot spot under the Pacific floor. Tectonic movement has advanced the islands beyond the hot spot now. The volcanoes are all dead but much interesting geology still remains. Santa Clara is clearly built from layer upon layer of ash and lava deposits. On one particular cliff face, these layers are cut through by dykes. Formed when magma forces its way through vertical fractures, dykes often solidify underground and appear as narrow, wall-like ridges after erosion. This particular cliff was cut by a myriad of dykes that, from a distance, look like tree roots.
After an hour of looking at seals we were done. The zodiacs were hauled back onboard. Most people settled down for lunch. The skipper meanwhile set a course for Easter Island, four days of steaming through open ocean away.
The Juan Fernández archipelago consists of three main islands called: Robinson Crusoe, Alejandro Selkirk and Santa Clara. Robinson Crusoe island has a population of 800 and mostly relies on fishing and tourism. As you may have guessed from the name, it used to have a population of just one. Scottish privateer and Royal Navy officer Alexander Selkirk was marooned here for over four years. He asked to be put ashore in 1704 after a disagreement with his captain over the state of the ship. Selkirk thought the vessel was unseaworthy. A valid sentiment as the ship sank not long afterwards. After his rescue, Selkirk’s story became well known in Britain and was almost certainly a significant part of the inspiration for Daniel Defoe’s story, The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, published in 1719.
Diane and I went for a walk. There were a couple of organised hikes but we preferred to wander off at our own pace. We went through a forested area behind the main town and I photographed a lovely little orange hummingbird. Later, I discovered that the Juan Fernández Firecrown is endemic to the island, critically endangered and exceedingly rare. The archipelago is very isolated and much of the flora there is endemic. Knowing this, I took some pictures of a few flowers. I have no idea whether these are endemic, rare or in any other way interesting – but I did think they looked quite nice.
Juan Fernández Firecrown
Making our way back into town, we found a lovely restaurant with a view and had some coffee. From here we could contemplate the vista, contemplate the town and contemplate our ship anchored out in the bay. Sitting there in the warm sunshine enjoying the coffee was an excellent way to pass a few minutes.
We walked to the north end of town. Here there is a nice viewing platform ideal for watching seals. The Juan Fernández fur seals are endemic and numerous. One of the smaller types of fur seal and very cute. Later, a guide explained to me that the seals had almost died off. Now, with their protected status, they were doing well. It was a great success story. Another way to look at this is that they were almost hunted to extinction. A handful of seals survived by hiding in the caves until people finally decided to leave them alone. It was a fortunate survival story in the face of mans greed and cruelty. All a matter of perspective.
Behind the viewing platform, there is a shell stuck in the rock wall. This is a live shell, apparently, from the Battle of Más a Tierra. The German cruiser, SMS Dresden, was hunted down by the British HMS Kent and HMS Glasgow in 1915 and sunk just a few metres from the shore. When we wandered back towards the pier, we spotted a small gun turret. There was no indication as to whether this had anything to do with the battle. Reminded me of an early form of Dalek.
Live shell?
We spotted a few more hummingbirds. Exceedingly small and fast. Difficult to photograph but amazing to watch. I think the green birds are the females. We found a statue of Robinson Crusoe and a welcome sign. Then we went to the pirate party. This was billed some sort of cultural get-together involving pisco, empanadas and local music. Sounded promising. We were served a pisco sour that was quite nice. Then we found there was nothing for us to eat. It was all fish, octopus and other dead things dragged out of the ocean. The music was proving to be a bit harsh on the ears so we skipped the rest of the party and headed back to the ship.
Our zodiac driver made a ten minute detour to the seal colony just past the south end of town. This was great to see and gave me another chance to photograph the animals playing around.
Leaving El Calafate in the morning, we flew to Buenos Aires. Another day and another flight later we were in Santiago. Chile’s capital and largest city. 7 m people in a modern, bustling city nestled in a valley surrounded by snow capped mountains. Here we hired a small apartment for a few days. We like to do this occasionally. Slow down. Cook our own food. Catch up the blog and generally just potter around at our own pace. The apartment is built just for this sort of Airbnb use. We have encountered quite a few of these. It is too small to live in for any length of time. No storage. Of course, this is not much of a problem, if all your possessions fit into a single suitcase weighing less than 23 kg. It is reasonably equipped. A hob and oven for cooking the food we have been missing. A washing machine. There is a limit to how far you can go just rinsing clothes out in the sink.
After a few pleasant if rather unexciting days we packed our bags again and got a taxi to the coast at Valparaíso. Time for another trip on a ship. We were going to join the Seabourne Pursuit for a voyage that will take us across the Pacific and back to Australia. On the way we will be visiting a few remote islands.
First job was to actually get on the ship. This can sometimes involve an awful lot of queuing and filling in of forms. Fortunately, Seabourne appeared to be well organised and in less than half an hour we got to our cabin. They prefer the term suite rather than cabin. Maybe a cabin sounds too basic or something. Anyhow, our suite is lovely. Well equipped bathroom, good sized bed, nice balcony and a bottle of champagne waiting for us.
The ship sailed late afternoon. Before then we spent a few hours hanging around on deck and watching life in the port of Valparaíso. Some sea lions popped up onto a pontoon close to the ship. South American male sea lions are big boys. 350 kg of blubbery animal. Nobody was going to argue with them, so the tourist boats just worked around them instead. Let sleeping sea lions lie. A few cormorants were making good use of an upturned boat. Some turkey vultures floated above us and an Inca tern watched us from a repurposed tyre. We sailed on time, just before dinner. Next stop the Juan Fernández Islands and tales of Robinson Crusoe.
El Chaltén, is the self-proclaimed “National Capital of Trekking”. Located within Los Glaciares National Park at 400m, it serves as the main starting point for hiking around Mount Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre. I was first attracted here in 1990 because I wanted to see Cerro Torre, 3,128 m. Not so high but it has a reputation as being the hardest mountain in the world to climb. Quite which mountain is the hardest appears to depend on how you define “hard”. Details notwithstanding, to climb Cerro Torre requires scaling a 1,000 m vertical granite spire. There are massive overhanging ice mushrooms on the top. And the weather is notorious for changing viciously and rapidly. It is a properly difficult climb. Remarkable stories and mysteries cling to this mountain like ice rime. The first undisputed ascent was not until 1974.
Back in 1990, I came here with a couple of friends. We hiked close to Fitzroy for a few days. The weather turned bad and my friends headed back to El Calafate. I spent a few days on my own wandering around. The weather came good and I got to spend a couple of nights camping close to Cerro Torre. I enjoyed just being up there, soaking in the scenery and taking a few photographs. El Chaltén was just a bus stop at the end of a long dirt track. There was a bus every few days. In all the time I was there, I did not see anyone else until the bus driver arrived. Here are a few pictures from back then. My mechanical film camera had a clockwork timer which allowed me to take the occasional selfie.
Today, El Chaltén, is vastly different. It is a substantial town bustling with brightly coloured tourists and shops. The hills are a maze of tracks and signposts. The roads pulse with small tour busses and cars. It was an easy three-hour drive from El Calafate. Along the way we saw Guanaco and a few birds including a rather magnificent condor.
Andean condorRufous-collared Sparrow
We continued past the town, over a rather exciting suspension bridge with a wooden deck and along a dirt track to the glamping pods. We were welcomed into two large pods which formed the main dining area. Then we were guided along wooden walkways through the forest to our pod for the next few nights. It was rather nice. We had a view of the mountains and a comfortable bed. There was a wood burning stove close to the foot of the bed. Behind the bed and behind a wooden wall, was compact bathroom. All very cosy. However, we did not hang around. The weather was great but the forecast looked awful. The Andes mountains catch the wind blowing in from the pacific. The weather can change alarmingly.
Chimango caracara
Making the best of the sunshine, we headed up a well-worn track to a place called Mira Torre. Here was a popular viewpoint for Cerro Torre. The path was heaving with people. All sorts, from ill equipped youngsters in shorts and training shoes through to those more our age with walking poles, sensible boots and rucksacks. We plodded up hill for a couple of hours. No real need for a map. The route was clear and there were many signs. Some benches, a large sign and a rudimentary toilet marked our arrival. It was a nice walk and I enjoyed seeing Cerro Torre up close again. I also sat and ruminated on how much fitter I was forty odd years ago.
Clouds were blowing in and the sky was darkening as we came back down. The scene of the last kilometre reminded me of the Lake District on a bank holiday. I could see scores of people streaming off the hillside. Large, guided groups, small groups, individuals, families and all possible combinations. The bars and restaurants were filling up. Everywhere, hill walkers were returning from the mountains and embracing the evening. National Capital of Trekking may well be a good description.
Patagonian Sierra Finch
We got back late. The sun had set and the cold evening was drawing in. Fortunately, dinner back in the main pod was excellent. Generous portions of home cooked food, a blazing stove and delicious Argentinian wine. Then we had to find our way back to our pod in the dark. When we arrived, the fire had been lit making everything snug and cosy.
In the night the rain arrived. Rain and wind. It was loud, noisy and cold. I got up in the middle of the night to reload the stove with heavy, dense wood to keep it going until morning. Later, over breakfast, we felt a bit smug while listening to some of the conversations around us. Many of the other pod dwellers were unfamiliar with the vagaries of wood burning stoves and had started the day in a freezing cold pod.
The next two days were wall to wall rain and wind. We kept our pod warm and cosy. It was really very nice sitting in there while the wind howled through the forest and the rain battered the roof. Eventually, we braved a short walk and got completely soaked. On the second day, we drove up a track to the north. There was not much to see. We did find a lake with a tourist boat. However, we declined the offer of an hour in a cold, open boat on a misty lake in the rain. On the way back we found a waterfall which provided half an hour of distraction.
Pods
It was still raining the next day as we left. Things improved as we headed back to El Calafate. The sun was beginning to break through as we arrived at our previous hotel overlooking Lago Argentina. We went into town for dinner. Earlier, we had spotted a restaurant offering home made pasta. This proved to be excellent. We ate early and then headed back to the hotel so that we could pack in preparation of a few days travelling.
The software I use to publish this blog has an AI powered SEO headline analyser. This suggests that my usually pithy and occasionally cryptic titles are no good for attracting visitors. Now, I am not entirely sure that I want to attract more viewers. This blog is written mostly for the benefit of my baby sister, Helen, and incidentally for anyone else that has an interest in what Diane and I are up to. However, as some sort of experiment, I have been trying to write headlines that the AI SEO analyser approves of. You may have noticed.
El Calafate is a tourist hub on the south side of Lago Argentino. When I was here in 1991 it had a population of 3,000. There were a couple of bars, a restaurant and a grocery shop. Today, with a population of over 22,000 it is not recognisable as the same place. The main street is packed with tour agents, restaurants, gear shops and late-night theme bars. The sleepy little town is now a bustling, colourful place heaving with a great mix of different people. The old airport has been overtaken by the conurbation. The runways have been turned into streets. This is why El Calafate has two concrete roads each six lanes wide. The new, international airport is several kilometres away. The most recent World Altitude Gliding record, over 22,000 m, 2018, was set close to El Calafate in a glider with pressurised cabin.
People come to El Calafate for the bird watching, 4×4 tours, trekking and particularly because of El Calafate’s proximity to the Perito Moreno National Park. Tourists flock to see the Perito Moreno glacier which supports many tourist activities such as sightseeing, hiking, walking on top of the glacier, sailing and kayaking. We joined in with the flocking and took an early morning drive to the park where we joined a small boat. It was just a short trip. About an hour. We went out to the glacier, hung around a while and came back. The views were spectacular. The glacier is 30 km long. The snout, some 5 km wide, calves into Lago Agentino. Its origin was part of, yet another, border dispute. Argentina has a rich history of border disputes. The Southern Patagonian Ice Field dispute was resolved in 1998 leaving a small part in Chile and all the rest in Argentina.
The glacier pushes across a narrow part of the lake and occasionally dams it. Water builds up on the Brazo Rico side of the lake. Sometimes as much as 30 m before the dam breaks and there is a massive outrush of water. This happens irregularly, every few years. The rupture of this glacier is considered one of the most impressive natural spectacles in the world. It did not happen while we were there. There was no rupture rapture. Although we did see some minor calving events.
Back on shore, we went to the visitors centre and the walkways. An immense chain of steel walkways have been constructed on the hillside opposite the glacier. These extend for several kilometres with hundreds of steps. We wandered around for a while. It was remarkably crowded. I was quite surprised that so many people would turn out to see a glacier. Fortunately, the weather was almost perfect. Clear blue skies and plenty of sunshine. Eventually we had done enough walking and glacier gazing, so we headed back to El Calafate.
Next day was very relaxed. We had a walk along the shore of Lago Argentino and I photographed a few ducks and some upside-down flamingos. That was it for the whole day. We stopped at a coffee shop and had cheese toastados. Next day we woke early and relaxed to set off for El Chalten.
Ushuaia is the self-proclaimed official end of the world. Their moto is Ushuaia, fin del mundo, principio de todo (Ushuaia, end of the world, beginning of everything). It is generally recognised as the southernmost city in the world. There are settlements further to the south, such as Porto Williams in Chile, but Ushuaia is only one that can genuinely claim to be a city. Interestingly, in a change since I was last there, Ushuaia also claims to be the capital of the Falklands. In recent years, the assertation that Las Malvinas son Argentinas (The Falklands are Argentinian) is becoming increasingly manifest. Signs and posters abound. There is a memorial park with plaque, statues and an eternal flame. Roads have been renamed. Our hotel was on the Heroes de Malvinas road. The Mirador Heroes de Malvinas is a layby with a pleasant view across the Beagle Chanel. Prominent billboards have been erected at viewpoints so that you can include a Las Malvinas son Argentinas message in your holiday snaps.
Presumably, Argentina is trying to up the ante, again, with regards to its territorial claim over the Falklands. I can’t help thinking that this is a little pointless. Ignoring the fine detail of the relative claims, it is clear that the UK considers its claim more than adequate. This was proven in 1982 when Argentina invaded. They were forcibly ejected a few weeks later by a UK task force. In a recent poll, 99.8% of Falklanders reported that they wanted to remain British. The Falklands is financially self-sufficient and important to the UK with regards to its operations in Antarctica. It is unclear, to me, what Argentina is hoping to achieve. An increase in diplomatic tensions is the only likely outcome and that does not seem beneficial to anyone.
We decided to spend a few days in Ushuaia. It is a interesting place. Last time we had been here we went straight to the airport from the ship. Prior to that, I had spent the best part of a week here but that was 35 years ago. Things have changed massively since then. Back then, although nearly ten years after the Falklands war, there was almost no reference to territorial claims.
We took a short drive into the Tierra del Fuego National Park. This is where the Pan-American Highway officially ends at Lapataia Bay. Here is also the end of the Andes. The vast mountain range tapers into the ocean and then reappears, much further south, as the Trans-Antarctic Mountains. A few ducks and geese accompanied us on a short walk along the edge of the bay. Then the rain started again. Fine for ducks but miserable enough to encourage us to give up and head back Ushuaia.
One of the great tourist trips in Ushuaia is to take a boat out into the Beagle Chanel. It is rich with wildlife including birds, seals and whales. Our boat was a medium sized catamaran called Anna B. It was filled to capacity. 100 people. Barely a spare seat anywhere. The morning was overcast and gloomy. We splashed out on some instant coffee in paper cups from the onboard shop and huddled around our table for a while. Then, thoroughly wrapped up against the cold and damp, we went out on deck.
There were some albatross, giant petrels, shags and dolphin gull. We approached Snipe Island quite closely which gave us an unobstructed view of the shags nesting and the lighthouse. In May, 1958 the Chileans built the first lighthouse here to aid navigation. Argentina, obviously, disputed ownership of the island. The following month, Argentina pulled down the Chilean lighthouse and built one of their own. This only lasted a few weeks before it was demolished and a second Chilean lighthouse erected. Next day, in a fit of pique, the Argentinian destroyer ARA San Juan razed the building with its main guns. They then landed a company of naval infantry to occupy the island and assert their claim.
The dispute simmered for 20 years. In 1978, Argentina developed Operation Soberanía, a plan to invade all the Chilean disputed territories. Chile pre-empted the invasion and placed troops on Snipe and other islands to the south. In 1984 Argentia held a referendum on the disputed territories around the Beagle Channel. The motion to recognise Snipe, Picton, Lennox and Nueva islands as being Chilean territory was carried by an 84% vote. The following year, a treaty was put in place marking the end of disputes over the Beagle Chanel.
We continued east past Peurto Williams and past Isla Gable. On a small spit of land, we spotted a dead whale being enthusiastically recycled by some giant petrels. Further on we came across the steel hulled, three masted barque called Europa. Previously, we had seen this rather lovely ship at the Argentine Islands down on the Antarctic Peninsula.
Southern Crested CaracaraTurkey vultures
Our catamaran pulled right into the beach at the east of Isla Gable. There are many seals and penguins here. We spotted Gentoo penguins along with a few Magellanic penguins. I think most of the seals were South American Sea Lions.
MagellanicGentoo
There were also a few Turkey vultures. Obviously, they have their place in the world but this comes with the sort of face that only a mother could love. Much more elegant was a juvenile Southern Crested Caracara although its diet is similar. Nice looking bird but don’t look too closely at what it is eating. There were more shags and giant petrels. In all, an impressive gathering of birds and animals.
Several other boats arrived and proceeded to disgorge their passengers onto the beach. Here, the tourists mixed freely with the sea lions and penguins. This all seemed a little too invasive to me. People were very clearly disturbing the birds and animals. We were under strict instructions to stay on the boat. I think this was the more appropriate option.
One more day in Ushuaia and we drove north over the Garibaldi Pass. Wonderful mountainous country. We explored a few tracks. Needed to be a bit careful because we only had a very ordinary hire car. Nonetheless we found some lovely lakes, forests and hills. We discovered a beaver dam. This was all set up with a picnic area and a viewing place. We spent a while hoping to see a beaver but nothing. I did spot a Night Heron that was rather striking. For our last night, we treated ourselves to a meal at the hotel complete with an over-priced bottle of wine. Tomorrow we were flying to El Calafate.
It was our last day in Antarctica and it was turning out to be a good one. For a start, the weather was beautiful. Bright and sunny. Barely a cloud in the sky. Best of all, for me, despite the brilliant sunshine, it was still cool and crisp. Perfect. In the morning we had seen more penguins than you can shake a stick at. We had seen one poor bird getting eaten by a leopard seal. There had been some great scenery, sea birds and seals. At lunch time the ship moved from Culver Island over to the much larger Anvers Island. In particular, we were at the entrance to a large bay surrounded by mountains, glaciers, snow fields and all the usual Antarctic features.
Zodiacs deployed, we all spread out around the bay. A nice feature of the Douglas Mawson is that it carries enough zodiac RHIBs that everyone can get out at the same time. No waiting for a previous group to come back in. We saw a leopard seal, calm and peaceful on an ice floe. A fur seal swam over to look at us. Then a whale popped up. And another. More whales. Whales right across the bay. As one especially enthusiastic cetacean spotter in the expedition team squealed loudly “Whale soup!”.
Several pods of humpback whales were bubble netting. The ocean just there must have been quite rich in krill. Bubble netting is a highly coordinated, cooperative feeding behaviour used to catch large amounts of krill. A group of whales works together to blow a complex, circular “net” of bubbles to trap prey, forcing them into a tight ball before swimming up through the centre to feed. Whales communicate to coordinate diving and feeding. One or more whales may act as the “driver,” while others act as the “blaster” (producing bubbles) and others as “blockers”. We could only see what was happening on the surface which was still fascinating. First thing would be a circle of bubbles forming in the water. This became more intense and then one or two humpbacks would appear, rising headfirst up through the circle. This was the first time I had ever seen the head of a humpback. More usually, you only see their backs and tails. The whole group would then bob around for a while making great blows of water vapour into the air. Finally, they would dive and, a few minutes later, another circle of bubbles would appear.
Amazing to watch although, obviously, we had to try and keep our distance. Several pods were working the bay. Flocks of birds were following each pod marking them for us. This was all we did for a couple of hours. Drift around the bay following whales. I quite unashamedly present here the greatest number of whales that I have ever photographed at one time. Extreme luck really. Right place, right time. Truly wonderful to watch and also to think that, at long last, the whales are starting to come back from decades of brutal butchery.
Reluctantly, we eventually had to head back to the ship. Then, just like that, our trip was over. Not quite, first we had to steam north through the notorious Drake Passage back to Ushuaia. As darkness fell, we were already leaving the icebergs behind. At 60° S the wind and waves can go right around the planet without encountering land. Low pressure systems whip round here, building in intensity, giving rise to ferocious waves and winds. The reputation of Drakes Passage, the gap between Cape Horn and the Antarctic Peninsula, is well earned but stems mostly from an earlier age. An age where weather forecasting was close to guessing, when vessels travelled slowly and at the mercy of the winds. Today, plans and forecasts are much more reliable. I think I have crossed these waters eleven times now and only once, back then, did we encounter really bad weather.
We spent the day packing and feeling a bit deflated. It had been a truly remarkable trip. We had seen many amazing things. Sights, sounds and sensations unique to Antarctica. For just over a month, we had been thoroughly immersed in all things Antarctic. Up until just a few years ago, I had never really entertained the idea of returning south as a tourist. Our first trip to the peninsula, over a year ago, had mostly just annoyed me. In four days, we saw a tiny bit of the peninsula at arm’s length while being herded around like senile, geriatric sheep. This time, we got a real taste of it and my itch was properly scratched. There was still a small tendency for some of the guides to be a bit superior, contemptuous and slightly patronising. For the most part though, they were friendly and informative. They treated us as equals and shared a genuine enthusiasm for Antarctica. I think a lot of this comes from the leader, Howard, who seemed like a very sincere, sociable and enormously experienced guide.
A late-night mulling over the trip was followed by an early morning disembarkation in Ushuaia. A slightly brutal and dislocating completion of the voyage butthe start of something new.
This is Antarctic penguin central. Biggest Gentoo penguin waddle on the peninsula. At least 6,500 breeding pairs. That is a lot of penguins. Why are they counted in breeding pairs? First answer is that you need a number that is useful in comparing the size of different rookeries. A breeding pair represents potential new offspring. By counting pairs, researchers can calculate “productivity” (the number of chicks hatched or fledged per pair) to understand if a colony is thriving or in decline. Individuals include non-mating birds, young birds and the many wonderful old birds. Even if you could count these then what would the counts mean? Second answer is that it is easier. Pick the right time of year and all the breeding pairs have a nest. You can simply walk through the rookery counting nests. Might look like a small depression in the ground with a couple of rocks in it but to a penguin, it is a nest. Unlike penguins, nests stay still. They are intrinsically easier to count.
Most of the breeding pairs had long since finished breeding and gone fishing by the time we arrived. This still left quite a few penguins and a lot of smelly guano. We had a brief run ashore by zodiac. Gentoos are often quite curious. We are supposed to stay at least 5 m away from any birds. However, if you stand still and the bird comes to you, then the best you might be able to manage is to retreat a little while ensuring that you do not stand on the birds behind you. Many of the birds we saw were youngsters just losing the last of their fluffy chick feathers. Standing around waiting to take to the water for the first time. Penguins have no natural terrestrial predators in Antarctica, making them relatively fearless of humans. Large birds, such as the skuas and giant petrels, will occasionally take eggs and small chicks. They also scavenge carrion.
In the water, danger comes from killer whales and leopard seals. We clambered back into the zodiac and just as we pushed off from the shore a leopard seal came over to us. The previous day, we had encountered a seal that was curious about the boat. This one had brought us a penguin. The birds are fast in the water, like little torpedoes. Leopard seals are faster and young gentoo penguins on their first trip to the ocean make easy prey. This seal was playing with its prey. Like a cat with a mouse. It would let the hapless bird swim a short distance and then catch it again and bring it back to the boat. Almost felt as if the seal was showing off to us.
Obviously, we watched. A mixture of horror and fascination. Each time the poor penguin was dragged back it was getting weaker and more feeble with its fruitless struggling. I would have liked to rescue the battered bird but, not only was this quite impossible it would also not have been appropriate. We were observing a part of natural life in Antarctica. Something that happens right around the continent every day. Eventually the young penguin was dead. The seal was not done with it yet. They prefer to remove the skin with all the feathers before they eat. To do this, the leopard holds the penguin, by its head, and thrashes it back and forth. Takes a while and is very violent. Every few seconds the leopard seal would pop up in a great shower of spray as it whipped the bird through the air. Eventually the skin peeled back revealing a blood red carcass. The skin, feathers and feet drifted away on the surface of the sea chased by scavenger birds. We got a brief glimpse of the satisfied seal and then it too disappeared.
I think everyone in the zodiac was a bit stunned at what we had just witnessed. There was silence. Our driver, Kevin, thought we could try to circumnavigate Cuverville Island while we recovered our sensibilities. More penguins, more seals and some remarkable scenery. Once again we were incredibly lucky with the weather. Most of the time it is cold, windy, overcast and generally unpleasant here. Today it was sunny and lovely.
We came across another leopard seal relaxing on a chunk of sea ice. He looked at us without concern and actually appeared to be quite cute. Then he yawned and showed us his substantial set of sharp teeth. Not so cute after all.
As we came around the island and were heading back to the ship, we saw a small wooden boat on an island. Strictly, it was just the remains of a small boat. A fur seal watched us carefully and then appeared to indicate to us which direction to go. The boat was something to do with whalers and had been deliberately chained up. Later I discovered that it likely dates back to around 1921.
With that we were done. A steady drive back to the ship after a very exciting morning.
We spent the night well away from the coast. The inner channel was clogged with icebergs. The ship stayed clear of this which meant a bouncy night in the open ocean. By morning, things has settled down as we headed back towards mainland Antarctica and the Argentine Islands. The ship eased along some ice choked channels until we were close enough to put the zodiacs in for a landing.
As we work our way north along the Antarctic Peninsula, the place is feeling less and less remote. After many days of not seeing another vessel or any sign of humans, they seem to be everywhere now. Just south of Galindez Island was a cargo ship involved in resupplying the Ukrainian Vernadsky Research Base. We also came across a couple of yachts. They can find a safe mooring here where the inner channels are too shallow to allow dangerous icebergs in.
Arctic Tern
A leopard seal took quite an interest in the zodiacs. Swimming around them and bobbing up very close. At one point it appeared to be cuddling one of the boats. We later found it had bitten through one of the inflatable tubes that make up the sides of the boat. Fortunately, the hull is made of several tubes and can get along fine if one, or even more, of these is punctured. Eventually, it went off to bother some of the Gentoo penguins and we could get on with looking at some quiet, peaceful, Arctic Terns. Medium sized, pretty birds with an understated toughness. They migrate, annually, from the Arctic to the Antarctic and then back again. Following the sun. A journey of at least 40,000 km a year.
Arctic Tern
We passed by the Vernadsky Base. They were remarkably busy with cargo operations, possibly their annual re-supply. Certainly, they had no time for us. The base used to be owned by the British. Back then, it was called Faraday Base. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia refused to give any of the old soviet base to Ukraine. However, Ukraine wanted to maintain a presence in Antarctica and, presumably, assert its independence from Russia. In 1992, BAS agreed to sell the old Faraday base for just £1. This gave the Ukrainians what they needed and also got BAS off the hook for the cost of disassembling the base. With good environmental practices and standards this would have been expensive. Since then, the base appears to have worked very well for Ukraine.
A Dobson Spectrophotometer used at Faraday was essential in establishing some of the baseline ozone level data that led to the discovery of the atmospheric ozone hole. The instrument was later moved to Halley Base. In 1985, a paper was published by BAS (Farman, Gardiner, Shanklin) in Nature magazine, based on data from Halley and Faraday, showing the development of the hole. This surprised a lot of people, not least the Americans. Since 1978, NASA had been launching satellites with a Total Ozone Mapping Spectrometer (TOMS) instrument on board. Re-examination of the TOMS data showed that the hole had been missed because the low readings were being filtered out by the analysis software as erroneous data. With the software recalibrated from the Halley ground-truthing readings, the enormity and seriousness of the situation became readily apparent. The importance of this discovery cannot be overstated. Within two years, the Montreal Protocol was introduced. An international agreement that froze the production and use of ozone-depleting substances at 1986 levels and set the groundwork for phasing them out entirely. Today, the protocol stands as one of the most successful international environmental treaties ever implemented. It is proof that we can fix major climate problems if we try.
Some fur seals were eyeing us suspiciously. We ignored them and went to look at some Wilson’s Storm Petrels. There was a group of these tiny birds, along with some Southern Giant Petrels feeding from something in the water. I had been trying to photograph a Wilson’s petrel for a while. They are small and fast and very flighty. They little perishers will not stay still for anyone. The giant petrels might have a 2 m wingspan and weigh over 5 kg. The Wilson’s however, come in at 40 cm wingspan and 40 g weight (think small fairy cake with gossamer wings). Properly tiny and almost impossible to spot and photograph in the open ocean. Now was my chance, while they were busy feeding. They have a tendency to dance on the water with their feet. This has caused to them being referred to as The Jesus Bird. They make a pilgrimage to land for breeding but spend most of the year, including the Antarctic winter, living and feeding deep in the ocean. Very small and very tough. So, although globally they are quite common, they are not seen all that often.
Jesus Bird
There is an even older British base a short distance from the working base. This is known as Wordie’s Hut and is a designated ancient site now. We were allowed a brief look around. Some of the kit and equipment was similar to gear I used during my time at Halley. Seems like I too am becoming an ancient monument.
On the way back to the ship we saw several groups of penguins feeding in the water. On land, a bunch of penguins is known as a colony, a rookery or, my favourite, a waddle. In the water they are referred to as a raft. They bob out of the water as they swim along so we get a raft of porpoising penguins. Gentoos are particularly prone to this sort of behaviour.
Next morning we were still in Marguerite Bay. On the east side near the peninsula. Dawn was spectacular. Clear, piercing blue sky. Bright sun. Almost no breeze. It was warm and pleasant out on deck. I spent some happy time taking photographs. In particular, I was impressed at how the mountains were encased in the sort of ice formations that you usually see in much higher peaks. Fluted faces reminiscent of the high-altitude Himalayas. Massive “rime ice” mushrooms, formed by fierce winds and moisture, typical of the great Andean peaks. The mountains here are no slouches. Many are over 2,000 m and would be extreme climbs because of the remoteness and weather conditions. To me, however, they have the character and appearance of much loftier peaks. This gives the area a sense of grandeur and magnificence.
The zodiacs were launched and we all went for a cruise. When I say “all”, I do actually mean most of the clients. There are 84 paying passengers on board and often over 80 go out on the boats at one time. Some of them in kayaks and the rest in the zodiacs. At Stonington, every single customer went ashore, all 84 of us and quite a lot of the crew. This is unusual for an expedition type cruise where there is often a significant contingent that are just along for ride. For us, it was not to be missed.
We bobbed around in the brash and small icebergs. There was a leopard seal that was not at all interest in us. Some bits of unusually clear and dense ice. The cutest baby Weddell seal and a couple more Royal shags.
Back on board, after lunch, we started steaming north and into The Gullet. Your gullet is how food gets to your stomach from your mouth (usually). Also called, the oesophagus. The Gullet is a narrow, 11 nm long, glacier-lined channel in Antarctica separating Adelaide Island from the Antarctic Peninsula. From the north, it is a scenic, ice-choked shortcut to Marguerite Bay, framed by high ice cliffs and towering mountains. It is a renowned, highly scenic, and challenging route. Obviously, our skipper was up for it. Still fresh from setting a world record for southerly navigation, he was on a roll.
We passed by Rothera Research Station. This is the main BAS base for field trips and access to West Antarctica. Unfortunately, we passed so far east of the base that very little was visible. This was a pity. I would have liked to pop in for a brew. Very slightly further north we got mugged by Killer Whales. I don’t mean they attacked us or anything, just that there were hundreds of them. Maybe not literally hundreds but certainly way more than I have ever seen before. Pods of eight or ten individuals kept swimming past us. It was amazing. I took hundreds of photographs and I do mean hundreds this time. For over an hour, we watched groups of Orca swimming south as we were steaming, very slowly, north.
After the Orca had passed behind us, we came back to embracing the incredible scenery. Occasionally, the wind would drop and the sea become calm and mirror like. Diane got extremely excited about this. She loves a good reflection and these were right up there with the best of them. It was a glorious vista. Rugged and peaceful. A brief moment of calm and solitude in a place more usually unwelcoming and forbidding. Our reverie was shattered by the sudden appearance of another ship. The SH Vega. Another cruise ship. The first other vessel that we had seen since leaving McMurdo Sound a fortnight earlier. They had come the easy way. We had come the long way round so we felt we had bragging rights. We did not come close to the Vega and before long she was disappearing behind us. Two ships passing in the early evening.
We continued through The Gullet. Squeezed past a couple of icebergs that were almost blocking the channel and eventually emerged to the north. From here, the inside passage was badly clogged with ice so we moved out to sea and had a rather bouncy night heading for the Argentine Islands.
After another day at sea, we arrived at Marguerite Bay off the west coast of Graham Land. The sea day had been quiet and pleasant. Sunshine and a gentle swell. We particularly enjoyed eating dinner while watching albatross and ice bergs float past. I also spent some time on the back deck photographing sooty albatross.
At the north end of Marguerite Bay is Stonington Island. It is only small. 25 m high in the centre. The island is right at the snout of Northeast Glacier and used to be connected to it by a snow slope. The British and Americans had bases here in the 1940s. The British base was used up until 1975. Both bases are now designated as historical monuments. Sir Vivien Fuchs wintered here in 1948 and again the next year when the relief ship failed to arrive. He later went on to lead the first trans-Antarctic expedition and became director of the British Antarctic Survey until 1973. He was a newspaper headline writers dream. For example, in describing a two day sledging trip the headline might read “Sir Vivien Fuchs off for the weekend”.
We had an easy landing by zodiac on Stonington Island. The weather was warm and sunny. The scenery spectacular. Whoever first chose Stonington as a site for a base chose well. To the north is the massive ice wall of the end of Northeast Glacier. This creaks and groans as the ice shifts and occasionally bits fall off into the water. South and west is Marguerite bay filled with icebergs and framed by mountains. Due east is the Bellinghausen Sea. Open ocean clogged with ice. To the west, the mountains rise towards the centre of the Antarctic Peninsula. I have no doubt that, back in the day, many hours were spent in contemplation of this magnificent vista, pipe in one hand and hot cocoa in the other.
Our first stop was to look at some Imperial Shags. The difference between cormorants and shags is elusive. Often there is a difference. A certain type of birder will rattle on for ages describing them. However, there is no consistent scientific distinction between the two although they generally refer to different species within the same family. English-speaking sailors originally assigned the names somewhat haphazardly. A lot depends on where you are or who you ask. Imperial Shags are also known as Blue-eyed Cormorants. The cormorants are described as “possessing a distinctive ring of blue skin around its eyes, a orange-yellow nasal knob, pinkish legs and feet, and an erectile black crest”. Sadly, it was not breeding season so no erectile crests to be seen.
We wandered around the beach past the remains of two tracked vehicles and a sleeping seal. We visited the huts. There was not very much going on in either of them. As is often the case with museum type scenarios, I find the stories fascinating but the empty, wooden buildings less so. On the way back to the ship, we came across some moulting Adelie penguins. They typically look a bit sad and fed up while they are waiting for their new coats to grow. They can also appear a little comical. I very much liked punk penguin with the erectile Mohican hair piece.
For Fuchs Sake
Back on the ship, things got silly. It was time for the polar plunge. People jumping into he freezing cold water for no good reason. Participants needed to do a medical assessment. The medics were standing by with warm blankets and a defibrillator. Diane and I chose to remain warm and comfortable. We joined the other onlookers leaning over the back of the deck. One by one about 20 people appeared on a platform jutting out from the stern. They jumped in the water, got dragged back aboard and then ran off to resuscitate. Everyone survived and then it was time for a barbecue.
Punk Penguin
Dining al fresco is always fun as the temperature drops below zero. You wrap up warm and then try to manipulate the cutlery with your gloves on. Food was cold long before it got to the table. The wine, however, was at just the right temperature, so long as you stuck to white wine. We were treated to a spectacular sunset and not long after that brightly shining gibbous waxing moon rose over the mountains to the east. Great place to build a base.
Four consecutive sea days. We needed to move well away from the coast to avoid the great rafts of sea ice that are starting to build up. At this time of year, it is too easy to get caught up in the drifting, freezing ice and, potentially, stuck. We had a ship full of Antarctic enthusiasts but even so, nobody wanted to stay here for the winter. First day out there was not much to see. Pancake ice and fog. The occasional iceberg lurking in the distance. Fortunately, the radar was undeterred by fog. Next day the visibility improved. There was very little fresh ice but way off to starboard we could catch the odd glimpse of the ice edge. We stopped for whales. A large pod of feeding humpbacks. Many people came out on deck to try and grab a photo. The passing days settled into a different rhythm. Whale watching, bird watching, lectures, films, gym sessions. Eventually, we rounded the worst of the pack ice and could head more south. At least a little way.
Peter 1st Island is a very remote and rocky island. Seldom visited. It is remote on many counts. Geographically, it is simply a long way from anywhere else. 450 km off the Antarctic coast – not that there is anything or anyone at that bit of coast. Logistically, very few vessels cross the Amundsen and Bellinghausen seas of Western Antarctica. Nobody comes this way except the odd scientist and a few lonely tourists. For most of most years, the island is usually solidly surrounded by sea ice. Locked in a deep, frigid winter. Gloriously isolated and inaccessible. Societally and historically, there is nothing here. No bases, no old huts, barely anyone has even landed here. There was a small hut once but it has long since been blasted away by the fierce storms that pass as normal weather here.
The island was first sighted by Bellingshausen in January 1821 and named after Peter 1st of Russia. A hundred years later, Larsen was the first to set foot on the island and claim it for Norway. It is small, about 10 km x 20 km, volcanic and almost completely covered by glacier.
We approached from the east. Landings had previously been made on this side. What we found was dark, steep and forbidding. The cloud was low and grey. A stiff, cold breeze made standing on deck quite unpleasantly cold. The swell was substantial. The sky was dark and ominous. We could not see more than a couple of hundred metres up the cliffs. Peering through the gloom, it was just possible to see great seracs of ice and cornices blown snow. Tons of a Damoclean ice perilously overhanging the cliffs. There was no safe place to land here.
The ship backed out and then sailed, north-abouts, to the western shore. As we rounded the northern limit, the sun came out. Above the island, the clouds were lifting. Thick, rounded lenticular clouds were forming high above us. We were greeted by the sight of more steep cliffs, now iridescent in the bright sunshine. The ship steered towards an immense slice of cake. Layers of red and black volcanic ash iced with layers of thick, brilliant white snow, névé and ice. Then the wind stuck. A fierce katabatic blowing straight off the mountains. Katabatic winds are strong, cold, gravity-driven winds that rush downslope from high-elevation ice sheets to the coast. Caused by radiative cooling, these dense, heavy air masses often reach hurricane-force speeds. The ship again backed off as the winds gusted to over 50 knots.
On the island, the cloud continued to lift. The sky was clearing elsewhere and the bright sun was actually beginning to feel warm. We moved back in, a little further north and just past a small, gravel spit, found a place to anchor. The winds had dissipated, we were shielded from the ocean swell and, at last, we could attempt a landing.
We did not land. The zodiacs were launched and we had a pleasant cruise. Close to the shore it became apparent that a general landing would be risky. There was still a significant swell and the shoreline offered very few safe places. Two of the expedition team, fully equipped with dry suits, leapt ashore and scrambled around for a few minutes. A rare landing had been made and we were part of it. Our driver took the boat in close to some cliffs. Diane reached out and touched one of the most remote places in the world. A few moments later, a small avalanche came down the wall close to where we had been. Mostly just powder snow, it would probably have been more unpleasant than dangerous. Even so, best avoided.
Touching Peter 1st
Back on the ship, we got warmed up. This was helped by hot chocolate drink served with Baileys. Then I was back on deck for a while, photographing the amazing icebergs as we set sail for the Antarctic Peninsula.
The western end of the Ross Ice Shelf is pinned in place by Ross Island. Cape Rozier is last bit of land before the long, long ice cliffs. 800 km of steep, high, white ice. We got there in the morning and went out in the zodiacs.
It felt chilly. A few degrees below zero augmented by a stiff breeze. We set off along the shore where there are large colonies of Adélie and Emperor penguins. As it was elsewhere, nobody was home. There were a few stragglers standing around but mostly just empty, dark volcanic beaches covered with a thick layer of lighter coloured guano.
The cape was discovered in 1841 by James Clark Ross’s polar expedition. It was named after Commander Francis Crozier, captain of HMS Terror. Four years later, Crozier with Terror and HMS Erebus, Ross’s other Antarctic ship, attempted the Northwest Passage at the other end of the planet. We encountered these sturdy, historic ships, or at least the site of their wrecks, about 18 months ago.
At the end of the beach was an interesting little cove made by the shelf ice. I was fascinated by some icicles with balls. Thin, icy columns cause by melt water had grown down from the ice until they touched water. Then the freezing sea water accumulated on the end like a little frosty bauble. This made some gloriously intricate and delicate patterns along the bottom edge of the ice cliffs.
Just around the corner was yet another phenomenon I had never seen before. Great plumes of spray jetting out of the top of the ice cliffs. You see this sort of thing occasionally in stone sea cliffs. A cave close to sea level has an outlet to the surface. When a wave washes into the cave, water gets pushed up and sprays out above the cliff. I think something similar was happening here albeit in a much more dynamic way. Sea water was forcing open a crack in the ice. The crack would originally have been a crevasse. Some combination of melting and re-freezing was causing spectacular blow holes to appear in one section of cliff. There was something like half a dozen of them in just a short section. A first glance they looked like whales blowing but obviously there were no whales on top of the cliffs.
Ice was accumulating on the rubber boat and on my hands. In the second hour of sitting in the boat ,without really moving at all, bits of me were starting to go numb. I think everyone got a touch hypothermic by the end of the trip. It was, however, spectacular and well worth getting out of bed for.
Another day, another hut. This time it was Scott’s hut on Cape Evans. Considerably larger than Shackleton’s hut at 15 m by 7.5 m. Prefabricated, well-made and well insulated with dried seaweed. Lighting was by acetylene gas. A small gas generator is by the door. I cannot find a description of how this worked. I think it will have used calcium carbide. Dripping water onto carbide makes acetylene gas. I used to have a caving lamp that worked like this. It has quite a distinctive smell but makes a good light and will have helped warm the hut as well. If carbide was used, then it will probably have been all removed by now. It is quite reactive and a build up of acetylene can be explosive.
A stable was added to the side of the hut and a utility room. Heating came from the kitchen range plus an additional stove in the officers’ quarters. While Shackleton was completely egalitarian over the layout of his hut, Scott maintained a clear class division. The hut is separated into two parts with a room divider made of packing cases. Officers and men even had separate dining tables. The hut has been beautifully restored. It looks just as it might when it was in use. Maybe not exactly the same but similar or reminiscent, anyhow. In the stable are a pile of penguins and a palette of seal blubber. The dark room has chemicals on the shelves. A harness for pulling sledges is hanging off a bunk. The kitchen looks well stocked. There is a penguin on a side table all ready for dissection and a newspaper dated 1908.
Acetylene generator
The hut was built in 1911. That winter 25 men over-wintered in it. In the early summer, 16 men set off for the South Pole. In the final push, Scott and four others made the pole but never made it back to the hut. One of many tragic and heroic stories from Antarctica. Several other trips were made from the hut. A winter trip to Cape Crozier almost ended in disaster. A northern party sailed to Cape Adare and ended up spending two winters. The second, in a snow cave where they suffered appalling conditions and extreme weather. A geological expedition went essentially to plan. However, the second trip got into trouble and were eventually rescued by ship off the sea ice.
We were told to keep our voices low when we around the hut as a sign of respect. This reminded me of when we visited the Sistine chapel in the Vatican. A guard there told me to remove my hat as a sign of respect. I was dying to ask how he knew God had a problem with hats. The guard seemed a bit stern and devoid of a sense of humour, so I kept quiet. Entry and exit to the hut was carefully controlled. We had to clean our boots. Only four at a time inside. No rucksacks. No touching. As we were leaving the hut, I really wanted to say, “I am just going outside and may be some time” but on balance it seemed better to keep quiet. Too many people looking profoundly serious.
The hut was reused in 1915 when Shackleton’s Ross Sea party got into trouble. Fortunately, the well-stocked hut provided a relatively comfortable refuge until Jan 1917 when Shackleton arrived to rescue them. The hut was untouched until 1956 when it was dug out by an American team and found to be in a remarkably good state of preservation. Since then, it has been maintained to give visitors a little insight into what life would have been like.
At Hut Point is Scott’s first hut. This was our destination for the afternoon. Hut Point is also the location of the McMurdo base run by the USA. This is, by an order of magnitude, the largest base in Antarctica. We were told that the wintering team, all 200 of them, were just settling in and could not accommodate visitors. By way of comparison, my wintering team at Halley was just 18 people. Our expedition team also found out that it was impossible to get to Discovery Hut because the remains of the sea ice formed a barrier. We sailed past McMurdo base slowly to get a good look at it. Just around the corner is Scott base. This is the New Zealand base. A modern looking base painted the same green as the hut at Cape Bird. New Zealand green. Obviously, a tiny base compared to McMurdo.
Discovery HutScott BaseMcMurdo Base
Further on we came to one of several runways. This appeared to be a thoroughly busy place. We watched an aircraft take off. As evening fell, the ship bobbed around in the pancake ice by the edge of Ross Ice Shelf. A group photograph was done here. After this we went to bed and the ship set off to sail around to Cape Crozier.
