First penguins at Gypsy Cove

Pingu, my mascot at the Gypsy Cove penguin colony

Magellanic penguin

Fred eating a Penguin chocolate biscuit bar (I couldn't resist!)

Group photo of about half of our science team

Our ship, the James Clark Ross, has arrived in the Falklands but the last science crew is still demobilising the ship and packing up their samples. So we have some time in Stanley to hurry up and wait. Although four fifths of all Falklanders live in the capital, Stanley is a small town (there just aren't that many of them). Since the 1982 war it has profited first from fishing licences and now from the increase is cruise ship tourism. I flicked through a couple of back issues of the Penguin News, the local newspaper, which lists the names of the ships in Stanley harbour. I guess that's the sort of information which is useful to any one in the tourist trade. If you run penguin watching tours, a hire car company or a restaurant you'd probably like to know when the next cruise ships is going to spill 600 of their passengers onto the quay side and straight into the next gift shop.

I could not resist the Capstan gift shop. They sell everything related to penguins and lots of high-quality (but overpriced) guide books, coffee table books and other volumes of local and historical interest. I bagged some bits and bobs for friends back home and wondered over to the supermarket. Unless I missed the big Cadbury's factory or the Persil plant I have to assume that everything in there is imported. A packet of  Walkers crisps is 75p, so food and general household items are not cheap - it all comes a very long way. Despite the pricing structure I stocked up with chocolate (some of it distinctly Easter egg-shaped) for a month at sea (*).

For me the main attraction of the Falklands isn't seeing a portrait of Her Majesty in every tea house, or a fluffy penguin toy in a gift shop - for me it's the wild life. I was told there'd be a LOT of that around and about. On my first mission to find some I joined a bunch of scientists for a walk to Gypsy Cove, about 3 or 4 miles walk from Stanley. The walk goes via Whalebone Cove, where I half expected to see sun-bleached whale skeletons scattered on the beach. Apparently there are whale bones on the beach, but they can only be seen at low tide.

Altogether more easily visible was the rusting hulk of the "Lady Elizabeth", and iron sailing ship build in 1879 which had run into trouble whilst rounding Cape Horn and then limped back to the Falklands. The ship was never repaired and the Lady Liz is still there. She looks like a ghost ship - the masts and rigging still in place. Had it been a grey foggy day my mind would readily have played tricks on me. But in the glorious sunshine I couldn't spot any lost souls haunting the rusting decks.

Walking on our little party reached Yorke Bay and shortly afterwards Gypsy Cove. I would have wanted to hang around the picture-perfect beach of Yorke Bay and watch the birds, lie in the sand and swim in the waves, but it was fenced off for danger of mines. Well, it was signposted as a "suspect area" for land mines, meaning that mines from nearby areas might have washed up here and there is still a slim chance of being blown to smithereens. That's the official version anyway - my impression is that minefields (real or imagined) are simply an easier form of people management. The local wildlife conservationists could ask visitors to stay away and not disturb the birds. They could do that, but they don't have to when they can just tell you to stay away from the precious critters or otherwise being pulverised. I think wild life conservation can learn a lot from the Falkland approach of keeping tourists out.

My eyes still haven't adjusted to the wild life of this region. Despite my binoculars, it was the others who shouted the one word I'd been waiting for:

P E N G U I N  !!!

I had never seen one in the wild before, and now I stood there on a bluff overlooking the South Atlantic and watched a little dude in a tuxedo hop up the grassy slope to its burrow. There it was, an actual and definitely not imagined penguin. The poor creature didn't hang around long and disappeared in its hole in the ground. It had no idea that for one of those two-legged nuisances who keep turning up at its home it had become the FIRST EVER wild penguin which that person (me) had ever seen in his life.

The species of penguin that took my virginity in the flightless bird department was a Magellanic Penguin - one of the classic black and white type. My little pingu mascot whooped and cajoled in my coat pocket, which must have irritated the other scientists in the group (most of  them had been South many times before - they practically commted to Antarctica), but for little Pingu it was the first encounter with his wild cousins. I don't remember whether it was Pingu or myself who made those childish noises of being just a little too overexcited. I celebrated the moment by eating a "Penguin" chocolate bar (and promptly forgot to make a mental note of the joke inside the wrapper).

Along the path I could see more and more of their burrows. Most of them were empty, but occasionally a pair of eyes would peer out and wonder why one of the two-legged creatures found their burrow so interesting. There weren't many birds left in the colony - it was the wrong season for that. Most of the chicks had already fledged too, but there were enough Magellanics around to see them swim, waddle, hop, slide and sit. What a joy to watch!!!

Penguins make me laugh, they make me happy. There should be no person in the world who looks at them waddling and not smile. If there is such a person who isn't amused by the little blighters, well that would make one miserable fella.

Anyway, I'm all penguined out. So I sign out for now.

(*) I'll let you know when I run out. That will be a sad day. About as sad (or messy) as the day the sea sickness pills run out. The doc assures me that he has more, but will the cook have more chocolate?