Carcass & West Point Islands of West Falkland
The first landings of our trip across the Atlantic had our feet searching for those spots least likely to swallow our boots here in the rugged and mostly wild outer islands of the Falklands archipelago. We were tromping around and among the tussock clumps seeking out the best vantage points for photographing or simply observing the local wildlife. Tussock birds darted in and out of our steps hoping to glean an easy meal from our clumsy passage. Striated caracaras approached each momentarily discarded backpack or jacket as if it were roasted mutton and free for the taking. Magellanic penguins cautiously peered out of their burrows like some avian representative of the groundhog society and tried hard to discern if we were worth noting at all. Still, none of these birds were our object of desire. We were instead after the nesting sites of the black-browed albatross and the pugnacious little rockhopper penguins. Of course, neither of these animals seems to care much for our convenience and inconsiderately nest on the windiest and apparently muckiest areas of the islands.
Undaunted by the towering clumps of grass obscuring our vision, we crept ever-closer to our goal. Some of us happened through unscathed and unsoiled. However, as with any expedition of note, there were difficulties; and a few casualties. For despite our assumptions that we must surely be more agile than waddling birds with three-inch legs, we quickly realized that our mass gave us a distinct disadvantage at traversing the muddy and guano-filled paths of the penguins. While they padded along nicely, many of us (laden with our finest, although certainly not lightest photographic gear) found ourselves becoming a PART of the path rather than a user thereof! Luckily, we had our trusting traveling companions nearby to lend a sympathetic arm or two. (Though perhaps this could also be interpreted as an attempt on the part of the mired to simply take as many down with them as possible!)
Still, in spite of these laborious pratfalls we came away supremely happy for our efforts. The albatross soared overhead in the gusting winds. The rockhoppers preened on their nest-sites. And we sat or squatted nearby soaking it all in to our minds and capturing as much as we could with our cameras. Later still, as we enjoyed our second hosted afternoon tea of the day, we took comfort in knowing that our journey has only just begun; and that the mud will wash off our clothes while our pictures will last at least as long as our hard drives.
The first landings of our trip across the Atlantic had our feet searching for those spots least likely to swallow our boots here in the rugged and mostly wild outer islands of the Falklands archipelago. We were tromping around and among the tussock clumps seeking out the best vantage points for photographing or simply observing the local wildlife. Tussock birds darted in and out of our steps hoping to glean an easy meal from our clumsy passage. Striated caracaras approached each momentarily discarded backpack or jacket as if it were roasted mutton and free for the taking. Magellanic penguins cautiously peered out of their burrows like some avian representative of the groundhog society and tried hard to discern if we were worth noting at all. Still, none of these birds were our object of desire. We were instead after the nesting sites of the black-browed albatross and the pugnacious little rockhopper penguins. Of course, neither of these animals seems to care much for our convenience and inconsiderately nest on the windiest and apparently muckiest areas of the islands.
Undaunted by the towering clumps of grass obscuring our vision, we crept ever-closer to our goal. Some of us happened through unscathed and unsoiled. However, as with any expedition of note, there were difficulties; and a few casualties. For despite our assumptions that we must surely be more agile than waddling birds with three-inch legs, we quickly realized that our mass gave us a distinct disadvantage at traversing the muddy and guano-filled paths of the penguins. While they padded along nicely, many of us (laden with our finest, although certainly not lightest photographic gear) found ourselves becoming a PART of the path rather than a user thereof! Luckily, we had our trusting traveling companions nearby to lend a sympathetic arm or two. (Though perhaps this could also be interpreted as an attempt on the part of the mired to simply take as many down with them as possible!)
Still, in spite of these laborious pratfalls we came away supremely happy for our efforts. The albatross soared overhead in the gusting winds. The rockhoppers preened on their nest-sites. And we sat or squatted nearby soaking it all in to our minds and capturing as much as we could with our cameras. Later still, as we enjoyed our second hosted afternoon tea of the day, we took comfort in knowing that our journey has only just begun; and that the mud will wash off our clothes while our pictures will last at least as long as our hard drives.
