It is hard to believe that battles were fought over this ground, that once it was alive with tracer, explosions and bullets, that soldiers yomped and stormed.
How preposterous.
The gateway to the Antarctic – nothing to do with sovereignty (another poisonous idea) – more to do with oil and minerals.
It was beautiful.
It was surreal visiting Bluff Cove. It had been the scene of a battle during the Falklands war. Troops had stormed on to that beach. It was hard to imagine. A desolate sandy shore, penguins, orange lichen, big rollers and a little cafe – was this the scene of bullets and bombs?
Shows how stupid and nuts we humans are.
Finally Amazon UK have put up my book for sale. This is the tale of my amazing voyage to South America.
This is the large, full colour, coffee table version. With all my photographs in colour throughout.
This is the story of a fabulous voyage to South America in 2016 on a two hulled icebreaker called the Marco Polo. Amusing tales, beauty, observations, social asides, photography, politics and the wonders of nature – it is all there…. And more. Rio De Janeiro, Buenos Aires, The Falkland Islands, the magic of Magellan’s Strait plus a dozen more wondrous destinations. The day of the albatrosses, the boobies, petrels, penguins, skuas and frigate birds; the sea-lions and the whales – all the ingredients of a fabulous voyage.
This is being sold for £16.97 – a price that reflects the size and colour photography.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it and putting the photos together.
My new book – Voyage to the end of the world – the story of my voyage to South America – is now available in the United States with full colour photographs.
This is the full colour table book version and that is reflected in the price – It retails for $34.93
I hope you’ll enjoy it and find it worth the money!
Unfortunately there seems to be a distribution problem in Europe at the moment and the publication is being held up. I’ll keep you informed.
All other Opher’s books available in the USA from Amazon –
This is the back cover blurb.
Anything I ought to alter? Does it work?
–
This is the story of a fabulous voyage to South America in 2016 on a two hulled icebreaker called the Marco Polo.
Amusing tales, beauty, observations, social asides, photography, politics and the wonders of nature – it is all there…. And more.
Rio De Janeiro, Buenos Aires, The Falkland Islands, the magic of Magellan’s Strait plus a dozen more wondrous destinations. The day of the albatrosses, the boobies, petrels, penguins, skuas and frigate birds; the sea-lions and the whales – all the ingredients of a fabulous voyage.
After having my fill of penguins – there being only so much you can take in of the same scene no matter how many different angles and ways you look at it (I had attempted to suck them into my memory banks. There was nothing more that could be achieved) I wandered off to take in the scenery. That was almost as magical. This was summer in the Falklands. You could tell that because we only needed one jumper and a single jacket and waterproof. We were assured by Jamie that this was an outstanding day. The sun was shining and it wasn’t too windy. As I peered over the desolate bay I wondered what it might be like on this desolate island in winter.
The bay was beautiful. The sea was blue and the sand was white. The light was soft and clear creating a spectacular pastel effect. It reminded me of the light out in the Orkneys. It had that same delicate quality.
I watched as the waves crashed in and the wind whipped the spray off them. There were two penguins standing on the beach studying the waves. I imagined them as a pair of friends discussing the weather. I had a walk around, took a few photos and soaked up the beauty.
It was time to head for the fabled sea-cabbage café and museum for a warming cup of tea and slice of home-made cake. The tea was as English as you could ge and the cake tasted as if it had been baked by a branch of the Women’s Institute.
I wandered round the museum and marvelled at the wool creation produced by the jovial proprietess.
It was time to head back to Port Stanley. That was an experience.
There were signs of this secluded colony participating in black magic rites. I imagine there is little else to do in those endless dark winter months but to do it so openly was remarkable. There was a bust of Margaret Thatcher on open display and they had even named the road after her. That is truly satanic.
We looked at the war memorial and looked at the names of the dead. They had fought and died for this place.
I looked across the strait towards the hillside where the various regiments had left their marks spelt out in rocks.
We walked past the church and post office with its bright red pillar box and telephone box. If it hadn’t been for the whalebone formation in front of the church it would all have been more English than England.
We went to the café for a hot mug of cocoa and then on to the pub festooned with union jacks and regimental colours. We climbed up the hill and looked down into the harbour. It was such a little settlement, such a quaint bit of Britishness on the edge of the Antarctic.
A fur seal greeted us on the jetty as we boarded the lifeboats.
As we turned and headed back to Argentina the sun was setting and the islands were encased in an orange glow.
We didn’t actually storm the beach. Instead we bounced up to a jetty where a pleasant sailor helped us off as the lifeboat pitched about. A jaunty big sign bade us welcome to the Falklands. We had already noted the bright little town of Port Stanley. It seemed to have been built of gaily painted corrugated iron.
Without more ado we set off into the hinterland to see battlefields and discover penguins.
The large green peat fields stretched out on all sides towards the distant mountains. As far as I could see it had all been a battlefield. There were little white crosses here and there marking where soldiers had been blown to bits by lumps of metal travelling at high velocity. We passed a sign saying MINEFIELD. The jolly islander explained that there were still ten trillion landmines strewn all over the island. I reminded myself to limit my inclination to explore.
We were heading for Bluff Cove (not one of the islanders but a real bay full of penguins, famous for its café and part of the battle for control of the island). This involved being bumped around in a four by four as it sped over ruts and bumps. I think he deliberately sought the most uneven terrain. Bouncing visitors about in a four by four was the only entertainment on the island. I thought he might be called Lewis Hamilton but be assured me he was called Jamie.
We passed stone runs from ancient glaciers, peat bogs, streams, ponds and a very strange accumulation at the side of the road. The islanders had started sticking old boots and shoes on sticks. There was quite a collection of them. They called it Boot Hill.
Then the bay came into sight. There was a big brown patch in the middle of the bay that was probably well trodden penguin poo. On this patch were a community of penguins. There were a couple of hundred of them all standing and waddling about like penguins do. It was impressive.
We got out and could go right up to them. Unfortunately you were not supposed to touch. I could just see tourists heading back to their ship with a Gentoo penguin under each arm as a memento of their visit.
The penguins were mainly Gentoo. There were adults and babies. The babies were all fluffy and downy and almost as big as the adults. I noticed that there were groups of adults away at a distance from the colony. They had obviously had enough of the juvenile behaviour and wanted a bit of peace and quiet.
The babies were very cute and tame. They inquisitively waddled right up to you and peered up at you enquiringly as if trying to work out what we were and what the hell we were doing here.
When I’d had my fill of Gentoo I went off to have a look at what else the bay had to offer. There were some beautifully coloured upland geese of offer. They were amazing. There were also a bunch of Skuas. These were large predatory birds who feast on, among other things, baby penguins. I was surprised to see them either sitting happily in the midst of the colony or else strutting around eyeing up the babies with an evil hungry gleam in their eye. They were not seeing those baby Gentoo in the same way I was. What I found remarkable was that all the penguns seemed oblivious to them. These sinister predators wandered around without even a passing peck and sized up the daft babies who waddled and threw themselves down on the ground in gleeful disregard. I imagined that if one of those skuas had gone for one of the little ones there might have been a bit of a rumpus. In the meantime they merely waiting for one of them to become ill or wander too far off. It was a little unsettling – like watching a stalking paedophile at work.
In the centre of the colony were a group of majestic Emperor penguins. Altogether a different proposition to the smaller Gentoos. With their great size and bright orange markings they stood out. They made the Gentoos look quite ordinary. They were magnificent.
There was one baby Emperor that waddled around among the adults and was preened and fussed over by its parent. He was not allowed to wander. He was probably too small. The skuas would have ripped him to pieces given half a chance. The parent knew it and so did the baby. It spent most of its time buried under its parent’s bum where it was safe. You could just see its legs and bottom sticking out.
My heart was melted. Seeing wild animals in the wild is magical. It is so different to zoos.
It made me feel that I wasn’t doing anywhere near enough to protect this planet and all these incredible creatures from the disasters we were wreaking upon them. I resolved to try harder.
If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.
Or a book of poetry and comment:
Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle
My other books are here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1457515636&sr=1-2-ent
Thank you and please leave a review.
Over two days the excitement was mounting. We were heading for the Falklands. It was coolish. We’d lost the heat of Brazil a while back. There was no lolling in the Jacuzzi on the top deck. We were out of our shorts and sandals and wrapped up in fleeces. At the front of the boat a group of ardent bird watchers had been perpetually huddled. I think they lived there. To compensate for the rapidly cooling weather we were getting a glimpse of more interesting birds. It kept the twitchers in a constant state of enthrallment. As I joined them for furtive short periods of scanning the seas for signs of whales, dolphins and seas they eagerly recounted to me, in hushed voices, that a storm petrel had spent the night on the boat. It had huddled into a corner of the top deck. One of the doughty birdmen had actually picked it up and launched it back into freedom. I wondered, quietly to myself. If that was quite how the petrel might have viewed it. There it was minding its own business, sheltering from the cold and getting a free lift into the bargain, when some tosser tossed back out into the elements. Freedom is relative. Another twitcher, all wide-eyed and disbelieving, explained to me that a Noddy had actually spent the entire night perched on the rail at the stern of the ship. I had pictures of a funny little chap with a pointy blue hat sitting on the rail and was wondering if Big ears was going to join him but I was soon disabused of such a silly notion. A noddy is a bird. I was merely annoyed that nobody had thought to tell me about these treasures so that I could get a photograph of them.
However I did manage to get photos of the Giant Petrels that materialized out of nowhere to drift around in the sky around the ship. They were big birds with a wingspan of half a mile or more, according to one of the bird men. I found it amazing to think of these birds floating about in the sky hundreds of miles away from land and never resting. It was explained to me that they’d evolved a mechanism to shut down half their brain at a time in order to sleep on the wing. I couldn’t see how birds that size managed to stay up in the air at all, let alone for months on end. They were masters of the currents.
I was not. I frequently decided that the more frigid air was good in small doses. But I could see why they hung around the ship – it must have been boring out there with nothing but an unending expanse of ocean. We were entertainment.
The first sight of the Falklands was exciting. The rugged hills and shoreline came into sight looking bright and mist enclosed in the early morning light with cloud caps on the higher ground. As we nudged into the bay, towards Port Stanley, we could see the shore with its
green hummocks and just make out little groups of penguins waddling on the sand. I could understand how an army could easily secrete itself in the place. The island could have been invaded and garrisoned without anybody knowing. It looked rugged and uninhabited.
We moored a long way out. We could not, for some obscure reason, get any closer in to the harbor. The sea was choppy and we were going to go ashore via a half hour journey in ‘tenders’. That sounded intriguing. The ‘tenders’ turned out to be our lifeboats. I found that reassuring. At least it meant that the lifeboats worked and that the crew were getting practice launching them.
The journey in was very choppy. We bounced about and were sprayed with water. It added to the drama. I couldn’t help feeling like I was one of the troops heading in to free the island from the fascist invaders. (That strange mood was probably a residue of having accidentally read an account in the Sun or the wonderful Daily Express – you know – those right-wing dispensers of fantasy, establishment propaganda and patriotic jingoism that pass as newspapers.) The moment carried me along. I was going to step foot on the fabled disputed kingdom of the southern Atlantic – the gateway to the Antartic. Of course, it was fought over because of the need to protect its British citizens (nothing to do with the oil and minerals).
If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.
Or a book of poetry and comment:
Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle
My other books are here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1457515636&sr=1-2-ent
Thank you and please leave a review.
