Counting sheep

 

We’re still ahead - and always will be, if you ask any Aussie, for whom the Kiwi/sheep thing is essential unsavoury-relationship joke material - but our ratio is dropping shockingly low. Not that long ago it was 22:1, but now we’re closing in on Iceland’s level. They are very proud of their 2:1 there, and never miss a chance to boast about it. (Australia, by contrast, considers their 3:1 ratio perfectly standard.)

To be honest, and going purely by the attitude of my guide Páll, Icelanders will boast about any feature of their country that’s the least bit distinctive. Good for them, I say. They certainly have plenty to be proud of - volcanoes, glaciers, waterfalls, doughty horses, ancient language, historical resilience, human rights, Björk and co, standard of living, even hotdogs - and I can’t imagine any visitor coming away unimpressed. But the sheep? They’re woolly and cute, and live free-range, with an annual round-up that’d be something to see; but there aren’t that many of them.

Our formerly vast sheep population is dwindling because dairy is more lucrative (though polluting ☹️) and, shockingly, the price of wool has dropped so low that just getting them shorn leaves farmers in the red. Crazy, when it’s such an eco-friendly product, with so many uses - which are expanding all the time, as producers are driven to be more and more creative. All power to them.

In the meantime, it’s a bit melancholy to think that classic NZ scenes like this - irresistible Insta-material for tourists - are becoming less common. 

Actually top of the world-wide list, by the way, though much lower-profile, are the Falkland Islands, with a whopping sheep population of 200:1. The mere fact that I scarcely noticed the sheep while I was there, instead being blown away by all the penguins and albatrosses (and literally by the wind), tells you all you need to know about the dominance there of the wildlife - including over the small population of humans, who cling gamely on, politics and rugged environment notwithstanding. Good thing counting their sexual partners helps them get to sleep at night.

Silver Explorer, Day 5 - En route to South Georgia

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

It's another day at sea today - there's a fair number of them on this cruise - and there is nothing but sea and sky to look at. That doesn't however mean it's boring. There are lectures to attend (today one explaining the Falklands fisheries, which was a lot more interesting than it may sound; and another on the geology of those islands, which was exactly as exciting as it sounds) and this afternoon brings our kit inspection to ensure we don't carry ashore any seeds or other stuff to despoil the environment. Then there's a hands-on photography session which I hope will be useful - though as an Olympus person, I know I'll be taking a back seat to the ostentatious Canon and slightly less pushy Nikon people.

Then there's a birdwatching session on deck which will be all about, I'm guessing, albatrosses, fulmars and petrels. It will also be a bit parky, because even though we're still on about the same latitude as Ushuaia, there's no sun today and it's beginning to feel properly South Atlantic. Finally, tonight, we will be dining with the Captain and presumably swapping notes about Gloucestershire. So, as there will be no photos to speak of, here are some from the Falklands.

Silver Explorer, Day 4 - Brilliant, Stanley

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

In the night we sailed around the end of West Falkland and then East Falkland, and into the harbour of Stanley (not Port Stanley, never has been locally, it was a war thing) where, thanks to unexpectedly clement weather, we moored at a jetty instead of out in the harbour. There was a complimentary bus tour of the town, which was conducted by locals – always the best way to do it.

Louise told us all sorts of things, from the economy (fishing licences then tourism and wool) and population (3,200), via history and everyday life to quirky stuff like the local diddledee telegraph which puts Facebook in the shade. She was delighted with the weather – here, you comment on the lack of wind rather than vice versa – and so were we. We saw picturesque shipwrecks (commonly abandoned rather than inadvertent sinkings, after too high an estimate for local repair), whale skeletons, war memorials, living lawnmowers (sheep), Government House (Shackleton reckoned it was colder inside than the Antarctic), neat gardens, somewhat ramshackle – but cute and colourful – houses. And then driver Robin showed us how to cut peat.

Afterwards we wandered, loose, round the town, fortuitously missing a heavy downpour while in the excellent museum, emerging to bright sunlight again. There was Christ Church Cathedral, in much better shape than the one back home, with its blue whale jawbone arch (and impressive kneelers, one of them with orcas on it); traditional English red phone boxes and mail boxes; a brick terrace that could have come from Brighton; a bright yellow tin building; lots of lupins and trimmed hedges; pubs; gift shops heavy on penguin stuffed toys; and more Land Rovers than you could shake a stick at.

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Then it was back to the Silver Explorer for a skilled exit through the aptly-named Narrows, past the classically lonely Cape Pembroke lighthouse and back into the South Atlantic for our two-day journey towards South Georgia in winds three times what was predicted but, oh happy day, coming from behind. As it were.

Silver Explorer, Day 3 - A veritable (also actual) rainbow of colours

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

That guide in Ushuaia the other day, telling us to treasure the green while we had it? Load of old codswallop. The colours so far on this cruise have been intense, especially today: blue, turquoise, black, white, yellow, red, orange and purple. Totally Technicolor.

First, we landed on West Point Island, one of the Falklands group - it was a dry landing, which meant out of the Zodiac onto a jetty, easy as, and then were straight into walking up over this mainly low, barren, windswept dot of land. It's owned by one family, who farm sheep here ("Falklands lamb is the best in the world!" declared Tim, our guide today, totally tactlessly) and generate their own electricity by wind and sun, and order their groceries online for boat delivery from Stanley. We passed the little wooden homestead and went to ogle a rookery of black-browed albatrosses and rockhopper penguins who had built mud nests on an area of rocks surrounded by tussock. 

In typical bird fashion, they chose a site above the highest cliff in the Falklands - a long climb for a little penguin without much grip. They didn't seem to mind our getting to within about 2 metres to watch them preen, snooze, feed chicks, argue, squawk at hungry caracaras and greet returning mates. Time passed very pleasantly as we all tried hard to get our best pic of the birds. It was so warm and sunny that there was even some panting - by birds as well as people.

Then we ambled back to the farmhouse for morning tea - a lovely spread of home-made treats like cakes, biscuits, scones with cream, and tea in proper cups and saucers.

After lunch and a nap while we repositioned, it was the same again, sort of, as we did a wet landing (onto the beach) at Saunders Island - another the same, with long sandy beaches as well as the usual low headlands and absence of trees. Here we saw Magellanic penguins on the first beach, then a colony of Gentoo penguins, busy hatching eggs and feeding fluffy chicks, as well as fending off marauding skuas (always the baddies in any Antarctic nature documentary) and caracaras. There were also a few King Penguins, the second biggest after Emperors, and strikingly smart and beautiful with their yellow stripes. They were the undoubted stars of the island.

Further on, past the neat whale skeleton on the close-cropped grass (sheep here too) I got down to the beach to watch the smaller penguins come ashore and immediately do a major preen of the feathers. It was still really warm and I took off several layers as I sat on the sand to enjoy the tropical-looking sea and the all the various birds.

Up on the hillside was another rockhopper colony, again patrolled by opportunistic caracaras, surrounded by burrows under the grass where Magellanic penguins were nesting. There was another albatross rookery too, but having spent ages trying to photograph birds in flight, the weather had had time to change, and we were hustled down to the beach to return to the ship before it became impossible. We had to wade knee-deep to get into the Zodiac, and then bounce and splash over the waves back to the ship where the crew did a fine job of getting us back aboard without incident despite the movement on the water.

By then it was 6pm - where did the day go? - and time to head down to the Panorama lounge for a drink before dinner with two Dutch people and an English/Japanese couple. Dinner was good, naturally, but there was a sudden rush out of the restaurant as we finished because a complete rainbow had been spotted behind the ship, with an amazingly intense and long-lasting sunset in front. So, colours from start to finish. Treasure the green? Pft.