This week I have been counting things, lots of things: Spoons (48 if anyone is interested), bottles of gin
(‘not enough’ I am told by concerned members of the team), vegetarian sausages,
toilet roll (‘plenty’ much to everyone’s relief) and penguins (around two and a
half thousand so far.) Counting seems to govern the life of those of us who
inhabit Bird Island. All that can be observed must be counted.
The most recent counting frenzy has been the all-island
count of Gentoo penguin chicks. These birds live in several large colonies
around the island and every year members of the Penguin and Petrel team recruit
other base members to help them count the youngsters before they fledge. At
this time of year the chicks are starting to moult as they exchange their grey
baby fluff for more elegant black and white adult plumage. They gather in large
groups, or crèches, of several hundred individuals looking scruffy and forlorn
as they wait for their parents to return from foraging trips at sea. The first job of the counting team is to
locate these groups and then to approach them without causing a penguin stampede.
The colonies can often be smelled before they are seen - penguin guano is potent
stuff and the smell of ammonia hangs thick in the air, it penetrates our
clothes and stings our eyes. Even after showering on our return to base a distinct
whiff can still be detected as we gather around the dining table. The next job
is to split the colony into manageable groups for counting. This involves a
sort of slow-motion recreation of ‘One Man and His Dog.’ Team-members approach
the group slowly with arms outstretched as they gently herd the birds into the
desired position. This causes pandemonium amongst the chicks who waddle at full
tilt with their tiny wings outstretched, often tripping over each other in
their panic to escape. With shouts of
encouragement (and often no small amount of derision) from their colleagues these
penguin wranglers eventually isolate a manageable group of around two to three
hundred chicks and the counting can begin. This involves picking an appropriate
vantage point (not too close or it will panic the chicks) and using a hand-held
counter to record as accurately as possible the number of birds in that group while
being careful to discriminate between the older chicks and the few remaining
adult penguins. When everyone has completed their count the tallies are
recorded and compared. If the numbers are close then an average can be taken,
if there is too wide a spread then the count must be repeated until the tally-keeper
is satisfied. This can be a frustrating process, especially when the penguins
start to move mid count. Sometimes this is a spontaneous re-organisation and on
other occasions it is prompted by the arrival of a hungry Skua on the lookout
for an easy meal in the form of a dead or weak chick. Always it causes
consternation and blasphemy amongst the counters. Once this group has been counted another
batch must be separated and the whole process starts again. Occasionally a
rogue penguin will break away from its designated group and attempt to join another.
This is potentially disastrous as it can trigger a stream of defectors who will
then mingle with the uncounted penguins and render all our careful segregation useless. Careful watch must therefore be kept for
chicks that look likely to break ranks and make a run for it. When spotted
these birds are then dissuaded with much stomping, arm waving and verbal abuse
(fortunately unintelligible to penguins.) To the casual observer it must seem
that the whole team has taken leave of their collective senses.
The all-island count has been completed over 2 days and we
await the final tally. As usual there is a sweepstake on the final count. The
prize generally takes the form of a cake baked by the penguin team and shared
with the whole group. Jon has won the last two years running, bets have been
placed and we wait to see if he can complete a hat-trick.
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