Treading lightly

The atmosphere on Bird Island has changed significantly over the past few weeks. The sense of frenetic activity that accompanied the arrival of animals, their courtship, breeding and the birth of their young has settled into a more gentle and routine existence. Wandering Albatrosses sit serenely on their nests amongst the tussock, calmly incubating their eggs. Black Browed and Grey-headed Albatrosses get on with the business of feeding their growing chicks and the beaches have become less crowded with the departure many of the fur seals now that the breeding season is over. These changes have made some areas of the island more accessible to its human inhabitants. Though we still have to negotiate our way through a colony of protective mothers and roaming pups can now use the beaches to access the western end of the island without (much) fear of encountering territorial male seals.

This new aspect of Bird Island is a constant source of fascination to me. I am able to roam the beaches at my leisure and investigate the shoreline to my hearts content. There have been some surprises along the way. The remains of an old field hut close to the shore at Johnson cove is a reminder of human presence in an otherwise untouched landscape. There are other indications of our influence too. In Main Bay, between the tussock and the high tide line there is a low line of rocks arranged in a pattern that seems to indicate the outline of buildings and perhaps a slip or walkway. This could be the remains of an old field-hut, though available records do not support this, perhaps it is a remnant of the seal or whaling industry that was once so prolific around South Georgia. Either way it is an incongruous feature in an environment that is otherwise mercifully untouched by human activity. As the sea erodes away the sand from around the stones other items are also revealed. A large iron hook, beautifully wrought, lies rusting on the shoreline. I wonder about its provenance; perhaps it was attached to a rope used for lifting cargo or securing boats. Perhaps (as I like to think) it held a cooking pot suspended over a fire and provided warmth and sustenance to the hardy explorers who first camped along the shore.   As I walk along the waters edge I cannot overcome my beachcombers instincts and stare obsessively at the ground in the hope of finding other treasures. On some occasions an attractive stone or piece of brightly coloured seaweed catches my eye, on others it is the more disappointing presence of rope or plastic. This flotsam and jetsam serves not only as a reminder of the outside world but also of how no place, no matter how remote, is immune to the influence of man.

This influence was brought into sharp focus yesterday when I encountered a seal in the tussock above the base. Not an unusual occurrence in itself as at this time of year the tussock slopes are full of mothers and pups sheltering from the weather and escaping the attention of Skuas and Petrels on the beach.  In fact, it gets so crowded that the team have to take care when travelling across the hillside so as not to step on a pup or startle an unsuspecting mother who may feel obliged to fend off the human intruders. This particular seal drew my attention as a result of the length of bright green fishing net that was wrapped tightly around her neck. From where I stood I could see that it was biting deeply into her flesh as she nursed her pup. Raising the alert amongst the rest of the team we were able to capture the seal, which patiently allowed us to remove the noose that certainly would have killed her. Encounters like this bring a great sense of satisfaction but also feelings of unease. While I wholeheartedly believe in the utility of the research being done here, I also worry about our influence on the local environment. We make every effort to minimise our impact - we collect and dispose of our waste carefully, we minimise light and noise pollution and take care to avoid erosion along the hillsides and meadows. So many times we have been urged to walk lightly upon the earth and never has it felt so vital for us to listen.

Whale Watching

Bird Island is quite literally teeming with life. The hillsides and meadows are filled with birds that perform courtship displays, build nests, and raise their young on the slopes above the base. Even underground there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of birds raising their families deep in hillside burrows far from sight.  The steep cliffs of the northern edge of the Island are home to Shags and Turns who seem to enjoy a precipitous existence above the heaving swell far below and the beaches and streams are crammed with Fur Seals who have come ashore for the breeding season. On summer evenings penguins crowd the shores in every direction while the air above us is thick with the beating wings of Skuas, Kelp Gulls and Petrels. Given the density of wildlife ashore I can perhaps be forgiven for failing from time to time to focus on the vast ocean that surrounds us.  However it is only the richness of the ocean that makes life possible for the residents of Bird Island. It provides both food and shelter and its influence is felt in every aspect of island life.

It was to the ocean that my attention was drawn early one evening as I traversed the northern edge of the island. Scaling the rocky slopes of Gazella Peak I was transfixed by the huge icebergs that towered on the horizon like the skyline of some distant crystal city. We had been lucky enough to enjoy a close encounter with a much smaller ‘berg some weeks before as it became stranded in Freshwater Bay, but these were of a different scale entirely. Through binoculars I could see towering cliffs and icy valleys, an entire floating landscape that passed slowly by in the distance. As I looked to the horizon I was aware of a disturbance in the surface of the water closer to shore. At first I thought that it was merely waves breaking against one of the many rocky reefs around the island but as I watched I saw that it was moving and was followed by a second, smaller shape.  A dark form rose from beneath the water and realisation dawned with the characteristic spray of a whale’s breath. Slowly, almost languidly a mighty tail rose into the air and then slipped away as the creature dived. I was mesmerised. 

At 54 degrees South, Bird Island lies within the Southern Ocean. Bordered to the North by the Antarctic Polar Front it occupies the most northerly part of what is generically known as ‘The Antarctic.’  It is the ocean that sustains life on the island. It is a rich source of food for birds and mammals alike. Since the first significant controls on commercial whaling were introduced in the 1970s the whale population, once decimated, is slowly recovering. Southern Right Whales are not uncommon in the waters around Bird Island and it appeared that the pair I had sighted were mother and calf who had found food in the waters to the north of the island. They could be identified as Right Whales by the lack of dorsal fins (distinguishing them from humpbacks) and also by the broad triangular tail flukes that lacked the serrated appearance of other whales. As I watched I could see them repeatedly breaking the surface of the water to breathe before diving deeper, presumably in search of food. As the whales held their position in the current I found myself spellbound and it was at least 20 minutes until I had the presence of mind to radio to base and let the rest of the team know about our visitors. Interrupting dinner preparations, they grabbed boots and binoculars and headed up to the cliffs. It was gratifying to know that biologists whose careers revolve around the study of marine mammals can still get excited about the whales in our back garden.  

Over the past week I have made several trips back to Gazella Peak in the hope of catching further glimpses of the whales. On most occasions I have been rewarded, though they have kept their distance and I haven’t been treated to an encounter as intimate as the first. I am hoping that my voyage to the Antarctic Peninsula next month will bring more opportunities for spotting a wide range of whales and other cetaceans. In the meantime I will remember to keep a weather eye on the ocean as I go about the business of life here on Bird Island.