Big Fat Heads: penguins

We left Blenheim and were sucked straight into another winery in the next county. I was driving so I had to make do with poncy Organic cola and lunch. Chan selflessly tried enough for both of us, though.

On the drive we happened across a fur seal colony. They were a bit of a timesink to be honest. You'd think you'd seen them all then then you'd notice that the boulders nearby were another dozen of them. Also, their barks sound like the wailing of the damned, which really harshes my vibe.

So the next stop was Oamaru – a town with far too many vowels given that they are the Kiwis’ natural enemy. It is a town that is big on vintage. Neo-classical buildings abound and antique shops are aplenty.

What was a big draw for Chan though was the presence of the nearby penguin colonies. There are two main colonies: one of Blue Penguins and one of Yellow-eyed Penguins. If penguins gonna represent, they gotta wear their colours, you dig?

As we have seen the definitive colony of Blue penguins on a previous trip to Phillip Island in Australia, Chan tasked us with getting up at Oh-my-sweet-baby-Jesus O’clock to try and see one or two of the 15 yellow-eyed penguins who live on Bushy Beach. Last year was hard on the local Yellow-eyes, as disease and other unfortunatenesses had depleted their numbers – hence the only remaining 7 breeding pairs plus change. That, combined with their natural disinclination toward people, means you have to spot them from a hide on the hill. They get up at sunrise and go fishing for the day, before coming ashore at some point in the evening and hiding in their burrows, meaning you have to catch them on the way out. I was pessimistic about our chances -especially as this was rearing season so half the penguins would be home watching the kids- and Chan was going to throw a right tantrum if we didn’t see anything, even though this was her idea. Thankfully, we caught a couple of the late risers. Blurry, unprepared penguin action shots ahoy:

Apparently the water was as cold as it looked, if this guy’s reaction is anything to go by:

One rather different place that Oamaru has is the Steampunk HQ - a museum/installation filled with various artefacts done in the ‘Steampunk’ style. For the uninitiated, Steampunk is a genre of fiction, art or dress-up (sorry, Cosplay) which is best described as science-fiction from a Victorian perspective. So airships, trains, flamboyant vacuum-tube electrical devices and steam power feature heavily. So Jules Verne and HG Wells would give you the right idea.

We saw some weird shit.

On the drive from Oamaru to Dunedin, we stopped to look at the Moeraki Boulders, which I artfully managed to photograph while keeping the legions of dickheads doing yoga poses on the rocks out of shot.

That's no moon

Dunedin (which is Edinburgh in Gaelic, by the way) is good for some ridiculously photogenic landscape. We took a drive up to the Otago Peninsula, on which it resides.

Mind you, nothing was open again for dinner, so we ended up cooking for ourselves before my hungrygrump hit critical.

Since this post is more pretty pictures than substance, I'll mention the following day when we were driving to Milford Sound. We pulled into the sensibly named Nugget Point, home of a prominent and still-active lighthouse which looks down on the rocks which were historically a significant hazard to small vessels to and from the nearby Clutha river. It makes for some good photos:

Kurzfassung auf Deutsch: Wir haben Pinguine und Robben gesehen. Wir besucht auch eine seltsame Museum.

We flew to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world, which was a bit of a climate shock. We'd rarely dropped below 22° on the whole trip so far, so we were less than acclimatised to the 2°C awaiting us. Ushuaia has an odd history of being, at various times: a frontier outpost, port and penal colony. This has given it look somewhat between that of a ski resort and a Siberian salt mine. The shops are pretty much exclusively selling souvenirs and outdoor clothing, as the town now predominantly serves as a cruise terminal for excursions around Cape Horn and Antarctica.

We visited the town museum, which was once the local prison. The prison was a Victorian-style 'Panopticon' affair, with six wings spread off from a main hall in the middle. Think 'Porridge', but now imagine it set in the least hospitable place outside of Wolverhampton. They've converted the various wings into exhibit areas, with one dedicated to nautical history of the area, one about prison life and notable inmates, and so on. One wing they've left preserved as it was when it was still in use. It was a bit parky.

Oh and I've been told to mention that we had lamb pizza. They're big on sheep and the uses of sheep in Patagonia. Also, there were some welcoming signs as we walked into port:

I think someone needs a hug

We were there to take a cruise around the Cape, which was a departure from the last voyage we took in that this was focused less on pampered gluttony and more on facilitating Zodiac boat excursions to various islands and glaciers. There was an open bar and a fridge of beer left unguarded though. Guess they don't get too many British guests. The cabins were simpler than the conventional cruise type (no TV etc.), but had huge windows to see the continuous spectacle outside.

You get allocated a dinner table seat at the beginning of the cruise, and that remains the same throughout. Obviously this is a gamble as you might end up with someone like me. Fortunately we ended up sharing with a charming couple, Charles and Alicia, who live in Uruguay although he's an escaped Englishman. They'd traveled widely and it is always great to get some insight into places we've been on this trip or are going to visit on the future trips already germinating in Chantelle's head. Poor Alicia: her English is excellent but those of you who know me, know how hard it is to comprehend me when I'm in full swing. Evolve, mortals.

Check out the hard case in the T-shirt

After we made our very scenic departure from Ushuaia, we made our way to Cape Horn, where we arrived first thing the following morning. It's the last anything you'll see before hitting the Antarctic. There is a team deployed there, managing the lighthouse and going about other unknown tasks. They enjoy visits from the likes of our trip as they are so very, very alone. This is a shame because we couldn't leave the boat as the waves were ridiculous. We had to content ourselves with taking photos of the albatross monument to the many lives lost on the Cape. Then we joined the tiny proportion of humanity to circumnavigate Cape Horn, which was nice.

Sorry, guys

Later the same day we managed to get ashore at Wulaia Bay, where Chan and I diverged on different treks: I went up a big fucking hill and took in the view:

Chan took the coastal route and heard all about the indigenous people (spoiler alert: they were quite happy living naked in their canoes, and then civilisation came and now there is only one of them left). The Yamana were squat, with atrophied legs from never leaving their canoes, which they would carry over their heads on land. This is why they lived on the coast: they couldn't climb the hills. Charles Darwin, on meeting them on his trip with the Beagle, described them as an "infra-human subspecies". Now Charles, that is not the preferred nomenclature.

It also transpires that beavers ended up here from Canada, as someone brought them to Ushuaia in a failed fur enterprise. They let them all loose when things didn't pan out, and they subsequently made their way across to here and played merry hell with the local flora, as they have here no natural predators. The trees are also not as robust as their Canadian counterparts and take ~100 years to grow back. It's suspected that the locals have shot the last beaver though, as they've not been seen for a while.

Oops

There are also pigs and mink causing havoc: buggering up the flimsy soil and eating the bird eggs, respectively. There are no other animals living in this part of the world, so anything that walks about has gotten here by human interference. Since the whole place is tenuously grown on moss and twigs, it's somewhat vulnerable to critters. So by all means come on down with a shotgun in your hand and mammal murder on your mind. It's enough to make one go native:

"Justice has a new face - and it is pink and squeezed into fluorescence"

The following day we stopped at Aguila Glacier, where we learned more than I'm qualified to relay about the interaction between the ice, the rocks and the local vegetation. Short version though: trees growing on icy rocks shows ridiculous levels of environmental adaptation. Also, the glacier is very pretty.

I shall at this point out our attire. Since largely everywhere else we have or will have visited is ridiculously hot, we are short on winter attire. So when we were in the US last, we were having a mooch around a large outdoors store for something to keep us from expiring from exposure when we got down here. I happened across two identical, extra large, lurid blue, "Frogg Toggs" rain suits on offer. They keep the rain and wind off and pack down to next to bugger-all. We might look like giant, baggy smurfs, but we are now at least prepared for the elements.

Pictured: dynamism

The cruise firm coordinates closely with science teams from the local university, with a team on board with us. This involves investigating the effects of tourism on the area but also in conserving it. The expedition team went down to the islands and picked up 123 bags of rubbish before the season started, which must have originated from someone local due to when it was dumped. We have noticed a certain out-of-sight, out-of-mind mindset in certain parts of South America when it comes to littering and the like, so this is probably down to the local fishermen. Part of the research is figuring out who the culprits are, though.

The last morning, Chan woke me up extra early to take pictures of the sunrise. Urgh, fine.

It's not as pretty as sleep

This day was a particular highlight for her as we were visiting Magdalena Island to see the 70,000 penguins who live there. The Magdalen penguins live in burrows on the land and it's the bloke penguin's job to put the literal roof over his family's head. You may have heard about penguins mating for life, but with this crowd there are DIY-focussed caveats, and it is subject to annual review. If she comes back next year and the digs don't meet spec, she will bugger off with Derek from up by the lighthouse, like her mum told her to - he knows how to arrange sticks and mud like a real penguin. Jesus, why don't you call every Skua on the island and just feed them our kids yourself?

"Sheila's going to go spare when she gets home"

"I've got a stick. Game, set and match."

This glorious, brass-balled bastard stole a mouthful of nest from underneath one of the huge seagulls that live here. We saw him come tumbling down the hill, pissed-off bird in pursuit. Don't hate the player; hate the sport: