Nature Wild in Tooth and Flipper

I am presented with a broom handle. “Remember” my minder tells me ” you just need to tickle them on their whiskers and they will back off”. I am on Bird Island, an amazing place just off South Georgia in the Southern Ocean. I’m attempting to do some research on the beaches, looking for vey small critters that live on rocks. The only problem is the beaches are home to fur seals. Lots and lots of fur seals, or furries as they are affectionately known.   “How many?” I ask. My minder thinks for a moment. “About 200,000” he replies “give or take a few”. They can be found sitting on beaches, rocks, tussocks, and anywhere else they feel inclined to. And they have attitude. Serious attitude, as I was about to find out.

 

We had arrived at the beginning of the breeding season on the British Antarctic Survey Research Ship James Clark Ross. We were resupplying the base there for the first time since the end of the previous Austral summer. I was feeling guilty that my friends and colleagues  had a difficult and demanding task to complete  and I was on my way for a “jolly” with the pick of Bird Island to investigate. I took my broom handle, rucksack and VHF radio and with my minder left them manhandling boxes of food and barrels of fuel along a precipitous wooden jetty complete with resident grumpy male furrie who charged at anyone with the temerity to attempt to pass. That should have warned me.

 

We climbed to the summit of the island. Numerous small bays were laid out below us. Tiny coves, just  scraps of black sand, rocks and breaking waves. And all very full of young male furries with a few camper van sized male elephant seals thrown in for good measure. “Where do you want to go?”. Hell, I didn’t have any idea. Why would I? I had never been anywhere like this before. My brain was already overloaded with images of stupendously rugged snow-covered mountains and amazing wildlife I had only ever seen in Attenborough documentaries.  I pointed at a random beach and we headed off down the viciously steep slope, through wiry knee high tussock grass, skidding our way towards the bay. I was enthralled by the wildlife. Wandering albatross had built nests among the tussock. Fat, fluffy chicks sat waiting for their parents to return with food. Unfazed by our presence, curious and unafraid they reached out and tentatively pecked at our hair, hats and glasses. Tragically this majestic bird is in decline. Their numbers have halved over the last fifty years mainly due to drowning on longlines, fishing lines kilometres long with many baited hooks used for catching tuna.

 

As we made our way down the final muddy slope to the beach, snow flurries swirled around us revealing tantalising glimpses of the way ahead. Our senses were assaulted by the sound and smell of hundreds of seals crammed onto an ever diminishing beach. We were faced with a dilemma, my chosen site was at the furthermost side of the cove. Undeterred my minder sets off across the beach thwacking seal noses with his broom handle and leaping from one angry seal to the next, seemingly oblivious to the snapping teeth and angry barks his passage provokes. I find myself alone on the nearshore, my minder waving and shouting advice from the safety of the rocks on the far side of the mass of irate bodies. I start my traverse of the bay, discovering the invisible boundaries of fiercely defended patches of sand by the lunges and hisses of angry seals. My progress mimics the motion of a ball bearing in a pinball machine as I ricochet from one invisible boundary and bewhiskered set of snapping jaws to the next. Finally I make it across the beach unscathed, my heart pounding with adrenalin and a wild joy at the  savage beauty of nature. We look at each other and burst out laughing. “How do we get back?” we say in unison.

Chagos….Who, what, where??….A story of injustice…

The Chagos Archipelago in the Indian Ocean is one of the last vestiges of the old “British Empire”. A remote group of low-lying coral islands, until the early 1970s they were just another insignificant scattering of dust in an expanse of blue on any map you could find. That changed in 1966 when the UK granted defence rights to the Americans, who have since built a $3Bn air and naval base on the largest island, Diego Garcia, giving them a strategic presence within striking distance of Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan. The native Chagossians were removed by the British Government between 1968 and 1973 and ‘dumped’ on the island of Mauritius without jobs, housing, money, or possessions. They lived in abject poverty for years, and continue to be disadvantaged and poor.

For almost 40 years the status quo has held, despite efforts to help them bring their case before the courts. The Chagossians in Mauritius have struggled to tell the world of the injustice they have suffered. When the Foreign Secretary announced that the Chagos Archipelago would be the world’s largest marine protected area (MPA) on 1 April 2010, their interests were yet again sidelined, but since that date there has been a renewed focus on their plight. There is now clear evidence that Foreign Office officials were telling the Americans that the MPA was a further means of preventing the Chagossians from ever returning to their homeland. The Chagossians still await a judgment in the European Court of Human Rights, their supporters have petitioned President Obama, and they have now challenged the MPA in the British courts.

The scientific community is polarised by the proposed MPA. At a recent meeting held at the Linnean Society in London this dichotomy of views was clearly evident. The scientific “establishment” advising the government held sway over the meeting. Those who raised difficult questions, challenged the scientific veracity  of the MPA or the merit and robustness of research being conducted, were either denied the chance to air their views or did not receive answers to their questions. Feelings ran high. Sadly, those who posed  difficult questions are the ones who are unlikely to be given permits to work on the islands and so challenge some of the specious claims being made within the marine research community about the environmental impact or sustainability of any repatriation of the Chagossians

In the UK, a Chagossian support group whose patrons include the best-selling author Philippa Gregory and broadcaster Ben Fogle is actively lobbying the British Government, and they are supported by a staunch group of Parliamentarians and Lords who are pressing for a just resolution.

Despite all of this, the outcome of this diaspora is still unclear. Our government remains entrenched in its opposition to the Chagossian right of return and seemingly unable to meet its humanitarian obligations. Depressing as this appears there are numerous past examples of the British public, with the support of the media, forcing the political machine to reconsider decisions.

First Trip South

“Men go out into the void spaces of the world for various reasons. Some are actuated simply by a love of adventure, some have the keen thirst for scientific knowledge, and others again are drawn away from the trodden paths by the ‘lure of the little voices’, the mysterious fascination of the unknown.” So spoke Sir Ernest Shackleton when asked why he was heading to ‘the frozen south’ again after his epic attempt on the pole. Every time I read those words my heart beats a little faster and I feel an infinitesimally small but intense bond with perhaps the greatest polar explorer the world has seen.

Antarctica. We Brits with characteristic understatement call it “South”, is the most beautiful, wildest, purest place on earth and it has been my privilege to live and work there.

Nothing, I think, can prepare you for your first sight of “the ice”. My first trip South took me gently from the Falklands, a windswept and austere set of islands, across the Drake Passage on a rare calm day of glassy seas, into the savage Southern Ocean. As we headed ever further south the ocean became more turbid and choked with ice. I learned then that there are so many words to describe sea ice…or ice in the sea, there is a subtle difference, and I will talk about that another time.

I stood at the bow of the James Clark Ross, the British Antarctic Survey research ship, in bright sunshine, my breath forming clouds in the sub zero temperature. The ship was working it’s way slowly through the frozen waters. The ice creaking and splitting as we made our way forward. Occasionally during our progress seals or penguins could be seen resting on the ice, diving into our wake as we headed south.

Hello world!

Hello and welcome.

I’m an academic, photographer and sometime Antarctic researcher so expect plenty of polar postings, pictures and science news on here. I’ve also just taken up flyfishing so watch out for updates on my progress. So far the tally is 3 very small brown trout, numerous trees, shrubs and other assorted vegetation, various bits of me (ouch!) and one very surprised bumblebee (don’t ask- I have no idea how that happened).

I hope you enjoy reading. Please leave a comment, I would love to hear what you think.