PWAC Victoria: Tom Koppel, Writing Sample

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Rockhopping with Penguin Pals

by Tom Koppel ©

Bird colonies coexist with sheep and scientists in the windswept South Atlantic. Short feature published in Porthole Magazine, Oct. 2000.

South Atlantic swells burst high against jagged outcroppings in cascades of green water and spume. Surely nothing can survive such brute power. But--miraculously--dozens of tiny black-and-white birds come popping out of the churning foam like champagne corks. Barely a foot and a half tall, they have beady red eyes and bright yellow crests that curl up like horns, giving them a fierce, diabolical look. Then, clinging to the rocks with stubby wings and broad webbed feet, climbing and jumping, they pick their way along zigzag pathways up a nearly vertical cliff face to their nests two hundred feet above the sea. Hence their name, the rockhopper penguin.

Here at New Island, in the Falkland Islands, penguin nests mingle beak by jowl with those of much larger albatrosses and cormorants. "It's a mixed colony," says Ollie Carlsson, our Swedish naturalist guide, as we marvel at the vast rookery, where thousands of birds sit on eggs. "There's no competition among them for anything, especially food resources." Whereas the penguins eat tiny crustaceans, the cormorants dive for squid and small fish and the albatrosses hunt larger fish. "That's why they can go together nicely."

This is our first shore excursion on a cruise from South America to Antarctica. En route our small Marine Expeditions ship spends three days in the Falklands, a last outpost of the British Empire. When the Islands made war news in the early 1980s, they were often described as barren, worthless rocks. In fact, they are an extensive wildlife paradise and a wonderful place to hike and explore. Our stops at four outlying islands prove to be just as rewarding as later ones on the seventh continent itself.

Each island encompasses thousands of acres and a thousand or more sheep. Owned by hardy British families, they are combined sheep farms and havens for birds, sea mammals and rare plants, with some financial support from international science and conservation groups. New Island's owner, Ian Strange, has written five books on the local natural history. "I run this place as a reserve," he says, as we shelter from the powerful winds that prevent any native trees from growing. (A few exotic trees have been planted as windbreaks.) "We are actually a charitable trust now," meaning the place will be protected in perpetuity. Strange currently has six foreign visitors, a mix of scientists, students and volunteers. Some are doing independent research, others are helping him to maintain the buildings and conduct satellite tracking of the rockhoppers.

As we board the zodiacs to go ashore at West Point Island, ghostly white figures--Commerson's dolphins--dart past in the water. On our hike, fog rolls in, shrouding the rolling grassy landscape with its wandering upland geese and yellow hedgerows of flowering gorse.

At Carcass and Saunders Islands the penguins are mainly gentoos, a slightly larger species than the rockhoppers, with white areas on the head and flippers and carrot-colored beaks. (There are also some magellanics and a few larger king penguins.) Carcass is covered in dense clumps of tough tussock grass, which can grow as tall as eight feet and provides shelter not only for small birds but for seals as well. The zodiac takes us past a few sea lions lolling placidly on offshore rocks.

At Saunders, with the largest rookeries of all, the gentoo eggs have begun to crack and open. Before our eyes, blind helpless chicks hatch and demand to be fed. The mother penguin--or possibly the father; they are non-sexist and share all chores--bends over, opens its beak and offers the chick a regurgitated meal. As in the Galapagos, wildlife evolved here without human presence. The birds and sea mammals are so fearless we can approach to within a few yards, sit down and quietly observe. Penguins, we discover, are really not too bright. One squats stolidly on a small plastic bottle, trying to hatch it. Others busily steal rocks from neighbors to reinforce the stony nests at the same time that rocks are being stolen from theirs.

But this is no divine comedy. Offshore lurk fierce leopard seals, waiting to devour penguins like snack food. Above the colonies swoop big brown skuas. "Skuas are very bold and ferocious predators," says Simon Cook, our British bird expert. "Sometimes they'll drop down and try to cause a panic among the nesting birds," hoping this will leave an egg or chick exposed for a quick snatch.

As I watch, a red-beaked dolphin gull patrols the outer edge of a gentoo colony. Suddenly it makes a lunge at one of the chicks. The penguin parent instantly goes into fierce pecking mode and squawks out a loud warning. The gull retreats--this time. Meanwhile, indifferent to the near-death experience, another gentoo waddles up from the beach carrying a rock in its beak. Bleached-out penguin carcasses strewn nearby attest to more successful depredations. But sheer numbers ensure that the species will survive to nest here again, as they have for thousands of years.

Tom Koppel
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Last updated: August 10, 2003 http://www.islandnet.com/pwacvic/koppel08.html