Hello and welcome

Hello all, and welcome to our Falkland Islands blog. Follow our progress through the wind, snow and penguins, and find out what it is like to live down here.

Friday 10 February 2012

New Year in a shepherd's hut

So we arranged to catch a ferry and drive to the west...a 2-3 hour drive to Newhaven to the harbour. A glorious morning, and made more delightful because we had time to chat with the resident gentoo colony at the ferry port.
The ferry was full (6 cars); many had travelled to Stanley for the races on Boxing Day, and were returning home, horses in tow. The Pecks from Shallow Bay  -a beautiful and remote farm 3 hours drive into the West - were off home, with the horses and the pet lambs, which had come along for the ride (last year they brought the new born kittens too - couldn't leave them by themselves for a week..)
The crossing is around 1 1/2 hours, and as we entered the last 2 miles up into Port Howard, the dolphins joined us - maybe 20 or so of them - and leaped and dodged around us, offering flashes of black and white, and tempting us to click again and again - thank goodness for digital cameras!
Port Howard is a picturesque harbour; protected and sitting creased into the hillside, green and white walls and roofs all around. We headed straight out and stopped after 30 minutes to picnic beside an idyllic stream. Archie enjoyed paddling, and we watched the fish jump. On for an hour until we reached Top Dip Shanty - a shpeherd's hut with no running water and no electricity, managed by Lesley and Jim Woodward, who live a couple of miles up river. We drove to meet Lesley on her immaculate farm. She hails from the UK and was managing alone - Jim had been med-evac-ed back to UK with heart problems. Thankfully he was declared OK, and Lesley was looking forward to having him home - not a quick journey; wait for the next airbridge, stay in Stanley, drive back (Lesley goes to meet him - a 3 hour drive to the ferry, and 3 more hours on the other side), and wait for the next ferry crossing (they are certainly not every day, and sometimes not every week).
Top Dip was fabulous; a one room  cabin set in the middle of nowhere on the banks of the river. A peat stove, a big container of water, a supply of home made cake, a double bed , bunk beds, a sofa and a big family table. The most amazing sunset though the window across the river, and an evening giggling and trying to do a jigsaw (thank you Sara) in candle light. In the morning Bill and I washed outside in the stream - (bracing), and Phoebe was given the pot of warm water from the stove (D of E soon - it will change..) . We spen the day wandering and fishing - lovely lovely. Picnics on the riverbank, and fresh air.
New Year's Eve , and we saw no fireworks, no lights, just peace and stunning scenery. Phoebe and I galloped about, and Bill went to sleep !
New Year's Day, and we drove over to Hill Cove - through a valley called Hell's kitchen, which is, I imagine, pretty treacherous in Winter, but was a stunning cleft through the rocks in Summer -and which opens up in spectacular fashion onto a coastal vista with the settlement of Hill Cove, greenfields and the famous 'forest' - a small copse planted 60+ years ago by an incomer, and now a tourist site for islanders, and popular for wedding photos.
Beyond Hill Cove and past Shallow Bay Farm, on and out into pretty countryside where we picnicked, and then towards Main Point Farm, where the road ends. We met Ian Hansen,  new MLA, and owner of Main Point, on the road. He will have to spend weeks in Stanley regularly now, to tend to MLA business, and he will have to juggle his farm work. MLAs receive no pay for their work - expenses only - whether this state of affairs can continue will have to be seen. Matthew, Ian's son, is 12 and boards in Stanley, so at least they have more opportunity to meet up.
After travelling around the west, we headed back to Port Howard and stayed at the lodge with Sue and Wayne. The lodge was full - tourists from off island, and the whole McKee family - parents over from Scotland too. Richard works in Stanley, running the South Georgia administration, and Miranda is from an old Falklands family. They had had some good fishing, and we were enthused and headed out to try our hand. A few small ones, but we had fun before we caught the ferry back.
The West is a different place - more remote, more mountainous, quite spectacular; we will be back.   

The Ram and Fleece Show - expert judges....

Shearing starts in October and carries through to February, sweeping across the island, with teams of shearers, rousers (sort the fleeces) and pressers (operate the machine which squishes the wool into bales), working from farm to farm, careering across the country in landrovers. The main team is 6 shearers, and they shear around 200 sheep each every day; piece work forces a focussed day, and the uniform of moccasins is as it has always been. The only change these days is the use by many of harnesses which support the shearers' backs and allow their working life to last a little longer...
The wool in the Falklands is fine - between 18 and 25 micron for the best quality; this is wool which can be worn next to the skin, and commands a premium price. (British military uniforms are 10% falkland wool.. )British wool tends to run beteween 30-50 micron; a substantial difference.The wool is shipped back on the FIRS vessel to Bradford for processing (!). It is critical that it is dry when baled - travelling through the heat of Ascension on the ship, damp wool can self combust and is classified as dangerous cargo.
All this may sound as if we are fleece experts....sadly not... we arived at the Ram and Fleece show, to be face with a line of hefty and handsome rams (ranging from 40 to 100kg), and tables of fleeces waiting to be judged. We were all invite to contribute out vote. Alongside the lifelong falkland farmers, we felt a little unworthy, but we at least gathered we were looking at the degree of crimp and fineness, the colour/luminescence of the wool, and the length of the fleece. We were amazed at the generosity of the Falkland farmers , both in sharing their knowledge, and in tolerating our utter ignorance. A fascinating day, a fabulous bbq, and the chance to drop into Ben Cockwell's studio - he lives in Fox Bay - and see some of his stunning pastels. 
We flew home across the water by heli, ansd determined to drive back to west Falkland, to experience it properly.

Sea Lion island (again)

The Governor was being visited by his family with him for Christmas, so we all decided to escape to Sea Lion island. An early heli, and a beautiful day- we headed off up island to see the sea lions, passing the gentoos on the way briefly, and popping down to the beach next to the lodge to see the young bull elephant seals who are lazing around doing nothing and growling grumpily at each other. They are practising fighting ahead of when they have to establsih their female groups in the coming years. The growling comes from somewhere deep within, and sounds like a low hubble bubble pipe-quite surreal, and fairly intimidating. Quite a hike to the Sea Lions - huge bulls with massive thick maned necks, and tiny new born pups, the size of lambs, and with a similar bleating call. Through the tussock as tall as us, catching sight of families of steamer ducks and kelp geese with lines of babies, and then across the moorland and up to the cliff tops where the Sheffield Memorial stands with a stunning back drop of crashing waves and dramatic rocks. The Memorial is a mixture of formal stone and metal, and personal and private; photos, letters and boxes left by family and friends. Behind it a busy community of rockhoppers hop and scurry, babies learning to hop, up and down up and down. Back to the lodge for a sandwich lunch and then time to sit beside the gentoos and watch the fluffy babies chase their parents to distraction. How cross do those parents become.... they refuse to feed after a while and simply run away, to the desperation of the chicks - fabulously comical to watch.
Sea Lion island is a magical place - at every turn, another group of animals going about their business, utterly oblivious of our interest. We are so clearly not needed, wanted or noticed - exactly as it should be.

Christmas Day

No snow, and rather an odd day. Bill disappeared to see soldiers in the morning, and we rendez-vous-ed in the chapel, after which Phoebe and I went to the street champagne drinking party, and Bill went to serve lunch to hundreds of soldiers. We finally sat down to lunch oursleves sometime in the afternoon, and then headed for the beach - fresh air and falkland wind to wake us up....