As we steam closer, the huge frozen floating cliff-face dwarfs the red hull of the Agulhas. Small dots concentrated in a 'valley' on the berg slowly turn into a group of twelve hundred Chinstrap Penguins who have found a temporary home on the ice. The penguins stand in loose groups, some on unfeasibly steep ice slopes, and seem unconcerned about the huge waves breaking just below their footholds. More birds are also porpoising right alongside the ship, showing their stunning face-patterns to full advantage, and breaking the otherwise silent setting with their grating calls.
Above us a two hundred-foot high wall of ice raises vertically from the dark blue sea. Layers of 'strata' are clearly visible on the 'cliff face', showing how this vast piece of the ice shelf has been built up from the accumulated snowfall of many centuries. Far from being simply white in colour, the berg displays a whole spectrum of blues that are set off to perfection by the dark water and grey clouds. Deep crevasses in the ice reveal the turquoises and aquamarines present in the heart of this truly awesome structure.
It really is difficult to put into words the true impression of our encounter with this monolithic marvel of the natural world. For me it was the certain highlight of the trip and maybe the most impressive image I have yet encountered. I will certainly keep forever the memory of a pure white Snow Petrel soaring along the summit of an ice cliff two hundred feet above our ship on the furthest edge of the Southern Ocean.
Dinner is consumed on a high, before a final stint on deck in the fading light and extreme cold. The first packice appears and the hull is soon crunching through the large lenses of 'pancake ice', which cover the sea. The area of periodic packice is starting to break up at this time of year and pancake ice is the result, with a crazy-paving effect of ice 'pancakes' and semi-frozen 'slush' between. The pancakes are up to five metres in diameter and half a metre thick, but the Agulhas makes short work of slicing a path through, leaving a trail of open, black water behind in our wake.
Snow Petrels pass the ship in small flocks, their white forms highlighted by a blackening horizon. As the sun sinks below the sea it casts a pink glow over a lone iceberg standing against the dark sky. It's bitterly cold, breathtakingly beautiful and like nowhere else on the planet.
Monday 11th November
Latitude can be a rather confusing concept. We're at fifty-five degrees south and steaming through packice in temperatures well below zero. The amazing thing is we are only as far from the equator as Newcastle upon Tyne. Such is the wonder of the warming influence of our Gulf Stream and presence of the great landmasses in the Northern Hemisphere.
One could also be excused for thinking that almost twenty-four hour daylight would prevail when down at packice latitudes; instead the length of a day is similar to that of a summer's day in northern Britain. Thus we get a lie-in until 03.00 hours, when the alarm is set for a prompt 03.30 arrival on deck. No one wants to miss a minute of the action when privileged to be in this unique location.
At 03.30 the Sun is just starting to make it's presence felt on the eastern horizon. A thin orange sliver appears, to slit the joint between grey sky and dark icy sea. It's just light enough to see that a vast sheet of pancake ice stretches to the horizon in all directions. It's an eerily silent world and there is not a breath of wind in the intensely cold air.
As the light grows in intensity dark shapes on the slabs of ice take the forms of Chinstrap Penguins, standing in small huddles in defiance of the extreme temperatures. Other groups form small packs to chase prey in the occasional patch of unfrozen water. They are quite fearless of the ship and some come close to touching the hull.
We are now in the true domain of Snow Petrels and large groups tumble and wheel around the boat, like flocks of white doves, giving their shrill contact calls. It is hard to imagine a more foreign environment than this land of deeply frozen whites, greys and blues and there can be few other places in the world which still remain so untouched by the destructive influence of Man. We really could be travelling across another planet.
Despite the four layers of clothing on my bottom half and the seven on my top, breakfast still comes as a welcome chance to thaw out and fill up the fuel tanks. Its benefits are short-lived however. A cry of 'Emperor' echoes down the corridor and the resulting sight of fifty people trying to get through a door at once have Monty Python qualities. This though is no laughing matter. Emperor Penguin is the target bird of the entire trip, choosing to live in just about the most inaccessible region of the planet imaginable, and no one can afford to miss it.
Emperors share the accolades of being both the largest penguin species and the bird that endures the coldest conditions of any on Earth. The incredible breeding cycle of the Emperor Penguin is now well documented. Birds arrive at the breeding sites, on areas of fast ice, in April and May at which time the birds have accumulated huge amounts of fat and can weigh up to forty kilograms. After the single egg is laid it is incubated on the feet of the male alone, during which time he is forced to fast for his sixty-five day existence on the ice, before the egg hatches. During this period the temperatures can drop to minus sixty degrees Celsius and birds huddle in groups to survive these unbelievably hostile conditions. Males can lose forty-five percent of their body weight before the female, whose arrival is timed to coincide with the hatching of the chick, relieves them. The walk back to the open sea can be as far as one hundred and sixty kilometres, which means that the male may have spent over one hundred and thirty days without feeding. This truly remarkable life cycle is completed when the fast ice begins to break up during the Antarctic summer and the young birds fledge at around one hundred and fifty days old.
Although some birds, particularly fledglings, have been know to disperse well to the north on occasion, it is all but impossible to see Emperor Penguin away from the packice. All eyes are therefore on deck and scanning for our Emperor Penguin within seconds of its initial sighting. Emperors are awesome diving machines, being capable of spending twenty minutes under the water down to depths of five hundred metres, and it is therefore a great relief when the bird is relocated in a distant patch of open water.
After some skilful ship manoeuvring, and also a little luck with the bird's chosen surfacing spot, we all manage to get a good look at this unique bird. It is a huge creature, like a big buoyant black barrel. The large orangy-white neck patch is very distinctive, as is its thick and strongly decurved pale-striped black bill. Our Emperor spends some time dipping his head below the water to check out the local fishing possibilities before jumping into a prolonged dive from which he is never seen to resurface. Elation washes over the boat as we realise that we have been privileged to enjoy a sight witnessed by a very select few people in the World.
Crabeater Seal shares a similar packice based distribution with Emperor Penguin and we are delighted when a pair of these endearing animals is spotted on the ice and allows the ship to approach to within a matter of metres of their chosen resting spot. Crabeaters are large seals, reaching lengths in excess of two-and-a-half metres, and apparently are rarely seen other then in a hauled-up position on an iceflow. This strategy keeps them out of range of Leopard Seals and Orcas, though the latter species has been known to deliberately breach in an iceflow in order to slide an unfortunate seal to a cold and grisly end. Crabeaters have an almost exclusive diet of krill; they swim through shoals of this shrimp-like crustacean at night, open mouthed, sieving out the food through a complex and tightly interlocking set of incisor teeth.
Around mid morning the Sun breaks through the low cloud and the temperature climbs to almost pleasantly warm levels. Copious amounts of sun block are applied to counteract the effects of the hole in the Ozone Layer and polarising filters are screwed into place on cameras. From the monkey island the view is breathtaking, looking out across the uninterrupted sheeted of white crazy paving. The pancake ice raises and falls in a weird rhythmic action, driven by the gently undulating wave action below the surface.
As the ship slices through the huge chunks of frozen seawater some of the ice is turned to reveal a yellow-green staining below. This is in fact the alga, which is the driving force behind the prolifically productive ecosystem in this unique environment. The algae slowly grow over the winter months, on the underside of the ice. When the spring melt commences the algae blooms, releasing huge quantities of nutrient into the cold waters. This is in-turn consumed by the many species of krill, a small shrimp-like creature, which are said to be the most numerous species on the Planet. Krill occur in unimaginable numbers in the upper layers of the Antarctic seas and are the staple food source of many of the region's fish, birds and mammals, thus being the essential building block in the entire foodchain. An occasional animal can be seen, as it is stranded on the ice cracked by the action of the ship, appearing like a big pink shrimp.
Cetaceans are surprisingly thin on the ground though Antarctic Minke Whales make an occasional, tantalisingly brief, appearance. Birds are still in evidence, however, and the next big scare comes when a shout of 'Adelie Penguin' rings from the bows. This is now the only true Antarctic penguin, which we need to complete the set, but in Emperor fashion it dives and brings about an iceflow-scanning frenzy on deck. The first bird gets clean away, but half an hour later our perseverance is rewarded and two more Adelies are located on an iceflow, this time allowing the boat to pull up right alongside. One is a young bird that lacks the distinctive black chin, but the other looks the full part and both are sporting a diagnostic broad white eyering.
Adelies breed on ice-free rocky coasts on the Antarctic mainland and some of the most southerly Antarctic islands. Our pair of birds is particularly charismatic and waddles along, flippers comically outstretched, hopping from iceflow to iceflow. Occasionally they practice bouts of tobogganing, belly flat on ice and feet used as propulsion. Another totally unforgettable moment in this day of unforgettable moments. We have now seen every species of penguin possible on the trip, eight in all, and a figure totally without precedent on a trip of this duration.
It's early afternoon before the final addition to my personal 'want list' is realised. It takes the form of a huge Leopard Seal, again hauled out on an iceflow. It's an unmistakable animal, measuring nearly four metres in length, with distinctive spotting along its flanks. A close approach allows us to appreciate its elongated, reptilian head, and bizarre fixed 'smiling' impression on its face. This surely is the definitive 'crocodile smile', however, as this fearsome beast shares with the Orca the top slot in the Antarctic foodchain. The Leopard Seal has a broad diet, which often includes young seals of other species and particularly penguins. When it tires of the clicking of cameras the seal slides off the ice and beneath the water, still with a broad fixed smile.
By mid-afternoon a light fall of snow has begun and reduced the visibility sufficiently to clear the decks of scanning binoculars. A pack of twenty-or-so Antarctic Petrels still trail the boat, picking off krill which has been churned to the surface by the ship's propellers. An odd Snow Petrel accompanies them and the sight of these birds close behind the ship, in flurries of snow, makes for a remarkable image to end one of the most incredible days ever. We retire to the cabin, where a re-run of MK's video of the day's events makes viewing on par with a David Attenborough documentary; it really has been a day-in-a-lifetime.
The birding may have been concluded for the day, but the ship's crew has plans to finish off our excursion in the packice with a real bang. In spite of the snow and sub-zero temperatures a couple of half oil-drums and a pile of logs are transported to the helideck and before long a couple of braais (South African barbecues) are blazing away. Huge steaks sizzle and the beer and wine flows in celebration. It's an excellent evening of drunken merriment, culminating in a huge snowball fight on the floodlit helideck that is now covered in two inches of fresh snow. With our 'beer coats' in place we don't notice the cold during our antics, but are later told that the temperature at the time is minus twenty-five degrees Celsius!
Tuesday 12th November
A very subdued morning-after-the-night-before finds us back on the open sea. The night has been spent steaming north, away from the packice, and there is now a real anticlimactic feel about the ship. We have achieved all our goals and now we have six long days of sailing back to Cape Town, through seas that are likely to produce very few surprises.
Today's commoner birds include Kerguelan and Blue Petrels plus Wandering and Light-mantled Sooty Albatrosses. We are making our way through the realm of the cold-water species again and the notebook entries for the next six days are likely to read as a mirror image of those made during the journey south.
The wind speed increases dramatically through the course of the morning and we soon find ourselves in the clutches of another Force 10 Gale. It is very apparent that the Southern Ocean in such a storm is not the place to be with a hangover. Some precautionary anti-seasickness pills are popped and extremely light meals, consumed well away from the pitching, claustrophobic galley, are the order of the day. The forward speed of the ship decreases correspondingly and we drop down to a meagre four knots.
The afternoon is spent up on the bridge, enjoying another spectacularly stormy panorama. Ten metre high waves crash over the bows, as the Agulhas dives into vast troughs and rides over mountainous peaks. The First Mate enlightens us with nautical facts and tales, a particularly apt quote being 'There are some big holes in this sea'!
In an evening celebration of Chris Lodge's Birthday, the cake is washed down by a can of pop (still can't face a beer) before an early retirement to the bunk. This is a bit of a waste of time, however, as the ship is pitching to record breaking angles making sleep all-but-impossible. The waves must be perpendicular to the ship's hull and the rocking action is relentless. A lifejacket inserted under the mattress, to reduce the available rolling-space, is a futile gesture. A sleepless night is had by all.
Wednesday 13th November
Another jumble sale scene adorns the cabin floor and we try on a number of pairs of jeans before finding our own. There is much less interest in birding on the deck, as it's fairly unlikely that any new birds will appear. The less committed souls resort to reading and Scrabble playing below deck, though many a hardened seadog still sticks it out in the very fresh air.
Around 11.00 hours we move from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic and coincidentally the weather begins to improve. By early afternoon the sun is shining and the swell has decreased, which means that the diversion of a touch of seabird photography can be sought. A flotilla of six Wandering Albatrosses follows the wake, which together with Pintados, Southern Fulmars and Blue Petrels make for some fine photographic subjects. The hours and films fly past.
A radiotelephone call back to the U.K. is a novel experience. A link is made over the radio to Cape Town, whence a landline connection is made with the destination. Half the conversation is then spent getting used to the fact that you can only speak with the button depressed and hear the reply when the button is released. Very confusing!
This evening's lecture is entitled 'Extreme Birding' and involves the recital of some very interesting accounts of the more life-threatening moments experienced during the travels of some of the passengers. After listening to Peter Kaestner's account of his boat sinking in Piranha-infested waters I realise that I have had a fairly uneventful birding career!
Thursday 14th November
A relatively calm sea and long spells of sunshine greet us on deck, our morning arrival time becoming increasingly less prompt. A large proportion of the day is spent on the poopdeck, camera-in-hand, with Black-browed, Grey-headed and Light-mantled Sooty Albatrosses passing at point-blank range. We're now back in the land of Soft-plumaged, White-chinned and White-headed Petrels so there's never a dull seabird moment and identification skills can be honed to perfection.
By early evening most have tired of their honing, however, so it is just a lucky five who are present on the helideck when a fantastic bonus Atlantic Petrel passes close by the ship. This large, dark pteradroma, with distinctive broad white belly-band, has been rated as only an outside chance on the trip and we can't believe our luck. Atlantic Petrels breed only on the Tristan da Cunha Archipelago and Gough, putting us on the very limits of the species range at sea.
Naturally we are not at all smug when we break the news to our fellow passengers and smile our way through three courses of dinner! Despite some blatant post-dinner stringing on the helideck the lone Atlantic Petrel remains the prize of the lucky few and we are at liberty to maintain our conceited grins throughout the evening's 'pub quiz'.
Friday 15th November
Feels a bit bumpy again. Upon carrying out the morning ritual of checking the ship's navigational computer screen we find that we are running a forty-knot headwind and forward speed is down to just eight knots. Talk swings to a greatly delayed arrival in Cape Town. E.T.A. is put back to Monday. Gloom and doom!
Up on deck it is distinctly milder but a rough sea; combined with drizzle and poor visibility, result in a very poor showing of birds. Soft-plumaged Petrels predominate and given good views the two distinctive subspecies can be picked out. Until this point in the trip we have been watching birds of the dark dubia race, which breed in the Indian Ocean, but now they are interspersed with birds of the mollis race. The latter, which breed on the Tristan da Cunha Archipelago and Gough, show a paler head and mantle and a more obvious 'W' on the upperwing. According to our guru, Mr Sinclair, there are ample grounds for a future split into two full species.
The evening's entertainment includes a very interesting discussion with Peter Ryan about his seabird research projects, which are due to benefit from the proceeds of this trip. Peter's population monitoring, on various Sub-Antarctic islands, is highlighting population imbalance in albatross populations. Radio and satellite tracking of albatrosses, during their oceanic wanderings in the course of their non-breeding 'year off', have revealed that different sexes disperse to different areas of the southern oceans. Because deadly longline fishing is more prevalent in some areas than others, certain sexes of some species can suffer much higher morality rates than others. This has obvious effects on breeding success when the surviving birds return to their parent islands. In light of these facts one ultimate aim of the project is to encourage the establishment of Important Bird Areas in certain sectors of the ocean, where longline fishing can be intensively policed.
On a less serious note, further entertainment is offered by the haircutting services of Ricardo, one of ship's gay cabin crew. As Graham Finch finds out, to his horror, Ricardo only offers a single style. It's a number-one-all-over, Lionel Blair Cut; i.e. 'Lionel Blair doesn't have his hair cut like that?' 'He does if he comes in here!'
Saturday 16th November
A day of extremely rough seas and showers of wind-driven rain. With the wind behind us we're now making good headway towards higher latitudes and the outside temperatures are much milder. Thermals are packed away for the last time and silly hats hidden deep in rucksacks.
We witness a minor rush of Atlantic Petrels, allowing the remainder of the ship's complement to add this very special bird to their lists. Albatrosses are still prevalent with Black-browed, Sooty, Atlantic Yellow-nosed and a putative adult male 'Tristan' all putting in an appearance. Great Shearwaters are back with us, as we cover ground visited in the first few days of the trip.
Now that the majority of the fresh water on board has been consumed we are lacking in ballast making the ship bob, like a cork, high in the water. At times the pitching of the ship reaches dramatic proportions. On one occasion the Agulhas' deck registers an incredible fifty-six degrees from the horizontal, with the now-familiar accompaniment of crashes, bangs and expletives! A brief stint on the poopdeck, attempting to catch the anger of the huge seas, is abandoned after a rather scary soaking from a freak wave.
The evening brings the traditional end-of-trip-meal, when the chefs prove that they are not averse to whipping up a few culinary delights. The steak, with all the trimmings, is superb especially when washed down with some fine South African Pinotage. We enjoy a fine evening of food and drink with many firm friends made over the last couple of weeks.
Sunday 17th November
Our final morning at sea finds us back in warm tropical air and steaming rapidly north on a flat-calm sea. Birding remains interesting to the very last; with a number of Leach's Storm-Petrels accompanying a sizeable flock of Great-wingeds. Skuas are also in evidence this morning with a single Pomarine and a number of Long-tailed's passing the ship.
The captain has his foot to the floor as we need to make Cape Town harbour before 18.00 hours, the last available slot for docking. If we miss this deadline we will have to anchor offshore for the night and miss valuable birding time in South Africa. With the latter activity in mind local knowledge of mainland bird sites is gleaned and sketch maps are drawn in the notebook to see us through our forthcoming frantic week in the Cape. It's also time to settle the trip bar-tab. Quite a daunting prospect under normal circumstances, but at 25p per can of Castle Beer we find that we still have Rand to spare for at least a few nights under cover during our week on dry land!
Around mid-day land appears on the horizon and we are soon passing through a group of trawlers with their attendant seabird flocks. Black-browed and Atlantic Yellow-nosed Albatrosses call to say farewell, and we log our last Wilson's and Black-bellied Storm-Petrels for what is likely to prove to be a very long time. We even manage to pull out a trip-tick, in the form of Cory's Shearwater, good numbers of which glide close by.
As we make our way up the Cape Peninsular we enjoy some of the best whale watching of the trip, as at least eight Humpbacks breach and fluke close to the ship. Two Common Dolphins add to the cetacean frenzy and a real surprise is a flock of around two thousand Sabine's Gulls which feed around Cape Town's main sewage outlet; a sign that this feature really must be doing wonders for the marine environment!
After what seems an age of skirting the spectacular Peninsular coastline we finally pass the Twelve Apostles and turn into the harbour, beneath a sunset-bathed Table Mountain. Even now there is time for a final Agulhas-based tick, a pair of African Black Oystercatchers, which feed on the quayside.
The pilot boat comes alongside and with a gentle bump we hit the first solid ground for seventeen days. It really is a great relief to be back to dry land. It has been a totally mind-boggling trip, which lived up to all expectations, but seventeen days and 3,224 Nautical Miles is time enough to be confined to a large tin bucket bobbing on the southern oceans. There is a bag-full of amazing birds to be seen on the mainland and we're now champing-at-the-bit to get ashore. Immigration representatives soon board the ship but it takes forever to complete the paperwork. We utilise the time to say farewells and exchange addresses, before we are finally allowed off to the waiting taxi.
Minutes later MK and I are at the airport and collecting our pre-booked Toyota Corolla from the Europcar office. It's a brilliant feeling to be back on terra firma and underway so rapidly. The roads are excellent and we speed north, away from the bright lights of Cape Town and into the open countryside beyond. A full moon glows in the starry sky and illuminates the low rolling hills and occasional stands of trees that make up the farmlands, which follow the west coast.
It only takes an hour to reach the small rural town of Darling, which we have targeted for our first night's accommodation. There is no room at the first inn, but we're directed to a superb little bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town that has beds to spare. The Trinity Guest House is exquisitely furnished and run by a very friendly Afrikaner who can't believe that we will be getting up at 04.00 hours and missing out on his fine cooked breakfast. We review our plan of attack for the morning, make a brief call home on the rented mobile phone and fall asleep in about ten seconds. Oh, the pleasure of fresh sheets on a bed which doesn't try to tip you onto the floor!
Monday 18th November
The alarm clock is an hour out and we are not buzzed until 05.00 hours. That's an hour's daylight lost, in a day already too short to fit around the frantic itinerary. Not the best of starts. Within minutes we are speeding north, towards the West Coast National Park, on a quiet country road. The tarmac winds its way through undulating cereal fields and blocks of low, dry scrub.
Quite by accident we pass a small sign announcing the presence of Tinie Versfeld Wildflower Reserve. The name rings a bell from the site guide so we make an emergency stop to investigate further. The Reserve consists of nothing more than a large meadow at the roadside, but this is our first formal birding stop in South Africa and the ticks come thick and fast. A Cape Longclaw has the accolade of first passerine tick of the trip, this smart pipit displaying bright yellow underparts and warm orange throat. High in the sky a Cloud Cisticola performs it's songflight on ridiculously small, whirring wings and a host of other padders include Cape Bulbul, Pied Starling and Southern Red Bishop.
Our late start to the day causes an abandonment of Yzerfontein Salt Pans, which were to have been our first stop, and instead we travel the short distance to the West Coast National Park. Upon passing through the entrance gate we find ourselves inside a vast, sprawling reserve of strandveld-covered, rolling slopes, which stretch down to a huge, shallow lagoon. The low, dry strandveld shrubs are alive with birds, the majority of which are new species to us. Bright sulphur-yellow Bokmakieries, smart black-faced Cape Sparrows and dull Southern Double-collared Sunbirds, none of which seem to be in breeding plumage. As we drive further down the road we flush Karoo Lark and both Cape and Grey-winged Francolins. A couple of Steenbok feed close to the road, small attractive antelope with distinctive black-patterned ears. This really is foreign birding at it's best, made all the more pleasurable after being cooped-up on a boat for the last seventeen days.
The endemic White-backed Mousebird, brightly plumaged Yellow Canary and a rather skulking Chestnut-vented Titbabbler appear one after another and it's a struggle to keep up with the note-taking, after days of adding a petrel an hour. As we descend towards the vast, saltmarsh circled lagoon a dark raptor forces an emergency stop. Seconds later a superb Black Harrier raises above the reedbed, to quarter the saltmarsh right beside our vantagepoint. White rump and undersides to flight feathers contrast with sooty black plumage to make this endemic species one of the easiest raptors to identify.
We are amazed to find literally hundreds of Black-shouldered Kites in the vicinity of the lagoon, while a walk down to the water's edge brings Levaillant's Cisticola and a spectacular showing of waterbirds. Thousands of waders throng the mud, many of which are wintering Palearctic species such as Whimbrel, Curlew Sandpiper, Ruff and Avocet. Amongst these familiar birds we pick out some local species such as Kittlitz's and White-fronted Plover, as well as larger goodies like Lesser Flamingo and Cape Shelduck.
With such a packed itinerary we need to keep a close eye on the watch and all too soon it's time to set off north for our next destination. The fun at the Park hasn't finished yet, however. We round a bend and are met with the amazing sight of two Southern Black Korhaans in high display flight, with bright yellow legs dangling below jet-black bellies. They land in the thick strandveld and are lost to view, but a Kilometre further another is encountered crossing the road. We pull up alongside and enjoy fantastic close views of this stunning little endemic bustard which proceeds to raise it's crown feathers and perform a display right beside the car. Grey-backed Cisticola, Karoo Prinia and Cape Bunting are plucked from the scrub before we leave the Park's confines and head back into open farmland.
The scenic coast road winds north and takes us through small villages consisting of plush modern bungalows nestling on green hillsides, which roll down to the blue inlets of the Atlantic. This seems an idyllic setting with a very civilised and relaxed atmosphere. It's very reminiscent of the Australian State of Victoria, both in climate and environment, and seems a million miles from the cramped poverty of Cape Town's sprawling shantytowns.
As we near the small coastal town of Saldanha a rapid U-turn is necessary to check out a tortoise crossing the busy road. We retrieve the animal in the nick of time, from a close encounter with a Pirelli, and identify it as a rare endemic Angulate Tortoise. Thoroughly photographed, it is sent on its way a considerable distance from the tarmac.
Beside the road at this point is a vast mineral processing plant whose rusty brown structure nestles between the dry hills. Such heavy industrial sites can be seen dotted right across the west and are an indication of the country's vast mineral wealth.
We pass through the bustling little town of Saldanha and eventually find the road out to our cormorant site. A gravel track leads to a headland of lichen-painted boulders and wild flowers; lashed by rolling, blue Atlantic breakers. This scenic spot is the chosen home of a colony of Bank Cormorants and we spend some time photographing this declining endemic at close range. Sickle-winged Chat and a Little Grey Mongoose share the site with the cormorants as do a small group of African Penguins, the first that we have seen out of the water.
Back in Saldanha we call at a very well appointed supermarket to stock up on provisions, including some of the finest locally grown fruit imaginable. Saldanha's wide main street is lined on either side by small family-run shops and again the friendly, local atmosphere is very Australian in nature.
Still mindful of the very limited time on our hands, we head north to the dry farmland around Paternoster. An hour in the pale, dusty soil here adds Thick-billed and Grey-backed Sparrow-Larks to our rapidly growing list, plus White-throated Canary, Karoo Scrub Robin and Karoo Bush Rat. A 'cat' sitting on a roadside rock pile turns into a Spotted Eagle Owl, when given a close inspection, before we speed off north towards Velddrif.
The salt pans beside the Berg River, just south of Velddrif, are our stakeout for Chestnut-banded Plover, a very localised wading bird of hot saline environments. In the book it sounds very easy, but we have been driving the perimeters of the saltpans for nearly two hours before we eventually pick out the target. We are very pleased to see that it's a male Chestnut-banded Plover, very pale grey above with contrasting deep chestnut breast band and ear coverts. What a relief!
It's now time to get some serious miles under the belt as the final site for the day is well to the north. The roads are first class, straight and well paved, and the lack of traffic means that we eat up the miles. Telephone pole-mounted Jackal Buzzards are ticked at high speed as we whiz past the dry cereal fields. Further north we enter a zone of lush green irrigated vineyards where signs offer wine tasting and tours. It would be nice, but we have birds to see and ignore the distractions.
Soon the realm of Man's influence on the land is left behind and we enter the dry expanses of the 'Succulent Karoo' vegetation zone. This vast semi-desert area is characterised by open stony plains, scattered shrubs and, of course, small succulent plants. Huge rocky escarpments with dramatic eroded forms back the arid, flat-bottomed plains, just like those, which often feature in American Western movies, flanking Clint Eastwood.
It's early evening before we reach the tiny rural settlement of Kamieskroon, where we leave the main arterial N7 road and head east into the hills. After spending the afternoon at a steady hundred miles per hour it's quite a shock to hit the winding dirt roads that lead towards Gamoep, but the scenery is wonderful and birdlife prolific. A small clearing made to support domestic livestock has been adopted by a large flock of Damara Canaries and some careful scanning reveals a couple of good candidates for Black-headed Canary. The range of intermediate birds does lead one to wonder about the validity of this species as a full 'split', however.
We continue through the tall sandstone peaks, constantly changing level and direction and constantly seeing new birds. Cape Glossy Starling, Karoo Chat and Mountain Wheatear are all seen before the real star birds appear: a pair of Ludwig's Bustards that fly low along a valley. These huge nomadic bustards frequent the dryer Karoo and make a magnificent sight as they beat slowly past in the setting sunlight.
The sandstone hillsides are tinged pink by the last rays of the Sun, and as the fiery ball finally sinks from view the huge silver disk of a bright full moon replaces it. As we drive on the moonlight illuminates our surroundings like day and we can clearly see the weird shapes of trees that resemble miniature palm-topped boababs punctuating the hillsides.
When we arrive at Gamoep we find that the 'town' consists of just one house, but have some fairly explicit directions to our overnight accommodation and carry on into the night. The hills end abruptly and give way to a flat stony plain. Progress is more rapid on the straight road, but is periodically interrupted by Cape Hares that dart suicidally in front of the speeding car. Next obstacle is a Northern Black Korhaan that has decided to roost in the middle of the road and we have to take severe evasive action to avoid flattening a tick!
In the middle of nowhere we finally find a sign hanging from a gate in the sheep-proof fencing which announces our arrival at 'Diepvlei'. The gate is swung open, beneath a million stars, and we head towards a farmhouse light beckoning in the distance. Vernon Miller invites us into his guesthouse, which had been booked via the Internet prior to our departure. It's a huge colonial-style residence and we are invited to join Vernon for an indoor braai where he enlightens us with his somewhat controversial opinions on his county's political situation.
It's already 23.00 hours when we remind Vernon of our interest in a spotlighting drive to search for mammals around his farm. He is happy to oblige and minutes later we are in the back of his pickup, along with his spotlight-toting ladyfriend and an attendant gate-opener. We have only been bumping along for fifteen minutes, when a large pale shape materialises in the spotlight beam. It's a huge beast, pale-pink in colour, and not unlike a heavy-legged domestic pig in many respects. When seen from the front, however, all similarities immediately cease. It sports a long, blunt-ended snout and ridiculous tall, pointed ears. It is, of course, an Aardvark. This totally bizarre creature has a wide distribution in southern Africa, but is notoriously difficult to see and we count ourselves as incredibly fortunate to be blessed with this encounter. We follow this weird-and-wonderful termite eater for some minutes, as it forages in the dry pastureland, before it plods off into the night in search of its next meal. Another unexpected, unforgettable moment and certainly one of the highlights of the entire trip.
We continue our tour of the farmland and encounter a number of very impressive Bat-eared Foxes, some at close range. Black-backed Jackal, Steenbok and another roosting Northern Black Korhaan complete our tally, then it's off to bed for a couple of hour's sleep before an early alarm. It's hard to remember where we were at the start of the day; but then no one said that this was going to be a holiday!
Tuesday 19th November
The stars are still shining when we leave the farm and head east along the dirt road towards Pofadder and Koa Dunes. It is only half an hour's drive to our next destination and daylight is chasing away the desert night when we spot a small group of Springboks feeding in the roadside scrub. These really are stunning little antelope, which have a tiny range within the barren Nama Karoo of northern-most South Africa and southern Namibia. Obviously very wary, they soon spring away through the bush, displaying bold black-and-white markings to hind-parts developed to confuse pursuing predators.
We arrive at the brick-red Koa Dunes just in time to see the sun rise from behind the high sand ridges. This is a very special habitat and it is difficult to imagine how this Kilometre wide ribbon of red sand has been built up in isolation amongst the endless gravely plains.
As the sun rises hundreds of Namaqua Sandgrouse drop from the skies to drink at the lone cattle trough beside the dunes. Their bubbling calls echo all around and with the car strategically positioned we can film and photograph the thirsty birds to our hearts content. This is the only water for miles around, causing Lark-like Buntings and Grey-backed Finch-Larks to flock in great numbers.
The sandgrouse are wonderful, but not our target at this site, and we stride out into the fine red sand and coarse grass of the dunes in search of scarcer species. First new bird is the delicately marked Scaly-feathered Finch, closely followed by Spike-heeled Lark. Getting our lark-eyes in, we identify a pair of Fawn-coloured Larks that scurry through the dunes and next a Rufous-eared Warbler, a species as distinctive as its name suggests.
The fine red sand bears the marks of hundreds of feet, of many different sizes, which have scampered, hopped and run over its surface since it was last smoothed by the wind. It's fascinating to study these impressions and we have plenty of time to do so, as it takes us two hours of searching before we find our ultimate goal at this site. Red Lark is a little-known bird, whose nest was first discovered as recently as 1986, and which has a tiny range restricted to the Bushmanland region of the Nama Karoo. The red 'dunes form' also happens to be one of the most strikingly marked larks around and we are therefore delighted when a male raises up in songflight above us. When it descends back to earth its brick red, dune-coloured, upperparts and heavily streaked black breast are scoped with relish.
More than happy with our work we travel a little way east towards our next site, seeing Southern Pale-Chanting Goshawk, Pygmy Falcon and Short-toed Rock-Thrush en route, every species perched prominently on a roadside telegraph pole. We stop off at a huge Sociable Weaver colony, which also hangs from a telegraph pole. The structure looks more like a large haystack than a bird's nest, measuring probably fifteen feet high and ten feet in diameter, yet occupied by a colony of birds no bigger than House Sparrows. The Sociable Weavers themselves are extremely smart birds, pale grey and white with black mask and intricate vermiculations on nape and flanks.
Our next birding site is a rocky gorge, en route to Pofadder, described to us by Ian Sinclair. It's late morning and getting very hot but we don't have the luxury of time on our hands, which would permit a visit at a cooler time of day. We set off towards the cliff face, still enjoying the luxury of birding in a new habitat, and we continue to see new birds at an alarming rate. Familiar Chat, Black-chested Prinia, Neddicky and Long-billed Crombec are all additions to the list. A large flock of attractive Pale-winged Starlings feed in a fruiting tree, alongside Acacia Pied Barbet and Lanyard's Titbabbler. Our main target at this site is the localised Cinnamon-breasted Warbler and a brief playback of it's taped call at the head of the gorge prompts an instant response. Within seconds a chocolate-brown male, with neat chestnut breastband, is singing from a rock right beside us.
Mission accomplished we set off to Pofadder adding a smart black-and-white Dusky Sunbird and Tractrac Chat to our rapidly growing tally before we reach the town. Pofadder really is a one-horse town, set in the middle of nowhere. We drive down the main street to find the place virtually deserted and seemingly enjoying a siesta. Eventually we track down Mrs Wickens, owner of the town's 'Spa' supermarket and extremely friendly lady, who shows us to a vacant chalet. After just three hours sleep the previous night the siesta suddenly seems like a good idea and we find time for a quick forty winks.
By 14.30 hours we're back on the road, this time travelling north towards the Orange River and Namibian border. We make our way through dry grassy plains and dark volcanic outcrops, adding just Karoo Long-billed Lark in this hot and barren environment. After our journey through such uninviting terrain, the lush green Orange River Valley appears as a stark contrast and provides a veritable bird-injection. When we reach the Orange River, close to the town of Onseepkans, we take the road to the west making frequent birding stops as we go. Red-eyed Bulbul, Southern Grey-headed Sparrow and Black-throated Canary are all new birds and Ground Squirrel a new mammal. Orange River White-Eye, with its distinctive warm peachy flanks, has a tiny range but is common in the riparian vegetation. Southern Masked Weaver, African Reed Warbler and Cape Robin Chat are also ticks and we are particularly pleased to catch up with the endemic Red-faced Mousebird, which completes the mousebird set.
Driving back to Pofadder we spotlight every likely looking telegraph pole with the lamp, which we purchased yesterday. A Spotted Eagle Owl is a bonus, but Cape Eagle Owl predictably eludes us. Back in town we make a beeline for the recommended 'Dixon's Café', huge appetites to pacify. A rather strange conversation with Mrs Dixon follows. 'Sorry, we don't have any steak left. Where are you staying?' 'With Mrs Wickens'. 'Oh, we have two steaks in the freezer'. We deduce that there is some sort of local 'hotel war' raging with the opposition 'Pofadder Hotel'. Our steaks resemble half a cow and we're glad we're fighting for the right side!
Well fed and totally knackered we abandon any hopes of further spotlighting and hit the sack.
Wednesday 20th November
We're up with the sun and head southwest to a site recommended to us by Rod Cassidy. Chat Flycatcher is ticked on a telephone wire en route; we realised at last night's 'log call' that we'd cocked-up on this one the previous day!
We reach the designated spot and set out across the dry, stony plain in a cold wind and under a grey sky, which comes as quite a shock to the system after the stifling heat of the previous day. First birds we stumble across are an excellent pair of Karoo Korhaans, perfectly camouflaged with pale brown backs and pinky-grey necks.
Just a few minutes later we flush three larks that look rather interesting. We relocate them feeding low on the stony ground and note all the key features. Heavy, slightly conical bill, warm peachy underparts and a faint dark teardrop below the eye. Sclater's Lark, on the list. Cheers Rodney! An excellent bird to connect with, being nomadic and with a very restricted range. This species is unique among larks, in that it lays a single egg. Interestingly this trait is shared by two other unrelated species, which co-habit this particularly harsh habitat, Double-banded Courser and Karoo Korhaan. Parent Sclater's Larks undergo huge thermal stress whilst incubating, with the nest being situated in an exposed position on the rocky plains. Once the egg has hatched small stones are placed in the nest to break up the chick's outline and add to the camouflage. A fascinating species.
With the target bird in the bag we head off for another look along the Onseepkans Road, to the north of Pofadder, before the hot sun climbs too high. A group of swifts passes over the car and an emergency stop allows us to identify them as a single Alpine Swift in the company of six Bradfield's Swifts, another rather local species. Nearby a Red-necked Falcon perches on a telegraph pole close to the road and our second pair of Karoo Korhaans for the morning feed on a rocky plain.
We take a steady drive back to Pofadder, making a number of photographic stops to record the splendidly desolate scenery and find a single Sobota Lark (described as 'common' here, in the site guide!) singing beside the road. Packing our bags we bid farewell to Pofaddder, which as proven to be an excellent birding site, despite our frantic timetable.
The road west, to Springbok, is of fast tarmac that comes as quite a relief after the dusty stone tracks utilised over the last couple of days. We reach Springbok in no time at all, and then turn south towards Gamoep and ultimately Aardvark Kloof. The road turns back to dirt, but the arid scenery is quite stunning. Alternating black volcanic and pale brown sandstone peaks, their dry rugged forms sculpted by the elements into dramatic cliffs and buttes, back vast rocky plains.
At Gamoep we return briefly to flat dry grasslands, where regularly spaced metal windmills pump life-giving water to troughs, which quench the thirst of livestock. A pair of Lanner Falcons perch on telegraph poles and one has to wonder what the profusion of birds that utilise these vantage points ever did before the arrival of these man-made perches.
Taking a right turn and retracing the route we took two days previously, we eventually navigate our way to Aardvark Kloof, a 'kloof' being a dry valley. It really is a beautiful setting in the clear late-afternoon light. A string of green acacias follow the line of a dry river bed, from which the valley sides rise as mounds of huge, rounded, dark-brown boulders. On occasional flat areas grow pale grasses and multicoloured shrubs, whose subtle hues are set off vividly by the dark volcanic earth.
We have scarcely left the car when a short burst of a Pririt Batis recording brings an instant response. A pair of these very attractive birds, with black 'Lone Ranger' masks and piercing gold eyes, proceed to feed low in an acacia and after a few minutes they are joined by an equally attractive pair of Fairy Flycatchers. A walk amongst the boulders higher ups the valley wall produces Cinnamon-breasted Warbler and the excitement mount when we flush a roosting eagle owl. Convinced that it must be Cape Eagle Owl, in this typically rocky environment, we pursue it up-hill and down-dale until we eventually get a decent perched view. Typically it's another bloody Spotted!
We admit defeat and set off back towards Springbok. As the glowing orange Sun sets below ridge-after-ridge of arid hills a group of three Secretary Birds circle the acacias before finding a suitable roosting spot. Another bout of spotlighting through the rocky hills towards Springbok fails to produce any owls, but a Rufous-cheeked Nightjar is accepted as fair compensation.
Springbok sports a wealth of bed and breakfast signs at every junction and we follow a randomly chosen arrow into a modern housing estate. A fresh-faced young lad, who explains that his parents are away, greets us; we are, however welcome to take a room. It's slightly more embarrassing for him to explain that we need to move our car to allow his friend, a very dubious looking older gentleman, to have access to the driveway in the morning. Enough said!
We celebrate another successful day with a couple of glasses of wine before a relatively early night. Tomorrow is another big day.
Thursday 21st November
It's a 4.00 am start and a good drive west to the Atlantic Coast at Port Nolloth. Port Nolloth is a rather shabby, run-down coastal town made famous by it's off-shore diamond deposits. Boats are used to support giant 'vacuum cleaners' that suck the diamond-bearing gravel from the seabed just beyond the breakers.
Our goal is something much rarer than diamonds, however. The extensive dune system just north of the town is home to the highly localised Barlow's Lark, which has a tiny coastal range in northernmost South Africa and southernmost Namibia. The low silver sand of the dunes is shrouded in a sparse layer of shrubs and many pretty flowering succulent plants, but the larks seem rather thin on the ground. After an hour or so we locate a Barlow's Lark, after which we typically see quite a few more! Cape Long-billed Lark is another new bird at this site, and is infinitely more appealing than the rather drab Barlow's. In the background the crashing Atlantic surf can be heard and also the din of the diamond dredging boats, operating just offshore.
Just across the road from the dunes is a huge natural saltpan, which doubles as Port Nolloth's airport, and the town's rubbish dump. Strangely it's also the breeding site of the endemic Damara Tern, a group of which greet us wheeling above the flat white expanse. It's great when everything falls in to place so easily, and we set off south with broad grins.
We haven't gone far out of town when a distinctive mammal is spotted, atop a roadside kilometre post. A hasty U-ey is made and we're soon back at the spot, scanning the low scrub for movement. Seconds later a little head pops up above the vegetation, then another and another. A group of fifteen Meerkats are hunting beside the road, sentinels regularly standing on hind legs to check for danger. They move rapidly through the scrub and it's fascinating to watch this group of endearing little animals in action.
We retrace our tracks to the south, rejoining the fast N7 road, and again cover the miles rapidly. A 'pie break' at Kamieskroon is well timed, as a stunning Black Harrier quarters the field right beside the petrol station in a very photogenic manner. In a reverse order to our outward journey the Karoo-scrub covered hillsides give way to lush valley-bottom vineyards, which in turn become flat, dry cereal fields.
It's 13.00 hours and very warm indeed when we arrive at Kransvlei Poort, a rather lushly vegetated small rocky valley and well-known birding site close to the N7. In spite of the high temperatures there is still plenty of bird activity in the shelter of the steep sandstone walls and we enjoy quite a rush of new birds in our two-hour slot at this site. Fiscal Flycatcher, Cape White-Eye, Cape Canary and some very smart Greater Striped Swallows are all ticks, but it is another canary that has drawn us to this location. After a concerted effort a Protea Canary is eventually located, a much sought-after bird endemic to the Mountain Fynbos of the southwestern Cape.
As we approach Cape Town it is quite a shock to see other cars, after spending a couple of days on the deserted outback roads. Reaching the brow of a hill the flat top of Table Mountain comes into view, a huge black anvil rising above the golden cereal fields. It's an awesome feature, when viewed looking down towards the city, seeming to stand guard over the commercial heart of southern Africa spread at its feet.
Our goal for the evening is the wetlands just north of the City, around the suburb of Milnerton. After a few wrong turns we reach the spot, which also affords fantastic views across Table Bay to the City and Mountain beyond. Having visited very little true wetland habitat previously on our tour we have a host of trip-ticks such as Reed Cormorant, Purple Gallinule, Red and Yellow-billed Ducks. Highlight is Cape Shoveler, however, these birds being the only ones we see in South Africa.
The daylight fails and we drive the short distance to Somerset West, a western suburb of Cape Town, where we find a hotel well positioned for the following morning's assault.
see Part 3 - Click here