Part I: Seals teeth and whales ears - Scott Polar Research Institute ...

and white markings. Volunteer Rocks, a line of rugged rocks north of Stanley,
formed a prominent point and was the nearest known fur seal colony; we were
there by 7 o’clock, cruising along the south side looking for fur seals. Despite a
six-foot swell, the surface was oily calm, a tangle of kelp matting the surface
near the rocks. There was a crowd of fur seals seen through binoculars, darkly
silhouetted against the sky, and as we approached we experienced their
clamour and smelt their distinctive muskiness. Then we saw hundreds on the
second rock, including some large pups. The innermost rock held the greatest
concentration of animals, mostly on top of the islet and twenty feet above the
sea, but there were small groups on the shelving slopes. They were alarmed by
our approach and soon were bounding agilely down to the sea, barking as they
went. Once in the water they bobbed up and down, swam actively about,
porpoising gracefully and showing little fear. All told I estimated about 2,000
of them
The fog was closing in, enhancing the wild beauty of the scene, and the
animals’ graceful grey shapes. By the time we had turned about at least half of
the seal were in the water, in company with groups of rockhopper penguins,
porpoising about the ship. Because of the mist though, we saw very little of the
coast, except the white strand of Cow Bay, until we were almost at Cape
Dolphin. This part of the North coast forms cliffs of sedimentary rock with the
strata of approximately equal thickness, caves, occasional small beaches, but
mainly high cliffs, with a fringing platform just above sea level. As we
rounded Cape Dolphin at 1 o’clock. We passed through large flocks of feeding
mollymauks - or black-browed albatrosses - hundreds of these beautiful black
and white birds dotted over the deep blue sea. Going between two beds of
kelp which extended over several miles, we passed Eddystone Rock and the
coastline stretched monotonously ahead, relieved occasionally by stretches of
white limestone cliffs.
A hen - a cross I was told between a chicken and a turkey (known in the
islands as a ‘churkey’) - was kept in the radio cabin, but managed to escape to
the wheelhouse where it flapped and squawked, creating pandemonium as
Tilbury spoke to Stanley. However we fielded it and shut it up again, only to
find two hours later that it had somehow managed to short-circuit the batteries
on which it was roosting. We hoped the shock might induce it to lay an egg!
By now we had turned down into Falkland Sound, separating East and West
Falkland, which we could see as a long line of black cliffs, more rugged than
East Falkland, with mountains rising behind. Numbers of whales were
blowing around us.
Near Port San Carlos we passed close inshore, along small shingle beaches,
set between headlands of sedimentary rocks and pitted with caves, large and
small. Although I kept a sharp lookout through binoculars, no seals were to be
seen. Fanning Head had precipitous cliffs draped with tussock and moss,
falling sheer into the blue water as we entered the fjord leading to Ajax Bay
and Port San Carlos. The country here was hilly, drier than the East and more
attractive. As we passed a small tussac island, Browning told me that there
was now little tussock on the main islands because somehow sheep cause it to
die; horses and cattle didn't have this effect. (Much later it was discovered that
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