Oil spill in Goukamma Nature Reserve

On the 9th of August a German owned vessel, the Kiani Satu, was on its way from Cape Town to Gabon when it ran aground in Goukamma Nature Reserve and Marine Protected Area. The 168 m long vessel was carrying 15 000 tons of rice and 330 tons of fuel oil.

Following the event someone remarked: "While there is no current threat to the environment, we hope the ship is towed off soon before this turns into another Seli 1."

Since then oil has been leaking out of the vessel which has washed up on beaches and even entered the Goukamma estuary. The damages to local sandy beach and rocky shore ecological systems are likely to be massive, and already there have been incidences of birds completely covered in oil.

The oil also threatens our valuable estuaries, which are integral to providing refugia for juvenile fish and are also home to the world's only populations of the Knysna seahorse. Unfortunately, oil has already breached the Goukamma estuary and with the swell expected over the next few days, it is possible that the ship will break up further, spilling more oil into the sea. Let's hope that the organisations working around the clock to sort out this problem will be able to reduce the extent of the spill and that the insurance company will cough up to pay all the bills necessary for the clean up operation.

Cape Town Fog

It was Friday the 24th of May and the fog on the Atlantic seaboard was heavy. Steve predicted it would roll into the city and into Camp's Bay, so we headed up the mountain to search for a fresh perspective of our beautiful city. True enough, as the sun set and the land cooled, the fog rolled in boisterously under the full moon and the city disappeared.

Rock Kestrel

Once upon a time there was a pair of rock kestrels that bred at Dias Beach in the reserve. That time is now and this season they laid four eggs (Anthony Van Zyl; pers. comm.). Last week I was lucky enough to glimpse one of the youngsters (photo below) all grown up and munching on a black girdled lizard (which are often seen sunbathing on the rocks).

Note: adults have grey head feathers whereas this is absent in the juveniles.

Bain's Kloof Pass

My Thursdays don't usually involve ravines, but I'm so glad this one did. Bain's Kloof is a beaut, with a delicious stretch of rapids, waterfalls and natural pools, it's a biophilic's haven for adventure. When hopping from rock to rock the pools appear as pale cups of rooibos inviting one in for a sip, and as you venture below bearing a mask and snorkel, an emerald green universe beams hello. Little redfins swim about with curiousity, 'What's this strange creature doing in our pool?'.

I was really impressed with the health of this stretch of the Witte River and the communities it supports. Submerged pebbles and boulders were teeming with sensitive invertebrates, such as stonefly larvae and leptophlebids. We watched with fascination as stoneflies rested momentarily on the water's surface, only to be gobbled up by the alert redfins below. Frogs croaked upstream whilst those nearer to us splashed into the water to hide away. Dragonflies whizzed past us warily, although Ffi managed to get intimate with one after it crash landed in the pool in front of us. We even caught a glimpse of a tiny snake swimming through one of the pools.

The Beautiful Cape

Peeling waves.

Paradisical beaches.

Kelp forest splashes.

Rock pool ramblings.

Fynbos frolicks.

Mountain ambles.

Wilderness, right on my doorstep.

Retroflection

"Breathe one last time

Your wild breath into me

That I may not forget you,

that I may remember who I am."

- Barbara Fairhead

Le petit manchot

As you may have guessed, the title is French, and manchot means penguin, but what does the word ‘penguin’ mean, and where does it come from? The intellect who gave me insight into this etymological mystery was the legendary David Attenborough. It was a dark, moody day and a light drizzle drifted playfully with the gusting squalls that moved alongside the cliffs. Every so often a stream of sunlight would break through the clouds and a rainbow would materialise over the wild seas. I was sitting next to my macaroni study colony and observing their ways whilst being audibly entertained by Sir David's intriguing stories. One particular story involved the now extinct Great Auk; a large flightless bird with a black back, white belly and upright posture, similar to the penguins we know today. Its distinctive features included a grooved bill, the sides of its neck and head were brown, and it had a large white patch in front of its eyes.

Like penguins, the Great Auk spent most of its year foraging at sea and returned to offshore islands in the Boreal summer to breed. As naval exploration began to radiate in the 16th and 17th centuries, encounters with these birds became increasingly common and by the beginning of the 19th century they had been hunted to extinction for their meat and feathers. During those times the Great Auk was known to sea-farers by another name - 'pengwyn'. It is of Celtic origin and when dissected composes of two welsh words; 'pen' meaning head and 'gwyn' meaning white. This may be an odd description for a bird whose head, apart from a white patch in front of the eyes, is predominantly brown or black, but there are further traits about the Great Auk which I have yet to mention. During the winter months these birds underwent a plumage change similar to that experienced by their relatives, the guillemot and the razorbill, in which their fore-neck, chin, and head feathers turned white. This must have made a significant impression on many a sailor, as the name spread throughout Europe.

When these sea-farers eventually ventured further South and encountered similar birds on sub-Antarctic Islands, the name 'pengwyn' was copied and pasted into log books and journals. Interestingly, over the ages the name stuck for those tuxedo-clad birds in the South, whereas those in the North were reclassified as auks, puffins, guillemots and razorbills. In some languages, the remnant of the Northern Hemisphere's 'pengwyn' still lingers in the French and Spanish words for Great Auk, which are 'Grand Pingouin' and 'Gran Pinguino', respectively.

Two hundred years after the extinction of the 'pengwyn' I've found myself amongst four species of their etymological descendents. Marion island is home to the king penguin Aptenodytes patagonicus, the gentoo penguin Pygoscelis papua, the macaroni penguin Eudyptes chrysolophus, and the southern rockhopper penguin Eudyptes chrysocome filholi. Regarding my MSc, I came to Marion to collect data on the foraging ecology and diving behaviour of the latter two, the crested penguins. Eudyptes is derived from Greek and means 'good diver', and chrysolophus and chrysocome mean 'with a golden crest' and 'with golden hair', respectively.

9th December:

"... My summer days at Funk have begun with a bang. Each sunny day tweaks my smile a little further up my cheeks and today is no exception. The kings are trumpeting on the beach, some incubating and some parading up and down in pairs. The maccie colony is radiating brays and testosterone; the males are incubating whilst the females are foraging at sea. I'm waiting for their eggs to hatch and for my three logger birds to return so I can oooh and aaah at their magnificent tracks and deep dives. The sky is a deep blue and the wind is calm; there's a little swell wrapping round from the South and the two-foot waves are clean and clear; a perfect day at the beach."

Over the past few summer months I've spent a vast amount of time at Funk Bay, my macaroni study colony, as well as at my rockhopper study colony near Whalebird Point, equipping birds with GPSs and TDRs and sitting, waiting, wishing for them to return. The GPSs record position (if they're at the surface) at a programmed interval and the TDRs record temperature and pressure, which in turn equates to depth and is used to analyse their diving behaviour.

Macaroni and rockhopper penguins live very similar lives. The only difference is that the rockhoppers arrive at Marion Island two to three weeks later than the macaronis. As a result, their breeding cycles differ by the same margin, which could be to reduce interspecific competition for resources.

The breeding, or chick-rearing, season of each species is divided into two stages; the brood-guard and the creche stage. During the brood-guard stage the female does all the foraging at sea whilst the male remains in the colony to brood/guard the chick, feeding only on his fat reserves. When the female returns from her foraging trip she takes over from the male and regurgitates a meal of krill for her little chick.

The brood-guard stage usually ends after 20-24 days, after which the chick is able to fend for itself. The chicks then stand together in creches while both parents head off into the deep blue to forage.

11th December:

"... I wanted to observe some nest dynamics so I marked a female that was on a chick by smearing strawberry jam on her back (I had run out of provitas to smear it onto). Later on I noticed that her partner was on the chick and that she had disappeared. I then saw her hopping down through the colony from the waterfall pond where she must have had a little drink of fresh water (as they surprisingly do). She and her partner had a greeting dance (flippers back, necks extended, heads up and waving from side to side whilst braying away) then hopped down to the beach where she waded through the loafers and the kings, and dived into the sea. I saw her porpoise a few times; she was heading ESE."

28th December:

"... So tired! Woke up at 04:00 to head down to Funkytown to see whether any of the loggers I deployed on the 26th were back. Beautiful sunrise but no logger birds around. I reckon they're taking longer foraging trips because their chicks are getting larger and can thus go longer without food. Central Foraging Theory predicts that birds will forage as closest to the island as possible, so if they encounter prey they will catch it. However, because of the large concentration of penguins diving for food there is a massive consumption of resources, and so the waters nearest to the island become depleted across the season. This may force them to travel further and take longer foraging trips to search for well stocked waters."

30th December:

"... The maccie chicks are so cute. They're really big now and are even standing next to their parents, sometimes looking like they're just about to fall over... They look as if they're trying so hard to be mature when they preen themselves, mimicking their parents."

After 60-70 days of life, the chicks eventually lose their fluffy down, whereafter they head to sea for the rest of the year until returning for the next summer's madness. At the same time, the parents, now with no responsibilities, head to sea for two weeks to indulge themselves and fatten up for their one month long moulting period which they will spend on land developing a slick new set of feathers.

Before I came to Marion these creatures were but a fairytale to me, only to be seen on BBC Wildlife documentaries and in my dreams. I've since had the opportunity to watch them build their nests, mate and nurture their eggs. I've watched them peck at each other furiously as well as prune and snuggle. I've watched as a shell broke open and a little chick let out its first chirps. I've watched parents come home from a hard day's work at sea and greet their partners with a brilliant display, shouting to the rooftops, before saying a little hello to their chicks and giving them a meal. I've watched the same little chicks grow and stumble around in all their cuteness, and I've watched an unlucky few get carried away in the beak of a skua. I've watched them lose their down and become penguins, penguins that will someday nurture their own eggs and feed their own chicks. I've watched, and I've experienced, and that is something I am truly grateful for, and will never forget.

Macroscapes

"Stretching his hand up to the stars, often a man forgets the flowers at his feet."

— Jeremy Bentham

Marion Island clearly has its stars, and I'm not talking about the unbelievably clear nights. Macaroni penguins take centre stage at the Amphitheatre whilst wandering albatrosses roam the mire-strewn plains of Goney, attracting the attention of passers-by with bubble clicks and wide spread wings. The seals lounge about on the beaches and nearby slopes like royalty, making it very clear that you are an intruding peasant and curse you for waking them up from their afternoon siestas. "Off with his head (or leg)!" I can sometimes hear them say. Have I been here too long? Let us not forget the killer whales, their stardom heightened by their mysterious lives in the deep blue. All these large creatures and their seemingly obvious ways of living are the first to receive our praise and attention, and will forever live their lives in the spotlight.

There are, however, many amazing little worlds on Marion that we so hardly get to be a part of simply because they're too small. I brought along with me, on this adventure of a lifetime, a very special friend who I've become extremely fond of - my Canon 100 mm f2.8 macro lens (thank you Kieron). These are some images of life through her eyes.

This is the flightless moth Pringleophaga marioni, endemic to Marion Island. Thousands of years ago the ancestors of this moth could fly and were blown in the direction of a newly formed volcanic chunk in the Southern Ocean. The relentless winds made flying too dangerous and slowly, after many generations, wings became useless and the moths resorted to walking.

A flower of the coastal plant Cotula plumosa.

A macroscopic Antarctic Tern's eye-view of Lycopodium susurrus

The common chickweed Cerastium fontanum. It's not native to the island, but together with garlic flakes and balsamic vinegar it makes a lovely salad.

A psychadelic lichen spreads its colourful presence over a streamside boulder.

This is Matchstickitus lionensis. Just joking, it's a little sprout from the 100 or so species of moss on the island.

A little aphid wades through the intricate macroscape of an Azorella cushion.

A lichen of the genus Cladonia peers out from a macroscape of hepatics.

A stem flower of the prickly ball plant Acaena magellanica

The gemmae cups of the liverwort Marchantia berteroana are home to the plant's little kids, gemmaes. When the time is right and the rains come, they'll get splashed out and fall to the ground where theyll develop into new liverworts.

Psychedelic lichens like this carpet the volcanic rocks around Marion.

A spider wades through the busy undergrowth of a macroscape.

An intimate look at a prickly ball of Acaena magellanica. The tiny arrows on the end of each spike, which carry the plant's seed at the bottom, attach to the feathers of birds, the fur of seals and the clothes and beards of humans. What a clever dispersal strategy!

A caterpillar of the small flightless moth Embryonopsis halticella munches happily away on a blade of Poa cookii. These caterpillars spend their entire days on these plants until they are ready to cuddle up in a warm silk-lined cocoon sleeping bag where they'll chill out and think about how great it's going to be to fly, erm, walk.

This moss definitely is a pretty flower thing.

A flower of the invasive Sagina procumbens peers out from the crowd.

A newly sprung bud of the small fern Blechnum penna-marina begins its life with an unfurling yawn.

Not much is known about the mushrooms on the island except that they give one hell of a kick! Just joking, this species is thought to belong to the genus Galerina and is deadly poisonous.

Perching on a Blechnum bud, a fledging aphid gets ready to experience the life of an albatross.

The leaves of Acaena magellenica are lined by an intense purple.

One of the many lichen species on the island grows on the 'mouse-walk' at the old base.

A flower of the broadleaved Callitriche antarctica plays host to a wandering down feather.

The life of a King

"Kings are like stars. They rise and they set, they have the worship of the world, but no repose."

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

It's a Sunday at Kildalkey Bay and there's a cool, crisp breeze curling in from the ocean as the waves lap languidly at the shore. The ebb and flow of a benign continuum? It must be. I watch and listen, hypnotised, as cobbles are swept down and out, and up and over each other in a tranquil monotony, joined every so often by a few returning kings.

The salty air swirls through me in a wonderful way, invigorating a sense of nostalgia. The sun sits in the sky to the west, smiling large, as the penguins fill the air with a bustling cacophony of whistles and trumpets. It's a packed day at the beach and I'm staring straight into their lives, trying to understand.

Life as a king penguin is rather harsh. They’re continually exposed to wind, rain, snow and ice pellets and the only form of shelter is to huddle together. Individuals spend days and sometimes weeks at sea diving to great depths in search of squid and lantern fish, whilst trying to avoid the menacing jaws of killer whales and seals.

On land they’re a bit safer, but not completely. Giant petrels often storm into the colonies with their wings spread wide looking for weak or injured individuals and vulnerable chicks. The penguins scatter in fright and try to maintain a safe distance, which can sometimes lead to interesting patterns in the colony.

King penguins are asynchronous breeders, which means they don’t follow the same breeding cycles, and at Marion Island they lay eggs anytime between November and March. Whilst one parent heads out to sea to forage, the other keeps the egg balanced on its feet and tucks it into a brood pouch where it is kept nice and warm. The parents take turns to incubate the egg and after about fifty days a little brown chick breaks through the shell and lets out its first few chirps. The parent on duty feeds the chick every so often by regurgitating stored fish and squid.

During this stage the chick is extremely vulnerable as giant petrels and skuas patrol the colony looking for distracted parents. When a chick reaches an age where it is more capable of fending for itself, both parents go to sea and return every now and then to provision their chick. While their parents are away they gather in large crèches and stand around all day sleeping and whistling. Every so often a chick bursts out in a fit of energy and runs around like mad flapping its flippers and bumping into anything in its path. It's hilarious.

It’s quite remarkable how the parents find their chicks when they return to the colonies. No matter how much they sound the same to us, each parent can recognise the whistle of its chick, and vice versa. The parent lets out a soft cooing sound that can be audible at a great range whilst the chick lets out a three note whistle that varies in amplitude and frequency if it hears its parent. When they finally find each other in the colony the parent lets out a loud polysyllabic trumpeting and to confirm their bond the parent wanders off into the colony while the hungry little chick follows suit, whistling away.

Despite the harsh world in which they live, the king penguin population at Marion Island has been fairly stable over the last few decades and hasn’t shown any signs of rapid decline like many other penguin species have. The last census done during the incubating period estimated a total of 65000 pairs on the island, so counting them this summer is going to be quite interesting.

“A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.”

- Frederick the Great of Prussia

"Now let us sing, long live the King."

- William Cowper

A rare sighting

Leopard seals (

Hydrurga leptonyx

) are solitary animals that inhabit the pack-ice surrounding Antarctica. They have a fearsome reputation as top predators and eat almost anything from fish to elephant seals. Although they are mainly found in Antarctica, every so often a few venture North to see what the sub-Antarctic islands have on the menu.

The other day Chris was doing an elephant seal census from base to Repettos when he came across a juvenile leopard seal sleeping on the cobbles. That evening he radio'd us the news and the next morning Ryan, Maelle and I set off early to catch a glimpse of this incredible creature.

When we got to King Penguin Bay we found him sound asleep on a bed of kelp and were all quite stoked that he hadn't changed his spots.