Position: 52:06.08S 060:49.78W
Port Stephens
Date: 4 December 2011
Yesterday, Linda, John and I had what we all agreed was
one of the most memorable days of our lives. The previous afternoon we had
arrived at the remote farm of Port Stephens, owned by Peter and Ann Robertson to
whom we had been introduced by Argentine friends.
After the constant high winds, squally leaden skies and
freezing temperatures of the previous week, spring had sprung. We were now in a
high pressure system: the skies had cleared, the sun was out and there was,
blissfully and extraordinarily, no wind. We scraped the thermals off our bodies
(we had been wearing them day and night for the previous ten days). Having
anchored off the jetty and recommissioned the dinghy for the first time since
Buenos Aires (it had been deflated and lashed to the foredeck) we went ashore to
have tea with Ann and Peter. We were the first yacht to visit in a couple of
years.
Peter, originally from New Zealand, has farmed sheep in
Canada, then Patagonia, before settling in Port Stephens more than 50 years ago.
Ann, an Argentine from Buenos Aires joined Peter 40 years ago. Apart from the
absolutely stunning location of the farm, overlooking a large almost landlocked
bay fringed with hills, one of the attractions of Port Stephens is its complete
isolation. The farm is enormous – 50,000 acres rearing sheep for their wool, but
also some dairy cattle and beef cattle. The whole lot is looked after by Peter
and Ann, and their son Paul who we had met in Stanley. Their nearest neighbours
live 40 miles away down a pot-holed gravel road. It would take them a round trip
of three hours by Land Rover to borrow a cup of sugar. The road was only built a
few years ago. Before then it would take them five or six hours to visit their
neighbours by horse, and their supplies were brought in by ship every month or
two. Their electricity is wind generated (so no shortage then) and their water
comes from a spring.
As
we had sailed overnight to get here, we went back to the boat for an early
dinner and bed. Early yesterday morning, I awoke in this perfect bay to another
beautiful, almost cloudless day. Beside Mina2, swinging to her anchor on the
glass like water, were a variety of ducks and geese, then out of the clear water
popped the head of a Gentoo penguin, which looked at me and then porpoised away.
Different.
Later in the morning we took Mina2 to the other side of
the bay and took the dinghy ashore to go for a long walk over a saddle in the
hills. Verging on the hot (I should think it was in the 20's) we were almost in
our shirt sleeves. The views from the top of the saddle down the rocky coast of
West Falkland were unbelievable. The now still sea was a startling deep blue and
in the shallows of the bays the water turned to turquoise lapping at the snow
white sandy beaches. We crested a rise and there, clinging to the steep hillside
was a large colony of cute little Rockhopper penguins sitting on their eggs.
Absolutely magical. We continued walking down to the sea and round a headland to
a sandy isthmus where there was a colony of literally thousands of Gentoo
penguins with cattle grazing nearby. You could see the penguins through the
small waves lapping the beach, streaking through the water at incredible speeds
before launching themselves onto the beach with an ungainly thump and a bump and
then a waddle back to their nest to feed a chick or two. All the penguins were
sitting on their little conical nests made from sand and stones, all of them
exactly one penguin peck away from each other. Some were sitting on an egg or
two, but most had one or two tiny little chicks nestling on their feet. As
humans are not predators - well not here and not now - they were unfazed as we
approached. We quietly sat down almost amongst them and just watched their
comical interaction with each other and their chicks. The whole thing was
utterly and totally ... well, words can't really describe it.
In
the evening we returned to the settlement and tied up alongside the jetty. Ann
and Peter joined us for dinner on the boat after another hard day’s work
gathering the sheep for shearing. It must be an incredibly hard life working
such an enormous farm with such limited human resources and in such isolation.
They have to be Jacks of all trades. If something goes wrong, they can’t just
call the maintenance man - it could be weeks or months before he would turn up –
they just have to fix the problem themselves, one way or another. They riveted
us with stories of what this isolated life was like, but our overwhelming
impression was that of contentment. As Peter said at the end of the evening “We
are lucky enough to live in God’s own country”. We have been greatly privileged
to visit this country, albeit just for a couple of days.
This
morning we were due to head off for New Island, our final destination in these
wonderful islands. I was awoken by an insistent but faint hammering on my cabin
door. I opened the door to find Able Seadog Snoopy in a state of excitement. He
had been pawing over the charts looking at our impending passage from Port
Stephens to New Island and had discovered that on the way we were to pass
between the West Falkland mainland and Sea Dog Island (52 deg 00.3S, 061 deg
05.8W – go on – look it up on Google Earth). How many Seadogs would be there?
Could we go ashore? Would they be Ordinary Seadogs or would they be important
Able Seadogs like him, long in tooth and claw? Would they have a supply of
Winalot? (we’re running a bit short). Would it be too windy for him to go on
deck and have a look through the binoculars? (Snoopy has been forbidden to go on
deck in winds over 35 knots for fear that he be beaten to death by his own
ears). I told the old fella to calm down – yes, we would be passing the island.
Yes, there may be Seadogs there but, no, none as important as him. I told him
that, sadly no, we wouldn’t be able to land but yes, he would be able to go out
on deck and look through the binoculars as no wind was forecast and we would be
motoring.
And
motor we did. Like we have done most of the way round the Falklands in truth.
Either we’ve been holed up due to gale force winds, or the winds have been from
the wrong direction, i.e. bang on the nose or, in the last day, no wind at all.
But, as Linda says, it is soupy
thick with wildlife which makes up for the fact that we are on the Motor Vessel
Mina2.
