Stephen Moss
The one thing the Falklands’ avifauna lacks – in common with all oceanic islands – is variety; in my week-long trip I tallied just 47 species, fewer than I can see on a winter’s day on my home patch. But the quality and sheer quantity of the Falklands’ birds, amidst impressive scenery, more than makes up for lack of diversity. From vast colonies of penguins and albatrosses, to three endemic species – and plenty more potential future splits – there is always something to enjoy.
If you are a budding photographer, or a full-blown professional, the Falklands is little short of paradise. I’m a pretty average lensman, using a bridge camera, yet I still managed to get decent images – and videos – of all but two of the species I saw. The Falklands birds are tame to an absurd degree, and by the end of the trip, you feel you’ve got to know them.
The same applies to the islanders. Falklands hospitality is legendary: old-world courtesy, an easy manner, and piles of tea and cakes, plus valuable local knowledge about where to see the birds.
After the long flight from RAF Brize Norton (via Cape Verde, where I managed a lifer – Iago Sparrows in the airport café), and a drive to Darwin Lodge on the other side of East Falkland, I was keen to explore. During an after-dinner walk along the foreshore, I soon caught up with my first endemic: the bizarre Falklands Steamer-duck – or ‘Logger’, as the locals call it – with its Donald Duck call.
WEST POINT ISLAND
WEST FALKLAND
On the field by the lodge, Upland and Ruddy-breasted Geese were grazing. With black-and-white males, and darker, grey-and-brown females, the former is everywhere – no wonder they make it into Upland Goose pâté, a local delicacy. I also had close encounters with several of the islands’ songbirds: Austral Thrushes, Dark-faced Ground Tyrants and little flocks of Black-chinned Siskins, feeding on Ped-hot Pokers in the lodge’s garden.
A dark, Starling-sized bird, with a long tail, flew up on a fencepost: a Long-tailed Meadowlark. Turning towards me, it revealed a bright crimson breast: hence the local names of ‘Robin’, and ‘Military
Starling’. Later that afternoon, once a flock of sheep had been cleared off the grassy airstrip at Goose Green, I left for Pebble Island. The third largest of the offshore islands, Pebble is more scenically varied than the mainland, with a beauty all its own.
I walked the short distance from the lodge down to the curved and sandy beach, where Rock Shags gathered on the jetty, and Magellanic and Blackish Oystercatchers fed along the kelp-strewn shoreline. Offshore, I caught sight of my first Black-browed Albatross, shearing over the surface of the sea on bowed wings, and dwarfing the local Kelp Gulls.
The next morning dawned clear and bright, after overnight rain, as I set off on an island tour with Josh, a keen and knowledgeable young guide. After superb views of the islands’ two breeding waders – Rufous-chested Dotterel and the engaging little Two-banded Plover – we came across the first of the Falklands’ five species of penguin: a single Magellanic, standing outside its burrow in the middle of a grassy field.
We had already seen several Southern Crested Caracaras, but then spotted a pair of Striated Caracaras, so decided to stop for the traditional ‘smoko’ – coffee and biscuits – and enjoy their antics.
Known locally as ‘Johnny Rook’, these engaging raptors are globally very rare, virtually confined to the Falklands. They are endlessly curious, and posed happily for their close-ups.
After frustrating glimpses of the blows of Sei Whales on the distant horizon, we drove inland to the Gentoo Penguin colony, quite a distance from the coast. With at least a thousand birds – including many well-grown chicks – the spectacle was highly entertaining, especially when youngsters pursued their parents to beg for food.
I could watch Gentoos for hours, but was keen to reach another penguin colony, on the cliffs above the beach. Rockhoppers – in this case the southern species – are among the smallest and most endearing of all the world’s penguins, and they lived up to their name by hopping up the path to reach their fluffy young. Having taken my
fill of photos, I stopped for my packed lunch – noting that someone with a sense of humour had included a Penguin biscuit!
But there was a serious side to this spectacle too, as Brown Skuas, Turkey Vultures and Southern Giant Petrels cruised overhead, constantly on the lookout for a stray chick, as an easy meal.
Day three, and I headed to Carcass Island. I was really looking forward to this stage of the journey, as this 1,700-hectare island, with its rolling hills, is still free from cats, rats and mice, and so is home to the Falklands’ two endemic songbirds.
I’d barely disembarked from the tiny plane before the first of these – the Tussacbird (recently split from the South American Blackish Cinclodes) – hopped up right next to me, as if checking out this newly-arrived stranger. I then enjoyed a leisurely tour of the island with Rob McGill, who with his wife Lorraine has been on the island since 1974, and runs the lodge there. I had good views of my first and only Black-necked Swan of the trip, and some huge and imposing Elephant Seals on the beach. Among the Sea Cabbage, I spotted the other, rather more elusive endemic, a Cobb’s Wren.
That evening, I took a gentle stroll along the beach, an experience that reminded me of walks in Shetland, Orkney and the Outer Hebrides. Despite the unusual birds, it was hard to believe I was 8,000 miles from home. Yet although the Falklands is superficially similar to Scotland, the sheer scale of the place, and the relative lack of people, makes it unique.
Next morning, I took the boat across to
West Point Island. Walking across to the far side, I emerged over the ridge to see a host of what looked like Great Blackbacked Gulls wheeling through the air. Not gulls, but Black-browed Albatrosses.
The majority of the world’s Black-brows – about half a million pairs – nest on the Falklands, but most of these are on a remote and inaccessible islet, Steeple Jason. But the 300 or so pairs here on West Point are still a sight to behold.
Gentle giants
Approaching through the dense tussac grass, I was astonished to find that Rockhopper Penguins were nesting right alongside the albatrosses. These gentle giants protect their smaller neighbours from aerial attack. Together the two species were not just a memorable sight, but also provided a constant soundtrack, and the sweet, sickly smell of a seabird colony.
Each pair of albatrosses builds a foot-high ‘mud pie’, on top of which perches a single, fluffy chick. Technically, you are not allowed to get within six metres of these nesting birds. But given that that, on occasions, an albatross will land on a rock right next door – in one case brushing my shoulder with its mighty wing – this can be quite tricky.
I’ve never used my wide-angle lens so much; nor have I found it so difficult to tear myself away from the endless possibilities for photographing. All I can say is that in more than half a century of birding, in every one of the world’s seven continents, I have rarely, if ever, had such a mind-blowing encounter.
On the return trip, the wind had mercifully dropped, and I was able to perch on top of the boat and scan the sea for anything unusual. As well as the by now commonplace albatrosses and penguins, I was rewarded with a brief sighting of a Magellanic Diving Petrel
– the southern hemisphere equivalent of our Little Auk – which skittered frantically off the sea before flying away.
My final morning on Carcass began with thick fog, and a real chance that I might be unable to return to the islands’ charming capital, Stanley. But a warming sun burned off the mist, and I spent a delightful hour photographing the two smallest birds on the Falklands: the perky little Austral Grass Wren and the far more challenging Cobb’s Wren. Eventually, though, this shy little bird emerged right by me, and posed for the camera.
I spent my last two days exploring the
area round Stanley. First, another spectacle, the King Penguin colony at Volunteer Point, where I took endless photographs, bewitched by the colours, shapes and patterns formed by these beautiful birds.
Birding on the Falklands is very much a family affair. Having been guided around Pebble Island by Josh, I now spent a day with his grandfather Mike Morrison. Mike is one of those gentle souls it is a pleasure to go birding with, and he delivered some memorable experiences.
Incredibly confiding
First stop, in a rocky cove just east of Stanley, produced the one bird I still really wanted to see: an incredibly confiding pair of White-tufted Grebes – another island race that might soon be split from its continental cousins. They dived and preened only a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to my presence. We also managed to pick up a few new species – Brown-hooded Gull and Silver Teal – plus a White-bridled Finch, singing in the sun.
Later that evening, I joined a dozen hardy souls on a trip to Kidney Island, for one final adventure. Earlier that day, Mike and I had already seen plenty of Sooty Shearwaters heading out to feed; now they were returning to their nests, waiting for dusk to avoid predators.
I first saw Sooty Shearwaters off Flamborough Head in Yorkshire in 1990.
At the time, I was amazed to discover how far they’d travelled, so it was very exciting to finally pay a visit to their breeding colony, here in the South Atlantic.
We landed using an inflatable, and began the long walk through tussac grass, towering over our heads. We had to avoid putting our feet through the shearwater burrows, and keep an eye out for the occasional basking sealion.
After visiting a rockhopper colony – with a hybrid adult Macaroni x Rockhopper as a bonus – we returned to the beach as dusk fell, and vast flocks of shearwaters gathered offshore. The first began to whizz over our heads, so low I could feel the air from their wings.
Then, as more and more joined them, I realised they weren’t making a sound, giving the whole spectacle a surreal feel. By the time we finally headed back, half an hour after sunset, the darkening sky was awash with these stiff-winged birds, an unforgettable end to a truly unforgettable trip.
On the flight home, I remembered that my fellow Bird Watching contributor Dominic Couzens told me that, in all his travels around the globe, the Falklands was the best place he’d ever been. Looking back at the memories I’d gathered in just eight days – not just the incredibly obliging and charismatic birds, but the kindness and hospitality of the islanders – I have to say I agree with him.
The UK offers some wonderful birding hotspots, including several in the counties of Suffolk and Norfolk. Plus, your chance to win a free week in a woodland cottage
WORDS
Being treated like royalty on a lockdown visit to my favourite RSPB reserve, this spring, resulted in one of the most memorable birding experiences of my life. And, like egrets, I have had a few.
Without wanting to sound pompous, I emulate Her Majesty by having two birthdays: one in January, the other on 17 May, to commemorate my first visit to Minsmere, the Suffolk coastal paradise synonymous with cutting edge conservation and mesmeric encounters with nature.
This year saw the Golden Jubilee of my first visit, which came with those precious moments of schoolboy awakening and the realisation that all I wanted to do in life was watch birds. How that epiphany came about is regaled in the pages of Best Days with British Birds, in which I describe walking into one of Minsmere’s famous Scrape hides:
“Flipping up the wooden slat to look out, I experienced a sensation that, I guess, will never be repeated in my lifetime. Just like turning on a television, a whole kaleidoscope of birdlife was revealed in glorious, panoramic Technicolor, in an instant. I did not know where to look first…”
Hopes of reprising the 1970 visit looked forlorn when COVID-19 put the RSPB’s network of reserves out of bounds at the end of March. Fortunately, I was honoured by Minsmere’s management team, and given permission to make a solo pilgrimage around the reserve’s 2,500 acres – with the hide keys – to rekindle those precious teenage memories and produce many a new one.
To the welcoming bugles of Stone-curlews, it soon became clear the intervening halfcentury has brought about a recalibration of the seasons, with 21st Century migrants arriving from Africa and settling earlier, while a bevy of new colonists are also establishing themselves as breeding birds.
One regret was the absence of Nightingale arias to serenade my walk, with arduous nesting duties silencing the males at a time when they traditionally sang day and night. What remained of the dawn chorus was also muted. The crescendo of bird song, once a fixture of a morning in mid-May 50 years ago, is now best enjoyed in late April.
Time has also changed the vista from the hides overlooking the famous Scrape, where I was enthralled that well-remembered day by tiptoeing Avocets, the posturing of Black-tailed Godwits and the raucous cackles of gulls and terns.
Without doubt, the most beautiful gulls on view this visit were the two dozen or so Mediterranean Gulls in their breeding plumage of jet black heads, contrasting with icy white wings. This is one of several species to have taken advantage of a changing climate to colonise our shores over recent decades.
Equally, who would have thought the undoubted the highlight on that auspicious day 50 years ago, the thrilling sight of a Little Egret, in those days still an extremely
Mediterranean Gull in breeding plumage rare bird, would now be commonplace?
As if stage-managed, a Little Egret materialised on snowy wings at exactly the same location on the reserve fringes, this time to be followed by two others, giving testimony to how these adventurers from southern Europe have fully established themselves in Britain.
Out of a total day tally of 90 species seen or heard, Iberian Chiffchaff, Cetti’s Warbler and Hobby were three that would have been way off my radar as a schoolboy in the early 1970s, but made welcome additions to this spring’s list and provided further evidence of how a warming climate is having an impact on our birds.