Stanley, Falkland Islands

February 7, 2008

Well there is Bad News and Good News! The Bad News is that leaving South Georgia we sailed for two days into the roughest waters I have ever experienced at sea. The ship was really rocking and rolling…far more than just “lumpy” as one of my pals calls a rough day! The Good News is that I didn’t get sick. That may be partially due to the fact that I was in bed for the worst part of this rough part and my cabin is exactly in the middle of the ship….vertically and horizontally….so I was in the most “stable” part of the ship I could be in! Somehow; the movement of the ship is easier for me when I am lying down. I think it is like being rocked. That said, I hardly slept a wink. The sounds of the ship banging against the high waves, the moans and groans…the glasses moving on the counter….all of it kept me just on the verge of a sound sleep. I couldn’t help but think of the old wooden vessels that sailed these waters before and marveled how they were able to negotiate such turbulent seas. I also thought of the men of the Endurance, Shackleton’s ship, that was literally crushed to destruction as it was “frozen” in the ice floes. In reading the accounts of that adventure, almost every man commented on the sounds of the ship as it met its untimely fate. After my rough night at sea I can totally relate.

Arriving early in the morning we were anchored outside Stanley in an area called the “Roads of Port William” near York point on the northeastern side of the Falkland Islands. Port Stanley itself is a much protected harbor but alas the entrance to the harbor is too narrow for the Prinsendam and the water too shallow, so we were forced to stay outside the harbor….outside in the cold and blowing wind! For more than two hours after anchoring there was great debate on the part of the Captain if we would be able to use the tenders to go ashore. But finally, the decision was made and the bravest of us made our way down to the tender dock to make the two mile ride into the protection of the harbor. As is the case so many times, all the fear was ill-founded and the tender ride turned out to be one of the smoothest we have had. Funny how that happens!

Stanley is a colorful place….one that I will never forget because of the memorable local architecture. Small “monopoly” styled houses dot the coast line. These small cottages are all clustered on what appears to be three tiers or terraces overlooking the harbor and each house is more colorful than the next. A bright yellow roof covered brilliant orange walls on one house while its immediate neighbor was vivid blue with a red-orange roof. Every color you can imagine was juxtaposed against the other…and together they offered a most picturesque and festive welcome.

After a quick tour (quick because it is so small….there are only 2,000 people that live on the entire group of islands) of the “largest” and “governing center” of The Falklands, Stanley, we headed out into the “camp” area of the East Island toward a large privately owned sheep farm. On our way we passed acre after acre of fenced and protected fields marked with large colorful warnings about the mine fields. It seems that there are thousands of land mines left over from the famous Falklands War of 1982.. The fiercely- fought war, between Argentina and Great Britain, lasted 74 days and will never be forgotten by the Falklanders. Understandably, there is absolutely no love or respect whatsoever for the Argentineans today.

We marveled the rolling hills and low craggy mountains and could only imagine the troops as they fought against one another in the vast open expanses. Occasionally we would come across the remains of a downed helicopter. The landscape is rather eerie anyway with absolutely not a tree in sight anywhere. It seems that trees just can’t exist in the harsh and constant cold winds that cross the island. We also were intrigued by the “rock rivers” that flow throughout the islands. Hugh bolder filled rock flows that have been here for eons add to the overall bleakness and vastness of this most remote place.

Traveling for almost an hour in this unusual landscape on the one …one!...road that has only been here for four years we couldn’t imagine where we were headed. Not a house, a tree, a person….nothing in sight for miles and miles and miles. Eventually, after stopping to open countless gates in the often fenced area (we were traveling through various “farms” as we made our way north) we eventually came to the coastline and in the far distance we saw a small cluster of while buildings with bright red roofs…our destination.

The “Long Island Farm” is some 25,000 acres of rocky grassy farm land and is the home of the Watsons: Glenda and Mike. These hard-working people have worked this land for almost thirty years raising their family of three in almost total isolation. The have a flock of sheep that numbers 3,000…it takes four acres of land for one sheep to have enough grass to survive!....60 head of cows, chickens, cats, goats, horses and a dozen or so “working” dogs. They grow all their own food, cut peat for heating fuel and work from sunrise to sunset with apparent passion and glee.

Glenda and Mike greeted us with handshakes and hugs like we were long-lost friends. With cold winds blowing so hard that it made it difficult for us to walk, we made our way to the peat bog where Mike and his “neighbor” Pete, (his farm abuts the Watson’s but his house is more than forty miles away!) showed us how they “cut” the peat from the bog for their fuel. It takes some 125 cubic yards of peat to burn for a year. The peat has to be cut and dried for a year…so what we saw harvested will be used in 2010. Blocks of the wet stuff are cut into about nine inch cubes which, when dried, will be about half that size. They burn their stove twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. This stove heats their small house, heats the water that constantly flows from a mountain stream, and also cooks their food.

We watched a great demonstration of the dogs at work as they herded and cornered a small collection of wooly sheep. Some of these dogs are over 15 years old and are as fit and agile as puppies and seem to love their work. These skilled and well trained animals performed a ballet of sorts as they control the sheep…all led by quiet voice commands, a silent whistle and hand singles from Glenda and Mike.

Next we witnessed the shearing of two nervous sheep. The operation moved quickly and painlessly as they lost their year’s growth of thick wooly fleece. I really felt sorry for these poor animals that, once sheared, stood there shivering…no doubt from cold but equally out of embarrassment to be “nude” in front of so many strangers.

Tea and cookies followed in the small quaint….and warm!...house followed by a demonstration of the “gear” …not tack!....of their working horses.

We all left this wonderful place with a very special warm spot in our hearts for our new “friends”, Glenda and Mike. We were all awed by their love for one another, for their land, and for their lifestyle. My only regret is that I forgot my camera and thus do not have a record of our visit to their charming…if isolated…farm.

So, I am most pleased that the Captain was able to make the decision to let us go ashore on the Falklands….what a special day….what a special place!