Sleepless in the bush

Tents 28 & 29 

Tamboti, the KNP's tented bush-camp, is a cicadian's pearl of poison. This trip was no different.

In the early evening, lightening streaked across the ink-pot, a flare; later a watermark behind closed-eyes.

Close-by, swaddled in dusty blankets, I grumbled under the tent's porous waterproof; no more useful than old underwear in a breeze.

No animal scurried down below; no bird cried out & yet it's precisely for this post-sunset cacophony that we frequent this spot.

[Post mid 30 Cs] - an afternoon airing

Earlier that afternoon blue skies and baking temperatures called for ice-cream & the other goodies we'd need for the evening's open-fire; the same fire over which we'd prepare our dinner & around which we'd sit, as a family, chewing the fat, as these things usually pan out.

The storm had other ideas...

Tamboti's accommodation is Victorian - either a luxurious self-contained canvas tent ie: with WC (a water closet..) or a canvas tent, sans the WC. We like to avoid the 'sans WC' whenever possible ..

Nuptial readiness 

Occupying a toilet seat, pinking from the bum-before, at the shared ablution block, built for three - intended for 30, is ..unpleasant.

Securing a last-minute booking, as we did, usually pre-empts a canvas tent sans WC... This then our joy & a feature of this particular trip.

Plan B's dinner-affair was a soggy cheese & ham which I shared with the drip off the roof. Add a dram of loneliness - a consequence of the uncaring bunch indoors & life becomes a rainbow....

Lesser Spotted Eagle - feasting on ants.. An incongruous culinary delight

Enjoying the same soggy cheese & ham, belatedly, with the afternoon squirrel, a thief during ice-cream, isn't a memory worth savouring either.

If the hares of that night were conspicuously absent then the dust bunnies in tents 28 & 29, were abundantly fruitful. Into this grey, unserviced world crawled the creepies over our late-night beds. Mosquitoes winged & whined via the front door.

Much later I stalked inside soaked to the seat-warmer, ravenous & starved of night-life... Given that the nagging racket was loudest inside the tent, rather than out, I returned to my puddle, outside - a Tamboti insomniac.

Disaster!

Dubbed 'Nature's mistake' by the Soviet politburo in the 1960s, the Aral Sea (Sea of Islands), formerly one of the world's 4 largest lakes, has virtually ceased to exist.

Bordered by Kazakhstan in the north and by Uzbekistan in the south, the Aral Sea is currently little more than 10% of its original size. In the 1960s the Soviet authority diverted the two feeder rivers from the Aral Sea (forsaking the opinions of the scientific community) for an irrigation scheme.

Notwithstanding the success of the irrigation scheme, the once-thriving fishing industry has ceased to exist. Subsequent desiccation, economic hardship, pollution and CLIMATE CHANGE have devastated the local population - a socio-economic catastrophe rarely trumped anywhere else, ever.

Recent attempts by the Kazakhstan authorities to reverse the trend (funded by the World Bank) are showing some progress in the north. The Uzbekistan South Aral Sea, so-called after desiccation split the sea in two, is mostly dry and is virtually lost, some think irretrievably. In the north evaporation from the growing body of water has led to increased rainfall and is, at face value, the restoration project's lasting legacy.

In a vacuum of conscience and in the face of scientific opinion, why? The answer lies in fabric. An asinine, catch-all for the material on your back ie: 'White Gold' or cotton. The irrigation scheme created the world's largest exporter of cotton and in the process virtually destroyed the ecosystem.

In the North Aral Sea the fishery is recovering whilst in the South derelict boats lie beached in ever-expanding desertification.

Political will in the North is an affirmation of faith and a socio-economic boon for foresight and fortitude, the ecological benefits notwithstanding. In the South Aral, by way of comparison, an inept government & a misguided laissez faire attitude, is a triumph of short-term gain over the longevity of a country and her people. The exposed seabed is a soup of toxic waste and has been, somewhat unsurprisingly, opened up to oil exploration..

If the Aral Sea is not a microcosm of planetary greed vs. longevity & if the lesson isn't trite or the solution not clearly written in the toxic dust, then we are, as a species, truly irretrievable and a product of our own divergence.

Stringers are globally threatened!

From the time of skins, flint & fire tales of self-indulgence, chronicled from generation to generation & unfettered by cultural nuance, feature prominently in the recorded evolution of Homo sapiens (spp.). Homo sapiens avialaedii [ie: birders](the nominate race btw.), extant in South Africa & in other interesting locales around this fine nut, advance the collective good with unsurpassed verve & imagination. It is precisely this craving for perfection; a veritable clawing from within the chasm of excellence, that gives rise to a recorded narrative some of which falls the tiniest twitch short of an ass's tail.

Susceptible as I am to tales, as any other self-respecting H.s.avialaedii must surely be, particularly when birds or birding feature prominently, I confess a naivety unbecoming of the hitherto cynically suspicious. One such story was narrated to me on a cold, miserable, wind-blown night, somewhere between the biscuits & cheese & a stout glass of chamomile for the sandman's ticket. Here it is; I swear it's true..

On a midsummer's day, many summer-seasons past & on an island renowned for its frenetic pace & time-honed honesty, claims of a Siberian Thrush (btw. - a tart's tick it is not) clanged around the grapevine like a well-timed kick to the knicks; a knack the claimant had become notorious for. Notoriety, in the UK twitching-genre, is reputation's straight-jacket & the claimant felt the jacket a tad unfair for truth. 

Notices of intent were posted from pillar to post. Photographic evidence proved the tick extant; a redemption if ever there was. Enlivened by this irrefutable evidence the relenting naysayers mobilised for a lightening raid on the targeted thrush. A spirit of comradery infused the claimant's claim & the prodigal welcomed back into the community bosom. Shockingly the thrush did a duck & flew the coup for none to see..

Closer scrutiny of the claimant's photographic evidence revealed a committee-like anomaly of angle; a trickery of shade & light. The photo was indeed the thrush but a thrush never in life or warmth of heart & feather but of cold clay & of modelled, bad intent. Expertly-tried & subsequently banished to a purgatory of excommunication the claimant wonders still the stringer's fields alone; a trumpet-free legacy of shame.  

It's a sad tale & uniquely incongruous with the founding epithet of I.NUT* for there are no stringers here! A royal tale has terned the page but stringers are indeed the figments of a chronicled past. Not so?



*The International Union of National Twitchers

   

Apathy & the subjective narrative

Welcome to Diaspora* - the online social world where you are in control..        

If you look at social media for what it is & not what we purport it to be, it's much easier to accept an agenda-riddled narrative. The facts are presented as THE objective truth & almost always appeal to a version of morality apposite with the mainstream culture of the consumptive user ie: the reader or the viewer. These are always engineered versions of the founding facts or again, if you prefer, simple subjective assaults on the truth to validate an argument or a response; violent or otherwise.

The Natural World dominates my social media feed; a feed custom-made for the purpose of entrenching my version of reality & it's precisely this subjective reality which compounds susceptibility to engineered versions of the founding facts. It's emotive currency & almost always exploitable -

• Cetaceans ie: whales, porpoises & dolphins feature prominently in my social media feed. [Fact]
• Cetaceans are marine mammals; not fish. [Fact] I've been to Sea World; a proactive institution if ever there was... No? (The movie 'Blackfish' highlights Killer Whales turned killer (there's a shock) from confinement in tanks too small for purposes of recreational / financial exploitation. [Simply appalling.])
• Cetaceans are eaten, by people. [Fact; at least as far as I can tell.] I've never actually eaten one nor seen anyone do so myself.
• Cetaceans are intelligent, sentient beings. [One of my own presupposed / founding facts]
• Cetaceans are brutally butchered in acts of violence so abhorrent that the very fabric of morality screams bloody murder. [A subjective fact.]
• Cetaceans murdered in the Faroes [Denmark administered] & in Taiji [Japan] is a poke in the eye of good people everywhere.. [An emotive conclusion to a subjective fact - & certainly for the individuals either butchered / to be butchered]

The logical interpretation premised on this 'fact' is a damning of the Danes (vicariously), the Faroese & definitely the Japanese!   AHOY Sea Shepherd - here's my wallet & yes the irony of fighting violence with violence is not lost on me as long as the subjective morality of the narrative justifies the action...

The Faroese & the Japanese have exploited harvested cetaceans for generations. In the Faroe Islands locals justify their grindadrap ('The Grind' ie: the annual, sustainable utilisation of Pilot Whales) in tradition or in cultural heritage. The socio-economic benefits are 'clear..' & the distributed meat feeds (1st-world) people largely reliant on the seas for sustenance... In Taiji Japanese whalers herd a plethora of dolphin / porpoise species [per quota] into coves & harvest the lot, mostly for the table, although to be fair some do end up in captivity..

We Some of us berate the Chinese / Vietnamese for their obsessive animal-product demands, a consumptive abhorrence* based on ignorance an inherited tradition & yet so many dissenting voices wear diamonds on their gnarly digits; mere stones & assigned an impossible / improbable value - another equally ignorant inherited tradition. You could argue that stones don't suffer the slaughter & that's true specific to the stones but perhaps not as true for the child-slave in the pit.

When tradition or culture perpetuates the inhumane exploitation of free-roaming species then it is incumbent on each & every one of us, men & women, to live up to the very highest standards dictated by conscience; an obligation or compass if you like without which we cannot claim custody of good & evil. When the left is pitted against the right & the Shepherds blockade tradition we, the literate / fence-hugging, undecided many sit in truthful judgement; a judgement of conscience rather than of subjective interpretation.

Humanity finds itself at a moral crossroad & as individuals, on a macro level, we have to concede that doing nothing is simply a contradiction of our own humanity.

Bird Island - Doing science!

ACCESS STRICTLY VERBODEN!

For the great unwashed it's positively, absolutely & definitely no bloody entry. So we went in...where the good birds are.

The enforcement authorities' anti-this-&-that boat, launched from Port Elizabeth's Coega harbour, would get us there.

Displayed more generously than is, perhaps, socially desirable, particularly in civilised ornithological company, our 'Doing Science' passes flapped idly in the 30 knot Eastern Cape blow. Clearing the Port's security bunker, however, was an unexpected joy; a leisurely affair & a bagful of bureaucratic highlights. Cavity searches, obfuscation of intent and asset forfeiture, the de rigueur.

Sunrise on Bird Island

Much later that month two non-science (pffffft) ladies joined us on board for a day-excursion thus giving rise to the perpetual moral dilemma men face at sea, whilst becalmed, in port, waiting for clearance. There are NO gentlemen-facilities at Coega. None! Trees are few; cover conspicuously shorter than desirable.. Piddling one's wet-suit is one thing, doing the same in one's sandals is positively frowned upon, particularly in a boat built for 6. The delay we enjoyed at the security bunker and the soothing sway of the RIB [ie: rubber-duck], masquerading as 'boat' & afloat in our eyeballs, was somewhat illuminating. It takes a real man to preempt drowning, challenge the laws of public indecency & beg for the side of the boat... Only the desperate accept a headwind challenge too!

The 60 kilometers, or so, ex-Coega's Ngqura port (or 'ntssk -ah' in phonetic Xhosa) to the Bird Island archipelago is fabulous fun, particularly if you enjoy alternatively smashing your forehead on the floor and embedding one's teeth in the individual's skull alongside. My son, Sean, who joined me on this trip in Alisha's absence & whose cranium is a marvel of well-bred engineering, provided some perspective. Fortunately it's only a 50 minute mosh or sense might have come a-knocking, a terror I've successfully avoided thus far.

Propelled thusly by twin out-boards & @ full throttle or at 70 kph in 4 ft swell, the archipelago's sudden appearance on the blur brought a trickle to me eye.. Then again it might have been Neptune's lost sea alternatively squelching underfoot or snaking down my forehead; a polite reminder that it was in fact winter and sea on one's head has a chill factor almost as high as my wife's after a late-returning business meeting ..

We hove-to alongside the new jetty, a delight of rickety rust and donations well spent. The archipelago boasts 4 islands of moderate size - Bird Is. [not be confused with Bird Island..] is the largest and most biologically diverse. As an observation island nomenclature is seemingly derived in a barrel o' rum. Bird Is. itself is as the label reads - a rock in the sea upon which roost, breed & squabble many birds. It's an allsorts-packet of avian noise pollution. Nearby Seal Island, however, hasn't enjoyed a basking seal ..since Grand-pappy's first hornpipe. Black Rock is brown. Stag Island hasn't seen a stag unless on an evening before a splicing of the knot. Certainly no young buck here!

186000 Gannets - alongside neglected infrastructure

First impressions notwithstanding what awaits the uninitiated is breathtaking, unnerving even. I'm not ashamed to confess a slack-jawed croak & a shaking of a tearful fist at what I can only describe as an avian mirage. Confronted with this truth it's easy to admit that my birding had been, until then, mostly superficial. The vista was unnatural; the cacophony an auditory assault & the avian soup proof that I stood a charlatan, sadly inept. Truly a privilege & on that point my sincerest gratitude to the two people who asked us along.

Antarctic Tern - Sterna vittata vittata

Lacking the credentials of most researchers invited to Bird, we (Sean & I) were ostensibly on the island to assist on a long-term Roseate (Sterna dougallii) & Antarctic Tern (Sterna vittata) project.

Antarctic Tern - S.v.tristanensis incl.

The tern project involves the capture, morphological measurement (fundamental taxonomic measurements) and alphanumerical marking (for field recognition) of breeding Sterna dougallii & of non-breeding Sterna vittata. Up to 300 pairs of Roseate Tern breed on Bird although we counted only 100 pairs during the week we were there. This is home to the largest breeding Roseate Tern colony in the sub-region; a fragile reminder..

Sterna dougallii

Equally important is the arrival of nbr. Antarctic Tern, in our winter, from both the Indian & Atlantic Oceans. Three distinct races (or subspp) have been recorded on the island. S.v.vittata (the nominate race & our most common visitor) breeds on Kerguelen & Heard Islands; S.v.sanctipauli (contentious) from Amsterdam & St Paul Islands and S.v.tristanensis on Tristan & Gough. Understanding the migration patterns of the various races is trite. Understanding patterns, in turn, is premised on the identification of individuals in the field. Although the ringing of birds is intrusive by definition, particularly near colonies, if done correctly, injuries are negligible if not avoided altogether. The data collected is both fascinating and an essential variable in real-world conservation strategies.

Weather for pelagic vagrants..

To mitigate the impact or stress on roosting / sitting birds mist-netting is conducted at night. Weather vagaries play an important role. For interest rain voids the attempt. Too much wind and the nets become dangerous if not too conspicuous, limiting the catch. Too little wind & the terns either sit tight or remain out to sea. Wind direction, not to be confused with wind strength, plays a part too. During the first three sessions the wind backed out of the SSW. Later in the week the SE was more prominent, veering from the morning's NW. We caught more terns in the SSW than we did [same spot & time with the same equipment] during netting periods with the SE dominant & for reasons science hasn't as yet disclosed to me..

Other than on two nights [Fri / Sat] where we were precluded from ringing, wind speeds varied from an estimated 1 - 5 [Beaufort scale] & here's where it gets interesting. Bird Island & nearby St Croix were proclaimed as part of Addo Elephant NP in 2005. A MPA (Marine Protected Area) was proclaimed around Bird to protect marine resources; abalone or perlemoen being the most important of those resources.

The authorities do their best to enforce the MPA from Bird itself [permanent ranger station] & from Port Elizabeth some 80 kilometers further west. Notwithstanding their efforts, at $420 per kg, the incentive to poach is too tempting for the many well-organised [armed] gangs working the area.

Doing science - S. dougallii [1st caught 1999]

Poachers launch, under cover of darkness, from the nearby Sundays river-mouth. Look-outs, utilising the latest night-vision technology, are posted on hilltops & informants are placed within various organisations. The enforcement task is onerous, to put it mildly. Asia's abalone fever is truly driving the local abalone population to extinction.

Common Tern - note the ivory bill-tip

Wind speeds of less than 5 (ie: 20 knots / 6 ft swell) are ideal for tern-ringing. Those same conditions are also ideal for clandestine activities. Our attitude, as a consequence, was more often than not characterised by abnormal social behaviour; exuberant grumbling even - 'Blow damn you; no bloody wind please..'  It was difficult not to shake a bent-stick at the water-ghosts whilst on mistnet-rounds.

Given that mist-netting is a nocturnal exercise, filling the daylight hours, with effective science, might have proved daunting. It wasn't.

We're the tanker HMS Arrogance. Move! We are a lighthouse

Cue the Cape Gannet; all 186000 of them. [+1 Aussie Gannet (a gannet in a gale-stack)]. The somewhat tedious inconvenience of incessant droppings [sh*t] on one's scalp notwithstanding, the abiding memory on Bird is the sheer sensory assault of the gannet colony.

Morus capensis - more's the point

Ammonia-leaching from guano deposits, underfoot and resplendent on one's head, is an olfactory delight unheralded anywhere else except perhaps in the Ellis Park latrine at half-time. It's uniquely eye-watering.

Grounded gannets secure their spot in a covetous fashion. In final approach the high-pitched oowah -oowah & cranked to a rapid crescendo at landing, is a warning to the missus that daddy is home. Bring beer! Any girls slow on the uptake get reminded of their duties before remorse sets in & the two engage in neck-rubbing & a soothing head-raised 'look-at-my-gular-stripe: woo-woo'. Ah sweet.. Doodle or think of doodling the neighbour's girl & the matter is debated at length. It's a duel of bills; blood flows.

It's easy to get taken in by the spectacle but science demands a more critical eye. 1st order of business -walk around the colony [as apposed to through the colony] noting alphanumeric rings ie: large, coloured rings with visible numbering.

Cape Gannet - circa 186000 of em on Bird

Most ringed birds are banded with a single steel or aluminium-compound ring only. These rings, whilst discernible in the field as rings, are not readily visible for accurate reading. To validate a ringing program the recapture / recognition of individuals is essential. It's hit & miss at best. To alleviate the problem, alphanumeric rings [large, plastic, coloured rings & easily read numbers for field recognition] are affixed to the bird's other leg when first captured. These rings are easily read in the field & migratory data effectively collected & collated.

Sleeping gannets sleep

PLEASE REPORT ANY ALPHA RINGS OR COLOURED RINGS TO SAFRING. [http://safring.adu.org.za/retrap.php]. NOTE THE LEG ON WHICH THE COLOURED RING IS AFFIXED & ALPHA No.  and IN THE ABSENCE OF AN ALPHANUMERIC No. RECORD THE SEQUENCE OF EACH COLOURED RING FROM THE BOTTOM UP. It's fun & it's important.

Sean assists the ranger team - oiled birds

On the forth morning, whilst doing science, we noted a handful of oiled birds ie: befouled by oil / fuel from a passing ship pumping the bilge; in clear & flagrant disregard for international regulations on this point. We had no other alternative but capture the soiled birds & we did so as best we could mitigating the disturbance in the colony. Although the island is equipped with rehabilitation facilities, those are rudimentary at best. Captured birds are re-hydrated & prepared for transport to the mainland where the rehabilitation process is more thorough.

Portnet on routine inspection

Although oiling is in itself not necessarily debilitating if flight is not compromised, birds do, especially severely oiled birds, suffer from insulation loss & for some species that is usually fatal. Penguins are a case in point. Fortunately SANNCOB [http://www.sanccob.co.za/] is at the forefront of seabird rehabilitation & on 24-hour call. They run a volunteer program too.. Don't be shy.

The worst of our birds were removed by helicopter not long afterwards.

Mid-week the weather worsened, equally annoying for ringers & poachers both. Doing science, however, ignores the vagaries of the weather, even at winds of 30 knots plus. Preferring the relative comfort of the 3x3 'Researcher's Hut' [No mistake. We were living the high life..] to the vortex outside, we nevertheless couldn't ignore the pull of science & braved the elements for another scoping foray at the tern colony.

The researcher's abode (Far right)

Shore-based pelagic birding is at its very best when the blow is @ its blowiest. I cannot be sure who elevated the scope away from the colony to the wind-lashed seas [perhaps the wind..?] but science was roundly beaten when a single Wedge-tailed Shearwater (Puffinus pacificus) hove into view, a vagrant to these waters. I confess just a step-to-the-left, then perhaps a step-to-the-right & just maybe, a turn-around or two.. - Woohoo! The scientist banished & the twitcher unshackled but only for a minute.. Doing science proved this bird to be at least one of two regulars to these waters. A single bird was ringed on Bird some years ago; this one wasn't & unless the shoe was thrown this bird was a different individual. A project born?

Sunset in heaven's aviary

Three key species breed on Bird. Roseate Tern, Cape Gannet [Aussie / Cape hybrids - as on Malgas?] & the iconic Donkey of the Sea, the African Penguin. If you stood still long enough a pair of these braying malevolents would call your shoes home. They're everywhere - behind the sink, under the table, under / on / over / behind / in-front of rocks; in burrows / not in burrows; in the bread-bin & bunkered-down in thick vegetation waiting for the unsuspecting egghead to wander past. A sharp, gouging bill-strike to the talus or the posterior talofibular ligament [ie: science for ankle], is a sharp reminder that 2600 pairs breed here & in very limited space.

Spheniscus demersus - U looking at me?

If you think these monsters, veneered in a coat of cute, are warm & fuzzy, think again! Spheniscus demersus is a pompous, unpleasant, devious, bad-tempered, psychopathic bandit of pain hell-bent on clandestine ambush. Nothing fishy here! Science deprived me of a neck to wring & more's the pity! If science has saved its neck then Homo sapiens [Latin for 'wise man' & a misnomer if ever there was] more than tighten the rope.

The A. Penguin population, at the start of the 21st century, is no more than 10% of the number recorded a mere 100 years ago. In three generations breeding pairs have declined from 140000 to circa 25000 today. Why? Purse-seine fisheries - at least that's what the greenies have us believe. Perhaps the fisheries industry would consider funding a neutral team of balanced individuals to conduct research on the affect penguins have on the tin-can industry? Bloody birds could be eating us out of home & pantry!

Seabirds of all shapes & sizes, when threatened, usually get the dry heaves. Be foolish enough to extend your arms for a bracing cuddle & the ensuing projectile paella de marisco will leave you a wet-wipe short of a full-box. Our oiled gannets [see above] were a triumph of forceful expulsion; a processional emesis of anchovy fish. Light-hearted fun for all..

Off to sea to steal a fish from me

Doing science, post-emesis, confirmed a count of 15 anchovies from a single bird. By extrapolation & if we assume No 3. (not too sciencey I know) is a run-of-the-mill kinda gannet & the other 185999, plus the damn Aussie, are also your average Joe's & Jane's, the colony consumes 2789985 fish each day. Oh & that's based on the assumption that they feed only once; greedy buggers. 45 anchovy fillets in a tin .. [116249 tins] @ R32.99 each = R3835066.88 [an exacting science] per day! R3835066.88 = $359088.65 (retail exchange rates) or $131 067360 worth of tinned fish each year (includes the festive season for accuracy). Add those bloated, snappy buggers, all dressed in B&W & it's no wonder the fisheries industry is up in arms!

SA's hake [Science falls apart here. A hake is not an anchovy now is it?] industry accounts for approximately 132000 tonnes per annum or 1% of the global supply. The global supply of 13200000 tonnes at 400 grams per box = 33000000000 boxes @ R32.99 each or R1088670000000 / $105696116500 or 806 similar sized gannet colonies give or take a bird or two [in a leap year add 1].

Here's the equation on a plate - The annual global anchovy catch is circa 10.5 million tonnes [Aye captain, tonnes. (Multiply by 1000 for kilograms & x 1000 more for grams)]. Engraulis capensis [the South African anchovy] is a comparative whopper at 17 cm or 68 grams [approx. (dietary peculiarities excl.)]. That's 15441200000000000 Engraulidae Homo sapiens account for each year & a damn sight more fishy than you might have guessed.

Namibia's breeding population has crashed by 95%. The Engraulis encrasicolus (European Anchovy) collapse is, perhaps, just a coinkydink

One last snippet of science if I can. If a twin-outboard dingy doesn't tie up @ the jetty & the swell is 4 ft, how far must a scientist leap to stay out of the sea?

Not far enough as I found out to a strangled bleat, betwixt the boat & dry land and to the amusement of the crew... Two cracked ribs a reminder that the science on Bird stays on Bird!

Your FBF will send you to jail / gaol or even prison!

FBFs, (foreign birder friends / facebook birding foes or fellow-hobbyists / faithful best friends / frivolous bloody fiends ....) suckers of ambush-marketing, often call us aside seeking assistance out-in-the-field. This assistance is often limited to general birding advice but does, on occasion, entail a crossing of the legal rubicon & this is where it gets interesting. I'm going to use broad strokes for the devil here resides not in the detail but in the practice as a whole.

Who has been asked to guide, lead a tour or assist a fee-paying group out in the field even if only as a driver / captain? It's a commendation of your skills of course. A recognition of prowess or of the individual's ornithological standing, feathery enough for most, but unless you have been certified competent to do so, as prescribed in SA law, you are guilty of an offence.

Act No. 3 of 2014: Tourism Act, 2014 refers & I'll paraphrase:

1. The National Registrar of Tourist Guides maintains a central database of all tourist guides. If your name does not appear on the register; you are not a guide. BTW: FGASA training does not make you a guide, site or otherwise. 
2. If your name does not appear on the register then by implication you are not party to the code of conduct & ethics published in accordance with section 52. ie: You are not a guide. 
3. If you have not passed the prescribed quality assurance process, then your name will not be eligible for submission to the Registrar. ie: You are not a guide.
4. If you are not wearing a provincial registration-badge, you are deemed to be in contravention of the Act. NB: - If the prescribed registration certificate is tucked away in your khaki-shorts & your badge prone to conspicuous absence - you are not a guide. Your employer's 3rd-party and public liability insurance is void as a result.  
5. Registration on the register is valid for a period of three (3) years only. Failure to renew = you are not a guide.
6. Competence ie: quality assurance, is determined by the South African Qualifications Authority. Haven't sat your test? (National Qualifications Framework Act, 2008) - You are not a guide.
7. Not in possession of at least a Level-1 First Aid certificate? You are not a guide. 

Any person may report a contravention with the Provincial Registrar who must, if the complaint discloses an offence, lay a charge with the South African Police Service.

• NO person who is not a registered tourist guide or whose registration as a tourist guide has been suspended or withdrawn, may for reward, whether monetary or OTHERWISE, act as a tourist guide. 
• No person or company may for the promotion of any business undertaking employ any person who is not a registered tourist guide.

It is an offence to guide illegally. Offenders are liable, on conviction, to a fine or imprisonment not exceeding one year; time-enough to promote birds & birding to your cell-cohabitants.   

Cease & desist, immediately, if you are not COMPETENT ie: a registered guide. Enjoy your hobby and leave well-alone. One more thing. If you are not in possession of a valid PrDP (professional drivers permit) don't even think of driving your FBF around the country .. The consequences boggle the mind..!

FIFA gives the Spix's the boot

Social media gives us access to a plethora of communiqué & usually filtered in favour of channeled interests. In my case that means globally imperiled species, avian or otherwise. Some of the material is well-researched & written well-enough to impart a telling message. Agenda-driven bias, unadulterated drivel, financial slant, predilections & prejudice make up the balance.

Too much nasty tends to fog our intellectual frailties & therein lies the rub. We become immune to plight particularly if the issue is indirect or geographically removed. Notwithstanding, ours is a connected web of truths.

Extinction symbol

Growing up on a family diet of club & country I always enjoy the unpublished drama / enigma that is the World Cup behind the media-curtain. It adds hot-sauce to what is, without doubt, the world's premier sporting spectacle. Hot-sauce is also camouflage for substance.

Fox's 3D computer-animated musical, Rio, a favourite in most homes, tells the story of the world's last male Blue Macaw & his subsequent introduction to a Rio-based lady friend. It's a nice enough story and he & she fall in love and so on. Only the Blue Macaw or more accurately Spix's (or Little Blue) Macaw is, in fact, critically endangered and quite possibly extinct in the wild. The animated message is clear enough even though the constructive aspects are eventually lost in translation if not trumped by the entertainment value of the ensuing adventure. That raises some concerns.

Take the 2014 FIFA World Cup™, for example, or more specifically its official mascot, Fuleco. Fuleco the armadillo loves to sing & dance which is fair enough. He's Brazilian after-all & apart from his raunchy act with scantily-clad women, an animated joy for children. Fuleco represents the Three-banded Armadillo, quintessentially Brazilian as are Fuleco's samba- exhortations it seems.  

The Three-banded Armadillo is a son of the Caatinga (White Forest) woodlands, also the natural habitat for Spix's Macaw. The Caatinga, in turn, is one of six (6) eco-regions (ie: in Brazil) & covers 850,000 km² or approximately 10% of the country. This area is poorly represented in Brazil's Conservation Network. Only 1% of the Caatinga is formally protected with a further 6% declared a 'Sustainable Use Conservation Area'. Endemism levels vary from about 10% in birds to 60%, give or take, for fish. The Caatinga is also home to 15 000 000 of the poorest peoples in Brazil who are still largely dependent on forest & agricultural activity for income. Unfettered access has & continues to contribute to the unsustainable exploitation of the natural resources.

By the time fieldwork was initiated to locate Spix's Macaw, some thirty years ago, it was too late. At that time just 15 or so captive Spix's were formally recorded. Only a single male bird was located in the wild. In the mid-nineties His Excellency Sheikh Saud bin Muhammed bin Ali Al-Thani of Qatar bought most of the remaining captive collections & under his exacting standards the subsequent breeding program proved successful. In 2012 the Brazilian government established NEST which now formally houses the Spix's formerly homed in various conservation organisations, elsewhere. Descended from the original 7 wild-caught birds some 90-odd captive Spix's are extant today. The Spix's, if not free at last, are at least home at last.

The Three-banded Armadillo or the colloquial tatu-bola, 'ball armadillo', hence the FIFA Fuleco connection, has suffered a precipitous decline in the last decade so much so that's it's currently listed on IUCN's red list. In 2012 the Caatinga Association launched a national campaign to propose the tatu-bola as the official 2014 FIFA World Cup™ mascot. The campaign highlighted not only the plight of tatu-bola, represented by Fuleco, the most popular World Cup mascot of all time, but also of the Caatinga itself.

What of Brazil's people? The media reports a collective dislike for FIFA and more specifically, nation-wide protests, some violent, against the subsequent spend to comply with the associated staging-requirements. Given the unprecedented social unrest, particularly during last year's preparatory 2013 FIFA Confederations Cup, most would agree that Brazil's peoples haven't wholly embraced the 2014 FIFA World Cup™ with open arms.

Those same Brazilians (9 in 10) insist that the 2014 FIFA World Cup™ should be, at the very least, environmentally friendly; the Copa Verde - the greenest World Cup ever. Although 6 of the stadiums are LEED-certified [Leadership in Energy & Environmental Design] ie: a best-in-class green building certification program; the long-term sustainability remains elusive. Brazil's investment in stadiums undeniably advances ecological technologies but does very little to ensure social justice & this, more than anything else, negates the Copa Verde as a simple contradiction in terms. Dispossession of land, particularly from its first peoples ie: Brazil's indigenous tribes, of which 1400-odd tribes are believed to have become extinct since 1500, is the lasting legacy. The farce that is indigenous land destroyed to build ecologically-certified stadiums is trite. Equally farcical, defying logic really, are FIFA's subsequent efforts to promote the environment through it's Green Goal program - largely premised on zero-emissions. The event's carbon-footprint, as a whole, is not inconsequential..

Where then does that leave Spix's Macaw & our tatu-bola? Nowhere really.

First-off, there is very little influence on national policy specific to the Caatinga, if any, as a result of the perceived successes arising from the 2014 FIFA World Cup™, Fuleco's domestic popularity or from FIFA's not-for-profit coffers. There are no irrevocable offers tabled from which the Caatinga's peoples will derive any meaningful financial benefit & certainly not from FIFA or from Brasilia. By implication the unsustainable harvest of indigenous habitat will continue unabated. Although the perpetual question posed of FIFA on whether the organisation owes the world anything other than a successful football tournament remains moot, we noted the social apathy of the indigenous people, particularly in Cuiabá. It's a sad indictment of the authorities & for us, at least, the abiding legacy. The most optimistic assessment of the social impact on these people is arbitrary at best & grossly unjust, at worst. We concede that 'FIFA will not take the stadiums home in their suitcases..'. Notwithstanding the political nuances, unprecedented allegations of corruption & the stew that is Brazil's social web and history, FIFA will, however, depart in mid-July & they will take with them the untried opportunity to make a real investment in the social & environmental fabric of a country considered globally incomparable in biodiversity. This is the abiding travesty. In fact it's a poke in the collective eye of green-grass football-fans, anywhere.

LBJs for breakfast

Thank you.  

There are few moments more rewarding than a simple thank you from the young people who share your life and who, by virtue of genetics, call you Dad. I'm lucky that way.

My three children, Amber (17), Michelle (15) and Sean (14), assisted by Alisha (?), consider it prudent to spoil me mushy-brown more often than I care to count and who am I to deny them the joy..? Sebastian Ethan Kirk, unashamedly late & due later this winter's season will undoubtedly add to the festivities as I grow older. I'm clearly a shameless glutton!

I recently found myself on the receiving end of a busload of chocolates & a few relaxing nights in the Ivory Tree section of Pilanesberg NP.

A brownish grey dash of lime

For those of you who haven't been to the Pilanesberg volcano it's about time you did, not for its rugged aesthetic appeal - there are prettier spots everywhere or for its game viewing - that too is surpassed elsewhere but because it exists as a living monument and proof sufficient that with some foresight & fortitude we can polish the pristine from the degraded wrongs of a commercial past and I, for one, love it for it's resilient character as a result.

At first glance Pilanesberg is clearly money-shopped. Look carefully and in certain spots trees find asymmetrical lines but, like the rabble in the back, also provides reams of unwritten canvas for a better future. Potential rather than output usually gets me warm & fuzzy. I won't dwell on the accommodation. We had more fun trying to recreate the Audi ad-campaign using moonlight, a candle and our old bush-banger than we did at the 5-star table & that's fine with me. It's the simple joys in life that abide longest even if we failed, somewhat spectacularly, at replicating Ogilvy & Mather's ad-campaign.

Launching Kirk, Kirk & Kirk's - Banger's & mash campaign

A familiar friend

Pilanesberg is, whichever way you cut it, a smudged sketch of the girl next door and like most pigtails, not exactly the prom-queen and yet interesting in an understated way.

The avian protagonists are equally understated and yet.. interesting; little-brown-jobs mostly & if the colour-collective is descriptive, then a tongue-in-cheek-like bag of song. It's free too if you know just where to scratch.

Chat to fellow-enthusiasts familiar with the Pilanesberg lark & most will say Pretoriae steals the show. Why? I cannot say unless perhaps in premature anticipation of a potential split from its geriatric-like, white-headed conspecific more readily found further west.

These winter-chilled LBJ-songsters are as vocally exuberant as the Spanish exit-queue at the Aeroporto Internacional de São Paulo. They're just not fun to talk to.

Finding these enthusiasts in a sea of brown, therefore, is more back-foot now than it is at summer's kick-off. Even so, armed with chilly sympathy & a tolerance for dust, spawned by the in-flight antics of the Big 5 brigade headed for the siting's board, LBJs are readily found.

Ramos - a chilly glare!

The sedentary SA's Botha - not a happy winter lark

These little browns are, in the word's of SoD's Forsythe himself - 'my favourites!' Song or scowl they're ultra-cool in the early sun & a gift. Unwrapping lark from chat is all the rage. Beats an old-boy's tie at lunchtime, any day!

Just a step to your right...

A leap of faith!

Cape Recife - Port Elizabeth

Bridled Tern habitat 

At the sentient core lurks a behavioral response to stimulus, learned or inherent and when condensed, a simple derivative of three emotive forces - Certainty. Uncertainty & Fear, real or imagined. It's a formula for lifelong confusion and misadventure. It's also why we venture into an uncertain world brimming with certainty and quite often, hamstrung by fear.

It's a simple recipe but, like most subjective taste-tests, the outcome is almost always dependent on the buds anticipating the spoon and that, my enlightened friends, is what makes life worth living!

This story is a tale of three. The first - the least impressive; the second - an affirmation that wisdom is NOT commensurate with grey and the last -a confirmation that a step into the abyss is not always a venture into the unknown.

Addo NP - peaceful

Bridled Tern had been reported from Port Elizabeth's (EC) Cape Recife. Certainty. Would it still be there when we got there? Unknown. Worth trying? Fear.

Behavioral response - offset the odds against the disappointment of another long-shot, take in Tsitsikamma NP and settle the matter of the little bridge over shallow water. We'd return home certain in the knowledge that we'd done the right thing...

As it turned out we dipped on the tern (as we did for our 800 Challenge & as we've done on countless other occasions); confirmed our suspicions that Addo National Park is indeed a peace park and suffered the ignominy of a cracked windshield whilst cruising on Distronic Plus with proximity control. Clearly we were too close..

Natural spa - freedom

The tern thus discarded, perhaps for the more deserving, we made our way westwards to what is, for me at least, the jewel in South Africa's crown; Storm's River.

The Kirks - a sleep pile

Here the seas are as wild as anywhere I've seen & having spent three memorable years (a gap year...) covering the corners of this fine rock, it's fair comment I think. The air is moss-fresh, the natural forest hauntingly green and the seas above which White-necked Raven and tern whirl, wholly untamed. Black Oystercatchers bound from rock to rock seemingly in offhand pursuit of the many Hyrax (dassies) which call these jagged rocks home.

The Storms River suspension bridge

On a different note a brief comment on the newly renovated restaurant complex. The Cattle Baron is exceptional and kudos to Sanparks, Tourvest & the staff on site for their achievement. If this is the quality of service that Sanparks is going to deliver across its portfolio then WOO bloody HOO! Now complain you bast..s!

The weird & the wonderful

If the first part of this adventure was a miss, the second was a mega-slam of a different kind and as these things go I found myself the butt of the hit, as always. If the 'cling-to-anything-solid' uproarious laughter from the busload of foreign tourists is anything to judge these things by, then they too enjoyed the show.

The story starts slowly enough - 'get a picture of the sea. Leave the long lens in the house and take the spanking-new wide-angle. Take the new camera body too. That way you can take it all in...'

Storms River - Part 1 'Innocent intent'

Armed thusly with a small country's annual GDP clutched to my bosom & slightly less so perched atop my winners' hat, I bestrode the shore looking to immortalise the lucky wave.

Behind (far behind) the family watched. These pictures are theirs not mine..

Storms River - Part 2 'Last Rights'

When gazing through the viewfinder & through a wide-angle lens, one may miscalculate the proximity of the subject in view. As a seasoned 'get-much-closer-Pro' I take my craft quite seriously. Of their own volition and by enforced habit, the ten little piggies, attached to the end of my feet as these things normally are, scrabbled the rest of me closer to the break.

With Proximity Control consigned to the sissy-basket I edged even closer, well past the yawn of sanity.

I vaguely remember hearing the seventh whisper sweet nothings as it reared overhead. Click!

I recall a distant shore-based warning - 'damn fool' or something similar. Click!           Gotcha...

Storms River - Part 3 'Coronation'

I remember, quite vividly as it turns out, the freshly scrubbed rocks and startled fish, pretty little things, as I thundered by, cartwheeling merrily along the sea-bottom. Fortunately I swallowed enough of the sea, as I made my way southwards, to cushion the impact of a happy assortment of barnacles, muscles, sea-shells and other lethal debris which accompanied me on my way.

Overwhelmed, as you can get with the beauty of things, whilst in spiral towards the back-break, I thought it prudent, fair play if you will, to donate my winners' hat, designer glasses, three kilos of skin, scalp and nail and most of my pride to the grateful dead in Jones' Locker.

Storms River - Part 4 'The Aftermath'

Surfacing sometime later that afternoon, alongside a cavorting pod of Southern Right Whale, I recall concluding that the best lens for the job might have been a macro...

If revenge is a dish best served cold, then there is a satiating serving in Part 3 of this tale. Exit Dad - enter kids: - the insignificant matter of a little bridge.

Bloukrans Bridge - 216 meters of terminal truth

Whilst doing the backward triple along the seafloor it transpired that my son had drowned the rest of the cackling clan with unbridled screams of joy.

Double, double toil & trouble: Fire burn, and cauldron bubble..

Stir the pot, add the world's highest bungee bridge, sprinkle in surprise; a pinch of debut vertigo and viola - the makings of revenge!

Two hims & a her 

I confess a history & a love for heady-heights not encoded in the DNA of my son. My daughter, in turn, leaps, flies, abseils, glides and dives with the best of them. His face, on debut, haunts my happy dreams to this day.

Look Mom - no hands

Bloukrans Bridge, 216m above a hard-landing & a short scream down below, is the world's highest bungee-bridge. At 14, Sean [my son] was fair game, chronologically at least, at last. This then his debut jump and what better way to whet the appetite than a leap of faith over the abyss of demons past.

Father / Son - flight hurrahs & a good-bye

Of mice & men!

There is an emotive purity, hammered heart, harnessed to a knotted band of rubber, glass-eyed above the yaw. As time goes on the adrenaline is less on tap than it might once have been but I saw it in his eyes; a conquered terror - release; a bursting pride and a jump to freedom. True class, not in the jump, for nobody is defined by an event but in the conquering of an imagined fear & the realisation that uncertainty is a figment of inexperience, nothing more.

WTF?

A parting shot if you don't mind?

Jeffreys Bay plays host to the world's most radical right break surf; you might even call it mecca. It's also the place of my youth and with it the molding of a son of Africa. Who then decided to erect a gaggle of wind-driven turbines & indiscreetly so from skyline to skyline? If that's progress I'm a bag of hot-air!