What do you think when you see the ocean?

by B. N. Sullivan

When you see a scene like the one in the photo above, what do you think? Do you want to go for a swim? ...grab your mask and snorkel? ...put on your dive gear? Or maybe you'd think about getting into a boat and heading out to sea?

Would you muse about all the places and possibilities that lie over the horizon? Or would you feel like you had arrived at some kind of dead end?

That's right, I said dead end!

How people feel when they arrive at a shoreline is completely dependent on their point of view. Let me tell you a story that taught us that this is so.

A number of years ago, while traveling in Greece, we agreed to give a ride to a young man who was headed our way. We didn't know him very well, but we learned something important from him when we stopped for a bite to eat. We chose a seaside taverna in the little coastal town of Kamena Vourla. The taverna had a canopied outdoor section with tables and chairs placed right on the beach, and that's where we sat. It was a fine sunny day, with a light sea breeze wafting the salty air and causing little wavelets to lap against the shoreline. It was quite heavenly, actually.

We ordered our lunch, and then sat there chatting while we waited for our food. We swapped stories about our travels -- places we'd been, and places we'd still like to visit. Then, enchanted with the lovely Aegean coastal scene and the pleasantly moist sea air, I gushed, "Don't you just love being next to the sea like this? I always feel like the whole world is out there, just waiting for me!"

The young man gave me a puzzled look and replied, "Really? How odd. When I get to the seacoast I always feel a bit sad, because I know that's as far as I can go."

It was my turn to look puzzled. Never before had I heard anyone equate a seacoast with the end of the line -- an impediment, rather than an opportunity. I felt my expansive mood drain away, replaced by a sense of confusion. This really was a new one on me, so I felt compelled to probe, to try and figure it out.

Further conversation revealed that the young man had never been on a boat, much less a ship. He did not know how to swim, and in fact he was afraid of the water; he told us one of his worst fears was that he would drown some day. Once he revealed all that, his view regarding the seacoast made a bit more sense (although we felt quite sorry for him).

The lesson, of course, is that how we feel about places and situations depends entirely on our own point of view -- and that, in turn, often arises from our personal experiences (or lack thereof).

So, when you are on the coast and looking seaward, which is it for you? Is it the beginning of the rest of the world, or is it merely the end of the road?

---

About the photo: This is our favorite entry point for shore dives and snorkeling at Puako, Hawaii.

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 3

by B. N. Sullivan

This is the third in a multi-article series about Pulau Sipadan, a magical dive destination off the coast of Borneo. If you have read Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, you know that the accommodations at the 'resorts' on Pulau Sipadan in 1993 were rather spartan. One thing that was not lacking, however, was excellent food.

There are trade-offs inherent in traveling to remote locations such as Pulau Sipadan to dive. The more remote the destination, the more likely it is that the underwater environment will be relatively unspoiled. At the same time, less developed destinations are likely to entail certain privations. In the previous articles, for example, I described the lodging and bathing facilities at Sipadan Island, which were rather spare.

Facilities for traveling divers usually offer all-inclusive packages -- lodging, diving, and meals. In fact, at more remote spots like Pulau Sipadan, there is no other option. There are no off-site restaurants or snack bars. It's a case of eat whatever they provide, or don't eat at all.

Traveling divers tend to be a hungry lot. During stays at dedicated dive resorts, and on live-aboard dive boats, it is not unusual to make five dives every day. All that physical activity can really work up an appetite! God forbid you are stuck at a place that has lousy or insufficient food when there is no alternative place to eat.

Like many other traveling divers, we learned to take along some food items on these trips -- peanut butter, canned tuna, packets of dried soups, etc. It's impossible to haul enough food to live on for ten days, but there were times when we dipped into those supplies to supplement for sparse meals, or when the food offered was, erm, unappetizing. (Don't get me started on some of the weird things we have eaten while ensconced at some of these places!)

Fortunately food was not a problem at Sipadan. In fact, the daily mealtime offerings at Pulau Sipadan Resort (PSR) were nothing short of amazing, especially in light of the fact that every tidbit had to be imported, and the kitchen facilities were as basic as the rest of the accommodations.

A highlight of each day was the dinner buffet, although I should note that it helped if you liked fish and other seafood. Each day, local fishermen paddling open canoes would arrive at the beach to sell their catch. (See photo at the top of this page.) The cooks would go down to the water's edge to bargain with the fishermen, and soon we would see them carrying fresh fish -- often still flapping -- back to the kitchen to prepare for what we all called The Catch of the Day Buffet.

Depending on which kind of fish the cooks bought from the fishermen, we had baked fish, poached fish, fried fish, fish with sauce, fish curry -- you get the idea -- and it was all very good. Along with the fish dish, the buffet always had homemade soup, big bowls of rice and steamed vegetables, and lots of fresh fruit. We never, ever went to bed hungry.

One day in particular, we all felt like we had hit the jackpot. The fishermen arrived with a very large billfish lashed to the side of their (nearly swamped) canoe. Considering that these fishermen had no tackle except hand lines, it seemed inconceivable that they could have caught such a fish, but they had. That's Jerry posing with the fish in the photo at left. To give you an idea of just how big that fish was, I should mention that Jerry is six feet tall.

I'm sure that such a prize fish must have fetched quite a sum for the fishermen, but the guests and staff at PSR were the real winners. With limited refrigeration (run on a portable generator), it was necessary to eat as much of the fish as we could, as soon as we could. What a feast we all had that evening and the next.

As a main course, we had grilled steaks from that big fish. There was so much of it that everyone was encouraged to have second and third helpings: better to eat it than to let it spoil for lack of refrigerated storage. Some of the choicest flesh of the big fish was sliced up for sashimi.

About two thirds of the divers staying at PSR at the time were Westerners -- mostly Europeans, plus the two of us Americans. The rest were Asian nationalities, as were most of the staff. When one of the cooks brought out a huge, heaping platter of sashimi, Jerry's eyes lit up. One of the British divers, a new arrival on the island, asked, "What the &$%@ is that??"

"Sashimi," Jerry told him. "You know, raw fish." The Brit made an awful face, shuddered, and walked away muttering something about cat food.

None of the other Europeans seemed interested in the sashimi either, but we lined up with all of the Asians to take our turn at the sashimi platter. When we got to the table and held out our plates, the server asked us, "Aren't you guys Americans?" We nodded yes. "Americans like sashimi??" he asked with raised eyebrows -- and then added, "I don't think so."

"We're from Hawaii," Jerry told him, as if that explained everything. Turned out it did.

"Oh, I see," said the server with a knowing grin. "So you're used to Asian food then." He heaped big slabs of the glistening sashimi onto our plates, while another server handed each of us a small bowl of shoyu and wasabi. It was a heavenly treat. We went back for seconds and thirds of that!

It turned out that the poor Brit who apparently found the thought of sashimi so distasteful didn't much like fish to begin with, much less raw fish. The servers noticed that he took none of the fish -- only rice and vegetables and fruit. One of them sprinted back to the kitchen, and returned about 15 minutes later with a plate. On the plate sat a grilled pork chop. He set it down in front of the Englishman, announcing, "Special for you."

For the rest of his stay at Sipadan, the non-fish eating diver was served a pork chop or a sausage every day. How can you quibble with hospitality like that?

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 2

by B. N. Sullivan

Yesterday, I began to tell about what it was like to stay at Sipadan Island in 1993. These days, staying on Sipadan Island is not allowed. Following a 2004 decision by the Malaysian government, lodging facilities on the island were closed down in an effort to preserve Sipadan's fragile ecosystem. Divers can still visit the dramatic walls and lush reefs of Sipadan on day trips, but they must stay elsewhere. In 1993, however, there still were a few facilities on the little island where visiting divers and sport fishermen were accommodated. Those 'resorts' were only for the hardier breed of traveler, however.

We stayed at an establishment called the Pulau Sipadan Resort (PSR), which could accommodate about 25 to 30 guests at a time. The place was well run -- clean and organized, with a friendly and competent staff who did an amazingly good job, given what they had to work with.

The accommodations on Sipadan were adequate, but spare. As I mentioned yesterday, the island was (and is still) without electricity and other utilities. Each of the lodging facilities had its own generator to produce electricity for its own use.

All supplies used on the island -- fuel for the boats and generators, foods, beverages, cleaning supplies, and so on -- had to be imported by boat from mainland Borneo. Potable water was regularly delivered to the island this way as well, arriving in large plastic bladders. Potable water was a precious commodity on the island, and it was carefully rationed.

Lodging consisted of small thatch-roofed huts, with virtually no amenities, save for beds and some plain wooden shelves. The huts had no running water -- much less bathrooms.

Aside from the resorts, there have been no permanent human settlements on the island, in part because there is no reliable source of fresh water on Pulau Sipadan. When the resorts were established a system was devised to tap into a brackish water source in the island's interior. That water was unsuitable for drinking or cooking, but good enough for bathing and cleaning.

Bathing on Sipadan entailed a ritual that became a part of the adventure of the place. PSR had a single bath house for everyone to use. It was an oblong structure made of concrete blocks. Inside, a row of stalls lined each side, and at the end of the corridor between the rows of stalls were a few sinks. The toilet stalls were on one side of the building, and on the opposite side were the shower stalls. As best we can recall, there were six toilet stalls, and six shower stalls. Nothing too unusual so far.

The bathing ritual began outside the bath house where prospective bathers lined up at designated hours, carrying their towels, robes, soap, and shampoo. Alongside the path leading to the bath house was a stack of plastic pails. Each bather was instructed to pick up a pail.

Near the door to the bath house, a few PSR staff manned a charcoal fire over which a very large cast iron kettle was suspended. In the kettle, fresh water simmered, warmed by the charcoal fire. Just before entering the bath house, each bather held out his or her pail, and the staff used a large metal dipper to fill the pail with warm, fresh water.

Each of the shower stalls had a pipe -- no shower head -- that emitted lukewarm brackish water. We soaped up and washed with the brackish water, and then poured the fresh water from the plastic pails over ourselves to rinse.

By the way, we were never alone in the shower stalls: several pairs of eyes always watched us as we bathed. The eyes belonged to creatures from the island's dense jungle behind the bath house. The creatures -- mostly large Monitor Lizards, and the occasional Coconut Crab -- liked to hang out in the bath house.

The lizards, which were between one and two feet long with a hefty girth, liked to walk along the tops of the partitions between the stalls, and from that vantage point, they 'monitored' the bathers. This was a bit unsettling at first, but it soon became apparent that they only wanted to watch, and by day three, we just ignored them.

The big crabs were more difficult to ignore. If they felt challenged, they would rear up, holding out their rather large pincers in a threat display. Those pincers are capable of cracking open coconuts -- hence the name 'Coconut Crab' -- so when one appeared in a shower stall where we were standing naked, we were inclined to behave in a way we hoped the crab would not perceive as unfriendly.

Of all the aspects of the Sipadan bathing ritual, though, the thing that became legend among the guests was that big iron kettle of water simmering over the fire outside the bath house door. The daily allotment of warm, fresh rinse water was welcome, of course, but that big pot also evoked cartoon-inspired images of cannibal tribes. After all, this was Borneo. We all joked that, should we see sliced carrots and onions floating in that kettle one day, we would know we were about to become soup!

Next, for Wordless Wednesday, we will post a photo of one of Sipadan's reef creatures. After that, we have a few more stories to tell about Pulau Sipadan.

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 1

by B. N. Sullivan

In the previous two posts, we told the story of our first trip to Sipadan Island, also known as Pulau Sipadan, a remote oceanic island off the coast of Borneo. It was a long and complicated journey, and we arrived on the little island in a dazed and disheveled state.

Because of its physical remoteness, one had to exert considerable effort just to get there: Pulau Sipadan is not on the way to or from anywhere else. As someone we know described it, "Sipadan is not exactly at the end of the Earth, but you can see it from there."

The island is a nature preserve, and a nesting ground for sea turtles. At the time we first went there (1993), the island had three resorts (I use the term loosely) catering primarily to divers and sport fishermen. Then, in 2004, the Malaysian government ordered the operators of tourist facilities on Pulau Sipadan to vacate the island. As a result, it is no longer possible to stay on Pulau Sipadan, although several companies still run boat trips to the island so that divers can still visit Sipadan's underwater wonders.

Pulau Sipadan is remote by its physical location, and it also is figuratively remote from the mainstream of human civilization by several orders of magnitude. Although we concluded that it definitely was a worthwhile thing to do, staying there entailed quite a few improvisations.

Those improvisations began with the accommodations on Pulau Sipadan. The operators of the visitor facilities on the island called them 'resorts' but they really were more like semi-permanent camps. Guests were lodged in 'chalets' that actually were little huts on stilts, with thatched roofs. The one in the second photo on this page was where we slept during our ten days on Pulau Sipadan.

The huts each had two beds -- mattresses on metal frames. The beds did have linens, and each hut had one wooden shelf, but there were no other furnishings. The huts were wired for electricity, sort of. Each had one electric light in the form of a bare light bulb suspended from the center of the roof on a wire. That was it. There was no running water in the huts, so there were no bathrooms -- not even a sink or a tap. (More on this a bit later.)

Pulau Sipadan is quite distant from mainland Borneo, and there are no underwater cables between the two. When we stayed there, the island had no regular telephone or electric service. Each facility on the island generated its own electricity, and a radio telephone -- also run on a portable generator -- was the primary means of communication with the rest of the world.

Electricity from the generators ran everything on the island during the day. Fuel for the generators had to be imported by sea, so it was expensive. Shortly after sunset, the generators were switched off as a conservation measure. As a result, life on the island matched the rising and setting of the sun. We rose with the first rays of light, and, since there was no light source after sunset, save for our flashlights, everyone retired early.

Next - more details about daily life for visitors to Pulau Sipadan, including the most 'interesting' bathing facilities we have ever encountered.

Sipadan Island - Getting there, Part 2

by B. N. Sullivan

This is Part 2 of a story I began to tell yesterday -- the story of our first journey to Pulau Sipadan, a tiny island off the coast of Borneo. The story so far: we flew first to Kuala Lumpur, then to Kota Kinabalu, and then to Tawau. From Tawau we traveled by car up the coast to Semporna. This episode picks up at Semporna, where we began the final leg of our very long journey.

By prearrangement with the folks who managed the place where we would stay on Sipadan, a smallish motorboat was dispatched to ferry us to the little island. Since our flight to Tawau had arrived late, we had missed the mini-bus to Semporna. We traveled to Semporna by taxi instead, and we were running a bit late, so we were relieved to find the boat waiting for us at the fishing pier in Semporna when we arrived there.

Our friends who had preceded us on this journey had warned us about this final stage. They told us that the trip would be made in an open boat that went very fast and created a lot of spray. They said we should be prepared to get wet during the boat ride, and advised us to dress accordingly. They were not kidding!

Our boatman loaded all of our things into the stern of the little vessel, and indicated that we should sit on some bench seats beneath a tarpaulin sunshade. We cast off from the pier, and gently motored through the harbor. Near the outer edge of the harbor, we passed by numerous clusters of houses built on stilts over the water, and then by a few tiny islets. As soon as we got to the open water, the boatman increased speed. A lot!

Once we left Semporna and the islets behind, there were no more landmarks at all -- nothing but the glistening surface of the Celebes Sea in every direction. Later we discussed how we both felt a bit leery at that point, heading straight out to sea at a high rate of speed in a small open boat, hoping against hope that the boat driver actually knew how to find Sipadan. At the time, though, it was impossible to discuss this or anything else. The noise from the boat's motors was very loud, and we were traveling so fast across the water that we couldn't even turn toward each other for fear of having our sunglasses blown right off our faces. All we could do was hold on tightly to the edge of our seats, and, squinting against the bright sunlight reflected from the sea surface, pray that we would eventually make it to Sipadan.

About an hour after we left Semporna, the boat driver slowed a smidgen, and pointed toward the horizon. A tiny tropical island appeared before us. From a distance, it looked just like Gilligan's Island. As we glided up to a sandy beach, the boat's engines were cut and a few men ran down to the shoreline to catch the mooring line. We were instructed to hop out -- which we did, into thigh-deep water -- and several staff from Pulau Sipadan Resort, where we were staying, waded out to fetch our belongings.

Once ashore we glanced around quickly and noticed a number of people sitting on a sort of deck, chuckling and grinning at us. It turned out that the arrival of new guests was one of the most amusing events of the day at Sipadan.

On each of the following ten days that we spent on the little island, we would join the group on the deck to watch the latest arrivals to Sipadan. They all looked like we did when we arrived: disoriented, wilted from the heat, totally drenched, wearing sunglasses nearly opaque with sea spray, hair frozen by salt in whatever way the wind had blown it during the boat ride. Everyone, it seemed, arrived at Sipadan somewhat dazed and looking a wreck.

Here's a link to a map of Sabah state on Borneo. If you like, you can use it to retrace our journey from Kota Kinabalu, to Tawau, to Semporna, to Pulau Sipadan.

Next (after Wordless Wednesday) - what it was like to stay on Sipadan Island in 1993.

Sipadan Island - Getting there, Part 1

by B. N. Sullivan

Often we are asked which is our favorite place to dive. While it is difficult to choose even one general area, let alone just one dive site, Sipadan Island certainly would be a top contender for "diver heaven."

We first learned about Pulau Sipadan, as it is called there, by asking that very question of someone else. In 1992, while we were on a Caribbean dive trip, we met and befriended a married couple who both were marine biologists and underwater photographers. They had traveled all over the world to dive, for recreation as well as for their work. Naturally, we asked them which place was their favorite. One of the places at the top of their list was Sipadan.

Listening to our new friends' vivid descriptions of Sipadan's underwater world, we decided we had to see this place for ourselves. They had mentioned that Sipadan was in a remote location, and told us that just getting there was an adventure. Once we set about to plan our first trip there, we realized that they were not kidding about the remoteness -- nor about the adventure of the journey.

Pulau Sipadan (pictured above) is an oceanic island in the Celebes Sea. It is located off the coast of Sabah State, on the Malaysian side of Borneo. Getting there took several days.

First, we flew to Malaysia's capital city, Kuala Lumpur -- a major trip in itself. We stayed there overnight, and then flew to Borneo, landing at Kota Kinabalu, a coastal city in Sabah state, situated on the South China Sea. We changed planes in Kota Kinabalu for our connecting flight to the port city of Tawau, on the opposite coast of Borneo.

The flight to Tawau was the final air leg of the journey to Sipadan, but Tawau was just a waypoint in the journey, not our destination. We still had an overland leg and a boat ride ahead of us.

We were supposed to travel next by mini-bus from Tawau to Semporna, a smaller fishing port up the coast. That was the plan, but as luck would have it, our flight arrived late in Tawau, and by the time we cleared through the airport, the mini-bus had left without us. We took a taxi into the center of town to find some lunch while we figured out what to do.

Our taxi driver spoke no English, but he understood our hand signals indicating that we wanted to find a place to eat. He dropped us at a small hotel that appeared to cater to local business travelers. They had a curry buffet for lunch, and that was welcome, since it excused us from having to choose items from a menu we couldn't understand.

Bellies full of fish curry, fresh fruit, and tea, we set off for a nearby square where we had seen a rank of parked taxis. The taxi drivers eyed us warily as we approached. We must have looked a sight -- travel-weary Westerners hauling what must have seemed an inordinate amount of luggage. In truth, we took very few clothes with us on that trip, but we had several cases full of dive gear and camera equipment.

While I parked myself at the curb with all of the luggage, Jerry sought out a driver who would be willing to ferry us up the coast to Semporna. After much sign language and pointing at maps, Jerry struck a deal with the driver of a reasonably intact Toyota, and off we went. After about an hour's drive on a road that passed through vast palm oil plantations, we arrived at Semporna. (That's Semporna in the second photo.)

Now we were about to embark on the final leg of the journey, which I'll tell about in the next post. Meanwhile, here's a link to a map of Sabah state on Borneo. If you are interested, you can use it to trace our journey from Kota Kinabalu, to Tawau, to Semporna, to Pulau Sipadan.

Wordless Wednesday #13 - Happy New Year

[Click photo for larger view.]

My previous Wordless Wednesday posts.

Wordless Wednesday home page.

Male fur seals at Taiaroa Head

We spent two days exploring the Otago Peninsula, outside the city of Dunedin on New Zealand's South Island. On the second day there we visited a small cove called Pilot's Beach, a small crescent of sand bordered by a jumble of rocks on each side. The cove is situated on the sheltered side of Taiaroa Head, the wildlife reserve at the tip of the peninsula.

We saw Blue Penguin burrows near the beach, but not the penguins themselves since we were there during the bright midday hours. The penguins only come ashore at dusk to spend the night in their nests, returning to the sea again at first light.

We did get to see several good-sized male New Zealand Fur Seals (Arctocephalus forsteri). While we had seen some female fur seals sunning themselves at Kaikoura the week before, this was the first time we had seen the larger males of the species.

Several of these guys were swimming rather close to shore. We sat on the rocks beside the beach for quite awhile so we could watch them. We were surprised to see them lazily swimming on their backs at times, sort of lolling about, paddling just a bit with their front flippers, while their back flippers poked up above the water's surface. Unfortunately they did this too far offshore to photograph clearly, since I didn't have a telephoto lens.

Then one seal seemed to notice us, and swam toward the rocks where we sat, as if he had decided to have a look at us.


He made one pass, and then swam seaward for a bit before circling back to inspect us again. We didn't move (except to raise the camera). This time the seal came even closer, paused right in front of us, and raised his head out of the water for a better look at the strange jeans-clad mammals sitting on the rocks.


He stayed there for a few minutes, just staring at us. We stared back! He came in just a bit closer, and we began to wonder if he was going to haul out right onto the rocks where we were sitting.

But no -- in the end, he just rolled over onto his back and swam away from shore. We were sorry to see him go back out to sea, but we were grateful to have had such a great close encounter with this very photogenic marine mammal.

Not too far away, there is a fur seal breeding colony populated by females and a few dominant males. Those older males are very territorial and do not appreciate interlopers. They will challenge and fight younger males who intrude at the colony.

We were told that the fur seals we saw in the Pilot's Beach area are mostly younger males who come to the area to rest in the sheltered cove, away from the threat of the older males.

Taiaroa Head on the Otago Peninsula

One of the nicest stretches of coastal scenery we've come across while traveling on New Zealand's South Island has been the Otago Peninsula, outside the city of Dunedin. In turn, probably the most interesting part of the Otago Peninsula (at least for us) is Taiaroa Head, situated at the mouth of Otago Harbour (see map).

Taiaroa Head is quite scenic. (That's it looking like a picture postcard in the second photo, taken just a few days ago.) But in addition to being pretty, it also serves as a wildlife preserve. Fur seals and sea lions frequent the waters around the headland, and haul out on the rocks and nearby beaches. There are breeding colonies of several kinds of seabirds.

One species of seabird that lives at Taiaroa Head is the Royal Albatross (Diomedea sanfordi), an endangered species. These magnificent birds are huge, with a 10 foot (3 meter) wingspan. You can see one soaring above the lighthouse in the photo at right.

The albatrosses spend up to 85% of their lives at sea, feeding on fish and squid, and sleeping on the water, but they must come ashore to nest and breed. The colony at Taiaroa Head currently is home to a Royal Albatross breeding population of about 140 birds.

Two species of gulls also nest in this area. In fact, if you click on the second photo to enlarge it, you will see what look like myriad white spots along the face of the cliff. Those white spots are gulls -- hundreds and hundreds of gulls. They dominate this particular cliff face.

And if you click on the third photo to enlarge it, you will see why that cliff face, and the top of the wall where the gulls are standing, look white!

Next time we'll show you some of the other wild residents of Taiaroa Head -- on land and in the water.

Sunbathing at Kaikoura

On the eastern coast of New Zealand's South Island, about halfway between the cities of Blenheim to the North, and Christchurch to the south, sits the little town of Kaikoura. If you're hungry for seafood, Kaikoura is a good place to stop. There are several fresh seafood markets there, and many of the restaurants specialize in "Crayfish," the clawless rock lobster found in the waters offshore.

There's another attraction at Kaikoura. Just outside the town at the headland of a small peninsula that juts into the Pacific ocean there is a place where you can see wild New Zealand Fur Seals (Arctocephalus forsteri). The seals haul out onto the rocks there to bask in the sun and rest.

The day we visited Kaikoura we saw about a half dozen seals in the area called Point Kean. The seal pictured here was sunbathing not far from the parking area, making it relatively easy to take some photos while still maintaining a safe distance between us and her. (We think this is a female, based on size. Adult female fur seals, we are told, usually weigh between 30 and 40 kg).

These seals are a protected species. Hunting them has been banned since 1946. According to information provided by New Zealand's Department of Conservation, the current population of these animals is about 100,000 but it is estimated that there would have been around one million seals before hunting began in the mid-1700s.

Currently there are breeding colonies of fur seals at several locations on New Zealand's coast.

New Zealand's Little Blue Penguins

When we think of marine life, we most often think of fish, of course. Next we probably think of invertebrates such as crabs and lobsters, corals, and marine mammals like dolphins and whales. We sometimes overlook the fact that there are many species of birds that qualify as marine life, too.

One kind of marine bird that we are getting to know during our New Zealand trip is the penguin. Until we came to New Zealand, we had never seen a live penguin except at a zoo or marine park. This trip has afforded us our first opportunity to see penguins in the wild.

Several species of penguin make their home on the coasts of New Zealand's South Island, but by some stroke of fate or luck, the first one we are learning about -- and writing about in The Right Blue -- is the Blue Penguin (Eudyptula minor).

The feathers on the Blue Penguin's back and head really are blue, but they look more blackish when they are wet. They are cute little fellows -- and they are indeed little. In fact the Blues are the smallest penguin species in the world. Adults usually weigh about a kilogram (a little more than two pounds), and they stand about 30 cm (1 foot) tall.

Despite their small size, Blue Penguins can swim fast underwater -- about 8 km (5 miles) per hour. They spend most of the daylight hours swimming at sea, diving again and again to catch their prey -- small fish and squid. According to the folks at the Oamaru Blue Penguin Colony, these birds are known to make an average of about 800 dives each day. Each dive lasts about 20-30 seconds, although Blue Penguins are able to hold their breath for up to two minutes.

When they swim on the surface, they assume a prone position that makes them look like chubby ducks. On land they stand upright, and walk in a waddle, rocking back and forth with each step.

Penguins' wings are used to propel them when they swim underwater. When they walk on land, they tend to hold out their wings to help balance. They are not able to fly.

Their natural predators at sea are sharks, killer whales, sea lions, and leopard seals. On land they are sometimes killed by ferrets, dogs, and other predatory mammals. Like other marine animals, Blue Penguins also face man-made dangers. They sometimes become entangled in fishing gear and other marine debris, and their nesting grounds are damaged and encroached upon by people and pets.

Approximately 200 Blue Penguins make their home in an area near the port of Oamaru -- situated on the South Island's east coast, about an hour's drive north of the city of Dunedin. Volunteers have provided the Oamaru Blue Penguin colony with nesting boxes in artificial burrows (see photo below). Access to the area is restricted during the hours when most of the birds come ashore to rest and feed their chicks.

They come ashore each evening at dusk, and spend the night on land in burrows where they nest. At dawn they emerge from their burrows and return to the sea to find their food, often ranging as much as 25 km (about 15 miles) offshore in the course of a day's swim.
To see more detail, click on any of the photos to enlarge.

South Island Safari

Last week we told our readers that we would be suspending our diving tales for the remainder of 2007 because we were going to be traveling for the month of December. Then we posted a photo from Australia, but that was a tease. Our stopover in Sydney actually was quite brief.

The photo here (click on it to enlarge) should give a clue to our true destination. What country is known for rugged coastlines, magnificent scenery -- and sheep? (Lots and lots of sheep!)

In case you haven't guessed, we are in New Zealand. More specifically, we are on the South Island where we will remain for the rest of the month. Here's a link to a decent map of New Zealand's South Island.

We arrived in New Zealand several days ago, having flown from Sydney directly to Christchurch. We decided to base ourselves in Christchurch for the first few days in order to adjust and get our bearings -- and, since this is a driving trip, to get more practice driving on the left side of the road before we venture further afield!

As a rule, we are not so fond of cities and we are more inclined to spend our time in the countryside when we travel. We also seem to have a built-in water sensor that reliably draws us to the nearest seacoast, lake shore or river bank wherever we go. For this trip, our intention is to see most of the coast of the South Island, as well as some of the mountains and lakes.

A major focus of this journey is to see creatures that we have never seen before -- and may never see again, at least in their natural habitat. It is one thing to see such animals in zoos and marine parks, but another entirely to see them in the wild. We are hoping to see fur seals, several species of penguins, Royal albatross, and other marine birds indigenous to New Zealand. We're calling this our South Island safari.

Over the next several weeks, we will be posting photos and stories about New Zealand's South Island whenever we find ourselves with a good internet connection, so stay tuned. This is the beginning of the tale.

Today's photo is of a sheep farm near Port Levy on the Banks Peninsula, not far from Christchurch. Lucky sheep to have a view like that!

Wordless Wednesday #10 - December 5, 2007

[Click photos for larger view.]

My previous Wordless Wednesday posts.

Wordless Wednesday home page.

Surface Interval

Divers refer to the periods between dives as 'surface intervals.' When multiple dives are performed in a relatively short space of time, the length of the surface interval figures importantly into the calculations involved in planning the depth and duration of successive dives in order to avoid decompression sickness.

In addition to that technical use of the term, divers often use the term 'surface interval' amongst themselves as a waggish reference to any period when they are not diving: Home life, school or work? To the hard-core diver, they're all mere surface intervals!

We're having one of those kinds of surface intervals right now.

We are traveling and will be away from home for the remainder of this month. That means we are away from our photo archive and our old dive logs from which we mine most of our stories.

We will continue to post stories in The Right Blue while we are traveling, but they will be different from our usual fare. Instead of writing about adventures past, we thought it might be fun to see what we can find to share with our readers in real time as we travel about.

Although this trip is not a dive trip, we will be near the sea most of the time. We intend to maintain our usual theme, but it will be mostly from a surface vantage point. So, please indulge us while we get ourselves out of the water for awhile, and come along with us to a part of the world we've wanted to visit for a long, long time.