Museum

Sundays weather was too rough for the whale-watch boats so we had an extended visit to the whale museum.

We joined 80 people for the tour, which seems a lot. Normally, I would run a mile from such an event but we were soon split into smaller groups according to language.

Our guide Ronny was a model for any teacher. He used visual aids and clear, concise English to get across many aspects of sperm whale biology, making good use of the exhibits. It would not be nearly so useful to walk around on your own.

The most fascinating aspect of sperm whale biology is their adaptation to their unique lifestyle; in particular their sonar system which completely governs the front end of the animal. The skull is modified to become a loud-speaker and to support the huge sausage-like amplifier in front.

Group Photo

The group assembled for supper after a long day in boats, in training and up the lighthouse. This provided an opportunity for a group photo. Perhaps we will take another picture outdoors, when it stops raining.

Earthwatch/Whalewatch at Andenes, July 2013

This photo appeared along with an article in the local paper.

Team Brief

Lighthouse

The first day of the Earthwatch Expedition started at noon when we all assembled at the Whale Safari dining room. This was mainly an introductory day for us, with Iva giving us the background detail and showing us around the village, which was eerily quiet on a Saturday afternoon.

Our job is to monitor whales; mainly sperm whales. We will be doing this at sea from tour boats, a research boat and a ferry, as long as the weather permits. We will also spend an hour at a time up at the top of the magnificent Ardenes Fyr, which is a steel lighthouse that still functions at night. There is some spectacular optical gear up there for us to monitor whales with, but I have already been told it is not for bird watching. (It didn't take them long to figure me out.)

The local scenery is spectacularly jagged and the weather changes by the minute, which makes for interesting pictures at least; and it keeps the flies at bay.

Seven Sistors

I think I'm really going to enjoy it once we get out there. Today's highlights were meeting the team and botanising along the shore. I found mountain avens at sea level, growing among other so-called alpines that I have seen up Ben Lawyers in Scotland. I must find a flower book in English. Meanwhile, I will make a blog-page just on the local flowers.

The birds have been pretty much what you might expect so far; seabirds, and lots of them. I  did find a rock pipit and a while wagtail on the beach and I saw three red-breasted mergansers on the water, but I'm looking forward to seeing more birds close up when we get among the whales. This will be tomorrow morning if all goes according to plan. (It didn't, of course. Ed.)

Meet the Team

Iva.

We have quite an international team. Our leader on the project is Iva Kovacic who is doing two Ph. D. projects on the whales at the same time! She has been here for eight years but is actually from Croatia. She has also worked in Greece and the UK.

Inaki

Inaki Aizpurua is an extremely lively and enthusiastic interpreter and researcher who bounces in and out of our activities all the time when he is not with the tourists and guides at the Whale-Safari centre. He is originally from the north of Spain where he studied psychology.

Lloyd

Lloyd Figgins is the global safety officer from Earthwatch and is based in Oxford, UK. He is a man hooked on adventure and has even rowed the Atlantic.

Marta

Marta Acosta Plata is not only interested in new ways to monitor  sperm whales; she is also very keen on involving the local community. Her studies up to now have taken her to Greece, Spain and Argentina.

Kristina

Kristina Happ is looking at the benefits that whale watching can bring to the local community. She is a trained social worker; really interesetd in people. She will be our Mum for most of the time, making lunches and making sure we are happy.

Marina

Marina Gortz is from Sweden doing an MSc on the feeding ecology of humpback whales and the effect of fisheries on them.
In addition to the scientific team, we also get help from the Whale Safari staff who are all very helpful and knowledgeable.






There are six of us on this team as Earthwatch Volunteers. Three are from the USA and three from the UK.

Warren

Warren Stortroan is a veteran Earthwatcher from St Paul, Minnesota. He has been on 77 Earthwatch expeditions around the world and he is a great ambassador for the programme. On his way to Norway he participated in another project in the French Alps where he studied marmots.

Warren, like many people in Minnesota, is actually of Norwegian descent so he is especially interested in the local culture. He stoopped off in Oslo for a cultural visit on the way up.

Ann

Ann is from down-town Chicago and has almost been on as many trips as Warren. She is game for an adventure and has many a tale to tell.

Laura

Laura is from near Washington DC. This is her 7th expedition with Earthwatch. She has studied dolphins in Greece and elephants in Tsavo.

Eleanor

Eleanor is from South-west Wales where she lives almost on the beach. A lot of the wildlife we have seen here is familiar to her and she has been on several projects, particularly in Namibia.

Richard

Richard lives near London and he knows as much about whales as any-one here, having been on Earthwatch projects in British Columbia and Quebec, Galapagos and other whale-some hot-spots.

Team Brief

That just leaves me, Jim Stevenson from near Cambridge UK. It's my first Earthwatch trip, my first visit to Norway and hopefully, my first encounter with a sperm whale.

Tromsø

10:30 at night.

It is eleven thirty at night in Tromsø and the sun is shining brighter than it has all day. I'm eating reindeer salami from the local co-op, washed down with apple juice because eating out is outrageously expensive. A burger costs £18 to £20 and a beer costs £8. But let's not quibble; I have had the most amazing evening.

My first sight of Norway was at mid-day, just south of Oslo, when we came in from the south. From above everything gets flattened out but I had an impression of pine woods with lakes and some dairy farms. As we circled to land it became obvious that southern Norway is really quite hilly. It reminded me very strongly of Minnesota with red farms sitting down there in the woods. That's no accident of course: Minnesota was largely settled by Norwegians who brought their architecture and cheese with them.

As you fly north out of Oslo more forests and lakes appear. I could pick out blueberry meadows and likely looking fishing rivers. There is quite a lot of forestry too, but the trees quickly start to thin out as bare, glaciated rocks start to dominate. Hard ridges and striations are etched out in white where snow still lies, even in July.

Beyond that, most of Norway lay under the Great Norwegian Cloud for the afternoon and it was quite nerve-racking to be approaching Tromsø with the wheels down but with no sign of the ground. However, we slunk down a valley and dropped straight on to the grey, wet runway. The plane came to a stop outside the rain-lashed terminal and there was absolute silence on board. Despite most of the passengers being Norwegian, I  guessed that they were thinking the same as me. "When is the next flight back to Oslo?"



Given that this was to be my only day in Tromsø, it seemed like a good idea to ignore the rain and get out and explore the area on foot. My eyes soon grew accustomed to the greyness and the temperature was comfortable as I strolled past the shops, the wooden houses and the church on my way to the harbour. Arctic terns streamed overhead constantly and little flotillas of eider ducks swam past. I even saw three red-throated divers flying over the port.

I started to spot familiar plants growing around the houses and on the verges of the roads. Most of the plants were ones that I last saw in Scotland but there were some surprises. Giant hogweed is very common in the town and has become a kind of corporate symbol. It's not native though. In fact, there are quite a lot of non-native plants such as lupins and other North American species. With the rain, the mountains, the sea and the wooden houses it could be the Pacific North West. Think of the "Twilight Saga" which is set in Washington State around towns such as Forks and Port Angelus. I guess Vancouver would be even more like it or Spielberg's California as portrayed in "The Goonies".

The botanical gardens are part of the University Campus, about 5 Km out of town. People only seemed to have a vague idea where it was and I walked past it twice before being put right. I dropped down into it by following the geology trail through some birch and willow woods. Arctic (or alpine) plants were growing naturally everywhere. I even found a sphagnum bog with cotton grass, sundew, cloudberries and blue-berries growing. Rocky outcrops had cranes-bills and dwarf cornels growing on them while the wetter bits had orchids, pink valerian, ladies mantle and meadow-sweet. My star find was grass of Parnassus which was my grandmother's favourite plant.

In that little bit of Arctic woodland I saw and heard two emblematic northern birds; fieldfares and redwings. I also saw willow warblers, green finches and great tits, but hooded crows and magpies were the most vocal.

I walked back towards town on the harbour road where common gulls dive-bombed me to keep me away from their chicks. White wagtails and house sparrows called from factory roofs and a pair of ravens had their home atop a water tower. Not a bad list for town, is it?

If you qwould like to see a slideshow of my Tromsø photos, click here.

Dread thoughts

I'm seriously losing sleep now. Getting to Gatwick on Friday at the crack of dawn means leaving home on the first train of the day at four something. Then there's the logistics of seeing Tromso in a single evening. Can I fit in all the stuff I want to do?

I talked to Trevor Gunton who is an old Arctic hand, and he told me that the botanical gardens are the best bit. 'Breeding bramblings and other birds in trees that are as far north as trees go'. He also told me two more important facts: there is no admission charge and they are open 24/7.

The other place I want to go is up the cable car to the top of the mountain that overlooks the town. Midnight would be good. The car runs until 1 am in July. That gives me a very long day, but my adrenalin will keep me going, I hope.

The weather is another concern, but it looks like Friday will be much the same as here; a chance of a shower but sunshine with a temperature of 21 deg C.

After that, there are so many unknowns, such as "What birds are on the nearby ponds at Andenes?" There might be phalaropes, divers, waders and whatever. I will just have to go and find out.

The picture above is one made by my son Nick when he was a student. This could be me (OK, not with a proper beard) if we got swept away into the North Atlantic and had to eat raw fish to survive. It hangs on the wall in my bedroom, which is why it is engraved in my sub-conscious. I might buy a yellow, oilskin Sou-wester hat.

We have been asked to bring our favourite recipe to cook for the team. Mine is Indonesian Nasi Goreng, but can I get the ingredients in Norway? I've packed the spices and ketjup on the assumption I can get meat and prawns, onions and leeks at the co-op.

Got to pack! Cheers for now.

BBC Wildlife

I won this trip to Norway as a result of being the BBC Wildlife Magazine Nature Writer of the Year in 2012. My original choice was to go mud-sliding in Costa Rica in order to find frogs, but because we have a son with Angelman Syndrome, we decided that this was too far to get back from if there was an emergency at home. Earthwatch offered me a few alternatives and my wife leaped at the idea of Norway as it is only just round the corner from us; isn't it? Actually, it takes two days to get to the whale-watch location from here, but only one day to come back.

Now we have the extra care in place for my son, it looks like we have "All Systems Go" for next month.

The story below is a version of the one I sent to the magazine.

MILLER'S THUMB 

If you were to visit a public aquarium, you probably would not spend long in front of a tank of bullheads. They aren’t handsome, colourful or large, and they don’t do much. They might be hiding under a rock if there was one, or they might just sit there on the bottom of a bare tank looking grumpy.  The truth is, you don’t find bullheads in captivity and I can see why.  Neither do you normally come across them in the wild; you have to actively seek them out. 

Before life got serious with girls, I hunted bullheads, loaches, crayfish and sticklebacks in any stream shallow enough to paddle in.  You could catch these pugnacious tiddlers with your bare hands in less than a foot of water.  If you worked upstream and gently turned over the rocks ahead of you, a bullhead would often dash out and then vanish under a nearby rock, or he might just stay still and rely on his camouflage for protection; if he did, he’d be yours. 

In the hand a bullhead is all head and belly like a big, wet tadpole,  but in a jam-jar at eye-level he’s a river monster.  An angry male looks like an heraldic dragon, painted black with all his details picked out in gold. I have watched such a fish in a jar for hours, waiting for him to calm down and revert to his normal blotchy sand and brown camouflage, but he didn’t. I reckoned he would stay mad at me as long as he was in the jar, or he would die, so I created a series of pools in the shallows and stocked them with black males and stripy females and watched them. They still didn’t change colour.  It seems that the males stay angry-black in spring, even though at other times they can change tint to match their surroundings.

A recent visit to Stotfold water-mill set me off on a trail of re-discovery.  Dust-laden sunbeams slanted across the room. and behind the commentary of the guide I could hear the heartbeat of cogs and the turning of the great mill-wheel below. 

“The miller knows when the sack is full when it reaches his thumbs, which he keeps tucked into the sack. Of course the longer the miller’s thumb; the less flour there is in each sack. Some millers had prodigiously long thumbs.”

I just heard the words “Miller’s thumb, miller’s thumb” over the bubbling water under the machinery and I wanted to paddle in that spring-time, spring-fed mill-stream and search for the little fish of my childhood called miller’s thumb, which I call bullhead and my American wife calls sculpin. 

Three weeks later I bumped into a lady who had lived in Stotfold since childhood. She remembered going to the mill for chicken feed and reaching high above her head to pull a long rope that rang a bell in order to catch the miller’s attention, three stories up.  And she remembered catching bullheads with her friends in the River Ivel just below the mill. 

On my local patch today, there is a flood relief channel called the Black Traps. Old friends remember learning to swim there when there was nothing but fields and cricket-bat willows lining the river.  Now the skyline is dominated by a Superstore, a new housing estate and a power station, but it still has an attraction for me and for a new generation of tiddler fishers. Below the weir the stream looks just like a classic mill-stream with a gravel bed showing between lines of waving weeds and emerging patches of water cress. There are no large stones to turn over so we fish our tiddler-nets upstream along the edges of weed-banks and we catch sticklebacks, minnows, loaches and bullheads that we observe in jam jars before releasing back to the wild. 

I’m standing barefoot in six inches of cold bubbling water that flows over loose yellow-brown gravel but all I can see in the stream is the rippled reflection of willows and sky.  For a child, this shining hour of undirected discovery in the twinkling, sunlit world of the stream will never be forgotten. For an old man, it’s about chasing half-memories out from under stones, hoping to see them re-played in the sunlight of an April morning. 

Catching tiddlers is like fishing through your memory.  Reflections distract you and the thing you are looking for dashes away from you or slips through your fingers, but you catch the unexpected and that’s always better than catching what you seek. 

Sperm Whale

I asked my son Robin to make me a painting of a sperm whale. Knowing him, I half expected a Gothic nightmare including qiant squids, drowning sailors and sunken ships; but "No!"

I think Robin has 'captured' the whale really well and not fallen in to the trap of making it into a submarine. I fancy making a tee-shirt with it.

Thanks a million Robin.