A Trip to Kidney

As the southern hemisphere summer wanes, the inky cloak of darkness shrouds the evening ever earlier and the kiss of its air feels increasingly frostier on my cheeks, we still had time to savour some of the beauty of nature that surrounds us here. We were kindly invited to join some friends on a trip to the nearby Kidney Island – a small and uninhabited island about an hour's boat ride from Stanley (uninhabited, unless you count seals, penguins and the plethora of other seabird life). Standing on the quay, waiting for the launch, which would serve to ferry us to this late summer wonderland, the weather had turned out unusually quiet and still. I was secretly relieved, as I had worried how the girls (all 3!) would fare on south Atlantic swell – albeit within the relatively sheltered waterways we would remain within.

Sick bags at the ready!

If the boat journey out was going to be any kind of indication of what was in store for us, then it promised to be a bonanza of a wildlife watching evening. Watching Stanley disappear into the distance behind us, we were treated to squadrons of Magellanic Penguins breaking the surface while out for an evening fish, an escort from a small pod of Commerson dolphins and the effortless glide of the numerous and mighty Southern Petrol. The ocean seemed to be alive.

Farewell Stanley...

On reaching Kidney, we were immediately reminded that this was a real island of nature. No user-friendly quay or jetty to welcome any visitors here - a motor dingy ride and landing on an empty and pebbly beach left us facing a challenging walk through head-high tussock grass. And when I say head-high, that was head-high for the adults of the landing party. This must have felt like a jungle at times for Evie, with the grasses towering well above her eye-line. In fear of losing her, I was at times, literally forced to just pull her through this tussock tangle. Ever present was the fear that we would blindly step on a resting seal or sea lion – the shock of a previous seal/tussock encounter had been etched on my memory.

Did we pack the machetes?

Which clump of tussock did you say to turn left at?

Thankfully, our fears of being ambushed by 500 kilograms of grey blubber did not materialise and after a 30 minute wade through the tussock, the whole party managed to safely reach our goal on the other side of the island - the Rock Hopper penguin nurseries on the cliffs. I have to say, it was well worth the effort to get here. As we nervously edged our way towards the rocky precipices, we were confronted by literally dozens and dozens of small, plump penguins, perched nonchalantly on the sheer faces. Living up to their names, their almost magical ability to scale these high and steep cliffs is truly astounding, made all the more remarkable when you think of a penguin's traditionally awkward gait on dry land. We were able to get so close, there were times I could have reached out and stroked some of them on the head, which was a complete contrast to the rather aloof nature of the Magellanics of Gypsy Cove. I suspect these hardy little free climbers were safe in the knowledge that to get really close, would result in a long and terminal drop for the over-eager human tourist. Needless to say, and before I am crucified by any conservationists, I did not touch any of them. For one thing the smell radiating from them is not the most appealing – think large pile of used cat litter. Instead I hunted them with my camera lens. 

A rather handsome little chap.

The evening's faunal chocolate box still had other flavours for us to savour. Gazing out into the South Atlantic from the cliffs, we were able to glimpse the more than occasional water spout from passing whales. They were tantalisingly close, yet frustratingly out of sight; however, as they follow the krill closer to shore, there would hopefully be opportunities to see them on a not too distant future boat trip. At this point we decided to make our way back to the landing site. We still had one more natural wonder to view and getting lost in the tussock after dark was not an appetising prospect. The return journey did actually take longer, largely due to walking round in circles at one point - one of the hazards of trying to navigate through head-high tussock. Another hazard, from the increasingly louder guttural snorts of the seals to our left, was also getting ever more present. I couldn't shake Jurassic Park scenes of hunting Velociraptors from my irrational mind, as we battled our way back through the jungle. We made it back to the beach just in time for the final spectacle of the dying evening. At dusk, thousands of Sooty Shearwater seabirds return from a day's fishing, to their burrows in the tussock. We had earlier been careful not to get a foot stuck in these rather incongruous holes. The birds started as a trickle, but almost at a flick of a switch, the darkening skies were filled with literally thousands of birds circling the dunes, readying to dive into their nightly abodes. As we stood there, they slowly started to circle lower and lower and then one by one literally dive into the tussock - whether you were in the way or not! Olivia got the fright of her life, standing next to one of the burrows, as a dark feathered bullet zipped past her, only inches away. Feeling the draft and hearing the swish of these birds rocket past my ears, reminded me that I had never experienced anything like this before. I could also see now how they could have been the inspiration for Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

There were a lot of young Rock Hoppers on the cliffs.

All in all, it had been a great way to spend a Friday evening, and even the torrential rain that started to pour on us, as we waited for the motor dingy, to return us to the launch, could not dampen the experience. Now it was time to act as a pillow for the rather tired 5 year old, as we made our way back to the glittering lights of Stanley. 

I'm a penguin, honest!

Hunter and prey... 

Some evening sun at last.

More babies.

Run Forest Run!

I am currently metaphorically basking in the warm rays of a half term holiday break, and with another blog entry well overdue, I thought I had at least start writing one. I have to say, I am well and truly glad to shut the door, turn the lock and throw away the key to the last half term. Short and intense, just like a triple espresso, would be a good way of describing it.  Tightly squeezed into the last 5 weeks were year 6 camp to Swan Inlet, key-stage 2 sports day, a flying visit by Steve Backshall from CBBC's Deadly Sixty, the visit of the Queen's Commonwealth Baton, as well as the usual busy mix of planning, meetings, teaching, meetings, marking, assessment, meetings, assemblies, meetings and meetings that constitute a typical week in the world of primary education. Oh yes, did I mention the meetings? Added to this I have run and won the Stanley half marathon and continued to train for the full marathon in 2 weeks. If I was draw a picture of what the last 5 weeks have been like, then I would probably draw someone desperately trying to force the zip on an overfilled suitcase, while his wife sits on the top! Beats being bored I suppose.

With that, I have to say that this blog entry may be a little bland in flavour, as apart from work and running, life has been rather a void in recent weeks. Even this week's holiday has been quiet. We had planned to head up to Elephant Beach with a couple of tents (deftly borrowed from school – the official line was going to be that I was airing them out after year 6 camp!), however, the gale force wind and heavy rain testing the fortitude of the front windows at the moment, has definitely dashed any hopes of that for this weekend, which is a shame. 

Running it is then. I seem to remember mentioning something about my old legs having to try and stay in one piece. Well, training was going extremely well - too well it turns out. A combination of tired trainers and large weekly mileage finally took its toll in the form of some inflammation in the joint of the toe and metatarsal ('metatarsalgia' is the correct term I believe). I came back from a run with a really odd and painful sensation of having a stone in my shoe and boring into the ball of my foot. I have to say, I have never experienced ball of the foot problems, so it was quite a shock. Ever since the stress fracture on my heel a couple of years ago and my intermittent problems with shin splints, I have always been expecting problems in these areas, if I was to get them. So to hobble back from a run with an entirely new and unexpected problem such as this was worrying - especially as it was right in the middle of a crucial period of training for the coming races. A quick online self-diagnosis ruled out other possible problems, including a stress fracture (phew!) and plantar fasciitis (another phew!), however my symptoms seemed to match metatarsalgia very closely. The good news was that home treatment of ibuprofen and ice should cure my ill-timed ailment, whereas less welcoming was the news that I would also have to rest.

Can we hurry up? It's bloody freezing standing here!

As it turns out I didn't run for another 10 days which is far from ideal for marathon preparation, but I did try to maintain some of my fitness on the turbo and I actually only missed 1 long run. Probably more telling will be the interruption in my marathon-paced interval program, of which I lost about 3 weeks in all.  I have returned to training, although rather than completely cure the problem, I have been managing it with regular ice and a few well-timed rest days here and there. I am now 2 weeks from the race and tapering, having successfully completed a last high mileage week and a win in the Cape Pembroke half marathon - see below.

Caz looking solid after the off-road section

The annual half marathon, hosted by the Stanley running club, fell exactly 4 weeks before the marathon, which I felt was excellent timing. It would be a good indicator of my fitness going into the marathon and still leave me with another long run before the start of the taper. Giving this race a much deeper significance was that it was going to be Caz's first ever race. Almost a year previously she had taken the decision to stop smoking. Alongside this, she also took up running. In just under a year she would have gone from smoking over 20 cigarettes a day and at most scampering down the school corridor in response to the odd medical emergency, to standing on the start line waiting to race 13 miles. The race would start on the Stanley by-pass; follow an off-road route around the Cape Pembroke lighthouse; return to the by-pass and finish back in the centre of Stanley on the aptly named Victory Green. Conditions for the run were far from ideal. There was a strong southerly wind whipping across the by-pass and although this meant we had a reprieve from the usual caress of the demoralising headwind the prevailing westerly winds brings as you run back up the by-pass towards Stanley; it did mean it was going to be cold, and that running around the lighthouse would be hard. I was slightly nervous, as I was unsure how my foot would respond to racing, and although I had been labelled as pre-race favourite (which invites its own pressure), I knew I would have some competition from a couple of competent local runners, as well as some late entries from 3 paratroopers based at Mount Pleasant.

How much further...?

The race went well in the end. I started strongly, taking the lead by the scruff of the neck from the 'gun' and kept it firmly in my grasp until the finish line. I felt strong on the road portions of the race, but did struggle a little on the off-road sections around the lighthouse. The wind made the running really difficult here and, due to recent rain, it was soft underfoot – not aided by racing in road shoes. Both of these factors only served to reinforce the increasingly worrisome feeling that I had started too quickly (one of the less intelligent but all too frequent habitudes of my racing). It appeared I managed to maintain my lead, although at this point I had no idea it was by so much. Being the sole lead runner is a strange feeling – and stressful I may add. I was worried about getting lost on the off road part of the race. I was worried about pacing the race badly. I was worried that I was not running fast enough. I was worried about who was behind me and by how far (I never look behind me). I have only ever been in this situation once before, so maybe you get used to it, although I suspect not.

Cheesy grin for the cameras.

As both Caz and I were racing, some friends had looked after the girls, and they had kindly brought them to the finish. It is always great to have friends and family on the finish line at races – despite the girls devouring the contents of your post-race food bag! I don’t race with a watch so had no idea about my time, but I was pretty happy with 1.16.02 and it appears I was pretty close to the course record set in 2010. My finishing position was not going to be the only first of the day. This was going to be the first time I was going to cheer on Caz over the finish line. Caz had set herself the ambitious time of finishing under 2 hours, which meant I now had something different to worry about. I finally glimpsed Caz, still looking pretty fresh, racing down the home straight. Caz had smashed her target time with a 1.44, and even came in as 2^nd lady. All in all, it had been a good day at the races. 

It was now time to speed the recovery process. I still had a last high mileage week of training for the marathon to complete, so my foot had a date with a frozen bag of veg for the afternoon. We also had to get home, showered and ready for the presentation ceremony at Government House. That was following all the interviews for Falkland Islands TV, the Penguin News and Falkland Islands Radio… media celebrity status beckons…

There was one final worry to think about however: did I remember to put those beers in the fridge?