Followers

Thursday 20 October 2011

Day 252: Watching Boobies (09/10/2011)


How many of you can honestly say that you haven´t stared at a beautiful pair of boobies while your wife´s attention was momentarily distracted?

Thankfully, there are still places in this world where a man can gaze at all the boobies he wants without the love of his life batting an eyelid.

Isla De La Plata is one.

We raced across the Pacific Ocean from Puerto Lopez, for a stomach churning hour as the skiff leapt over the waves and ploughed into the troughs that populated the ocean surface during the 28km journey. 

When we arrived, it was to a deserted beach where the birds and the crabs fought for dominance on a shore line once walked by Sir Francis Drake - of bowling balls, fags and spuds fame.

The birds squabbled and the crabs – well they crabbed. I put the video camera on the sand and once I had retired to a safe distance, they came to investigate. What resulted, only needs a slapstick sound track and is destined to be the next You Tube sensation - providing no one films a cat stuck in a washing machine on spin cycle, in the meantime.

The island is home to clouds of ever-circling Frigate birds that puff their red neck pouches out during the mating season. Tropical birds swoop and soar about the cliff faces. Blue Footed Boobies sit on eggs in nests that they have constructed rather foolishly on the ground. 

I say constructed, when of course, I mean that they crapped extensively on a flat piece of earth, flicked it about a bit and then sat on it.

To add to their stupidity, they often accidentally, seem to occupy a concealed position but blow the reproductive advantage by hooting and clicking at anything that comes within 50m. This is even when it is heading in the opposite direction and is clearly unaware of their presence, let alone the tasty morsel upon which they are so fastidiously perched.

As you approach, it then dawns on them that silence is the better option and they go all coy on you. You can stare at a Booby all day long without a hint of objection from the female, or the male for that matter - that stands nearby like a spare prick at a wedding, contributing precisely nothing to the equation apart from more fresh guano to add to the nest.

As we left the island after two hours of watching the inquisitive inhabitants, who have yet to learn to fear us, a lone Pelican performed an elaborate dance.

Perched on a rock above the beach, he took to the air at precise intervals, circled for a while and then folded his wings before diving into the surf.

Each time he surfaced with a pouch full of water and fish. The water spilled in a cascade from his beak as he took to the air, circled again and landed in the same spot he had taken off from. Settled back on his perch, he tipped his head back and downed the hapless fry before spending a minute or two digesting them.

Then he did it all over again.

Watching birds or watching Boobies – it’s all the same.

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