Ascension Island Expedition -- Ascension Island, Day One

GEORGETOWN, Ascension Island (March 12, 2007) – The flight crossed Spain – I took some photographs – and apparently flew around Africa rather than crossing over it. For those who stayed awake on the flight, the flight offered a series of movies and television shows, as well as a number of listening options. They also offered TWO pretty decent meals. (And it looked like the other passengers had much more leg room that is normally available on an American airline.

We arrived on Ascension about 0730 the morning of March 9. Since we had already obtained permission to enter, getting through immigration here was a breeze. A woman from the Ascension tourism office gave us a ride to the American portion of the air base.


We met Maj. Jason Edelblute, the commander of the American base, who gave us good news. We would be allowed to stay in base quarters for the duration of our trip – which saved us quite a bit of money. We told him more about our research. After we had a chance to settle in a bit, he took us into Georgetown so that we could meet the personnel at the Ascension Conservation Centre.



The new director at the Centre, Suzanna Musick, was a bit overwhelmed as she had just arrived on the island – on the same flight. Stedson Stroud, a longtime employee, filled us in on what the island was like. I went in search of the bank to get money, but left empty handed as their credit hard machine was out of action. I was able to get money from the Obsidian Hotel, though.

After getting money, we went to the store for groceries. Sometime during the afternoon we ate fish and chips at the Obsidian, then Tom and Steve went back to the American base. I stayed behind at the Conservation Centre to help them resolve a problem they had with their geographic information system. I somehow fixed it.


GEORGETOWN, Ascension Island (Wednesday, March 14, 2007) – I spent the rest of the day and night Friday getting to know some of Georgetown. Steve and Tom were pretty jet-lagged, so stayed at the barracks. I was eager to go on a tour to observe green sea turtles (Chelonia mydas), which are about at the peak of their breeding season, so cleaned up and headed down to Georgetown about 6 p.m.

I ate a fishpie and chips at the Saints Club, then had ginger ales bought for me at the bar by various Saints. The club also had a games room with a pool table as well as another room where a raucous card game was going on. Afterward I headed out back and watched a much more serene game of skittles -- a precursor of ten-pin bowling.

I enjoyed my brief time there, but had to get over to the Conservation Centre for the turtle tour. I asked the two people that looked in charge if I could use Stroud’s phone to call Jimmy Young, a man I had contacted earlier about diving. A woman there, Jacqui Ellick, helped me track down Young at his girlfriend’s house after my attempts to reach him failed. Young and I set a time for Sunday morning at 9 a.m. Meeting Jacqui was fortuitous -- she was the one leading the turtle tour to nearby Long Beach.

The tour began with a brief video and discussion of the turtles at the Conservation Centre. Then we headed to the beach. I helped carry equipment, which (I think) led to Jacqui’s invitation to accompany her in search of females in the process of laying eggs.

Jacqui is impressive. She, like most people on Ascension, is a Saint. Her eyes were as sharp as an owl’s on the moonless beach (we were aided, however, by the lights of a freighter anchored offshore). She could spot turtles where I could barely notice shadows. A few minutes with her, however, sharpened my skills in seeing and hearing turtles.

At first, I only saw them at a distance, but within 30 minutes we began watching one female in a hole closely. She had dug a deep pit, but was stalling toward the end. Jacqui and I spotted several females nearby, however. The first female we watched crawled out of the pit before laying any eggs, but as she aborted, more came onshore.


Eventually we found one laying eggs, and Jacqui called the members of the tour over to observe. In general, flash photography is discouraged when turtles come ashore, but females can be photographed while laying eggs – but only from the back.

A group of us then released a bucket of hatchlings that had been studied by a graduate student here. The hatchlings were slow to make their move to the sea, so Jacqui began separating them and turning over those on their backs. I began to help, and was so focused on the job that I failed to notice a wave coming for us. Jacqui’s warning and the movement of the others got me up from a sitting position, but my ankles were in water and some hatchlings were under my feet. I did not move until Jacqui told me where I could safely step.

As the night broke up, I hitched a ride back to the American base with Jacqui and Ian. I told Jacqui I would meet her the next morning to help her with her efforts to collect data on new nest sites.

Ascension Island Expedition -- Berwick-Upon-Tweed to RAF Brize Norton

SHEFFIELD, England (Thursday, March 8, 2007) – Today began well. I had a good, though somewhat interrupted sleep. Before breakfast, I walked to the train station and learned southbound trans were operating as scheduled. I returned to the bed & breakfast for an excellent meal (egg sunny side up, English-style bacon, sausage, toast, and grapefruit.


I asked the male proprietor (I think they are a husband-and-wife team) about a bike shop nearby where I might be able to get the cart repaired. He suggested one, gave me a map, and . . . Success! The guy at the bike shop was great, as was the solution, which became obvious to me as soon as I entered the shop: training wheels.



With my cart fixed and nearly two hours to kill before my train was to leave, I headed for the walls of Berwick – a city noted for the frequency with which it changed hands between the Scots and English. The site is impressive. It is awe-inspiring, yet disturbing, to think of the amount of resources spent on military endeavors throughout human history.



While walking along the wall I was attacked by a vicious mutt (Alsatian and collie mix) with a stick. The owner and dog were walking, and the dog paused around what turned out to be a five-foot branch. I thought it was a bush until I looked back at the dog and saw it running down the path with the branch in her mouth.


She came up to me, and when I reached out to pet her, she jumped back and grabbed her stick. I knew what that meant, and the tug-of-war was on. She was not going to let me quit. When I broke off a smaller branch and tossed it to distract her with a game of fetch, she took one step toward the smaller piece, then returned to HER stick.

The last I saw her, she was attacking her mother with that same stick.


My sightseeing done, I returned to the bed & breakfast, fetched my gear, and walked back to the strain station, stopping to take more photos on the way.

Next stop, Oxford and a bus or taxi ride to RAF Brize Norton.


GEORGETOWN, Ascension Island (March 12, 2007) – The train was brutally crowded as it pulled into the Oxford station. I got my gear ready as best I could and a kid helped me carry some of it out off the train.

I pulled myself together, walked into the station and found Steve Stephenson and Tom Smith, my colleagues for the journey, waiting for me. We scrambled around the station, grabbing some last-minute food and searching for a taxi. We found one – ₤36 for a one-way ride to Brize Norton. Fortunately, we were splitting the fare three ways. While traffic was heavy, the views of the Oxfordshire countryside made the ride pleasant.


We checked in as soon as we arrived at RAF Brize Norton and were quickly approved to go through. We had to wait for a shuttle to the terminal and were rather impressed. It did not look like a military installation, but a small version of an airport. Baggage check-in was a little screwy – I was told I could not fly in shorts – but they were generous in allowing the three of us to average our allowable weight. I would have had to pay a hell of a lot of money for going over my weight limit otherwise.

After obtaining our boarding passes, we waited. We ate the sandwiches we bought at the Oxford station, hung out with some British army guys, and watched TV. I used some pay terminals to check my e-mail. We heard an announcement that the plane would depart late, but we were called to go through pre-flight security checks earlier than I thought we would. A shuttle bus took us out to our plane, a 747 operated by XL airlines. I got a window seat at an emergency exit. I made sure I knew how to operate the doors in case of an emergency.

Fortunately there was none.

Ascension Island Expedition -- Strike! (Thurso to Berwick-Upon-Tweed)

LEEDS, England (Thursday, March 8, 2007) – I woke up at 0445 hours to get ready for my departure from the Thurso rail station. A taxi (the same driver who took me to Scrabster; ₤3) took the to the station. I arrived there about 0625, about 30 minutes early. For awhile a diver of a car parked next to the platform was my only company, but a few minutes after I arrived a young Danish man, Jacob (spelling?) showed up and mentioned the strike.

Jacob had arrived in Thurso the night before, and on the way ScotRail personnel told him the ride would end in Inverness just before the strike was to begin at noon. The train had only two cars, and was pretty crowded at that, so I shared a table seat with Jacob. We talked some, looked out the window some, and read some, and sure enough, at Inverness we were told it was the end of the line.

Inverness was a madhouse between the train and bus stations. I asked for rental cars, but the rental car places either did not rent one-way, had no cars available, or were too damned expensive (₤80 per was what I was told at one place).


After a round-trip taxi ride to the airport in search of rental cars or flights, (and which included a pleasant conversation with the taxi driver as well a pass by Culloden – the futile last gasp of the Jacoobite cause), Jacob and I returned to the bus station in search of tickets south. He got a bus to Edinburgh. I wanted to get to Berwick-upon-Tweed, but royally screwed up and booked a ticked to Stirling – in central Scotland – instead. Fortunately Alison realized my mistake and called me back to warn me. I rebooked to Edinburgh, where I hoped to catch a train or bus south to Berwick.


The ride took us back through the Cairngorms. The weather was gorgeous, and the snow-capped peaks majestic. After awhile, though, I just wanted the journey to be over.

One of he casualties of the strike was a planned trip to Dundee, where I hoped to meet Alison’s uncle Douglas and Aunt Mary. Another casualty was my sanity.


In Edinburgh, I hoped to get money from an ATM. No luck at the bus station. I went on to the train station, and while there, the cart I bought to help haul my gear gave up the ghost – or at least one of the cheesy plastic wheels did (a damned shame as the cart cost me (₤21, or about $42 US). I was reduced to dragging my gear along. I first went to find out about southbound trains. No trains were running, but GNER had shuttle buses bound for Dunbar and Berwick-upon-Tweed.

I then went in search of dinner, made an order, but the place told me after preparing the sandwich that their credit card machine did not work, though. This was an unfortunate turn of events as I had NO cash. I tried two more ATM machines at the station. Again, no luck.

By now I was beginning to get desperate. There was a bank of three more ATMs within view. I tried the first one, no luck yet again. But the fifth, from a different bank, coughed up ₤20. I then headed to a Burger King at the station, only to be told it was closed. I started for the sandwich shop again, but they were dropping their gates.

Two shuttle buses arrived. I put my gear on the first one, only to learn that it was full before I could board. I moved my gear to the second bus, and got on, relieved as it started south.

The bus left about 2000 hours, 14 hours after I left Thurso. We arrived in Berwick about 2130 hours. My efforts to find lodging for the night fell to naught, until I called the 40 Ravensdowne Bed & Breakfast. They had a family suite available for ₤40 – more than I wanted to spend, and more than I had at the time (₤20). I decided to take the room just to get the damned night over with. Since I was worried about money, I did not call a taxi, and instead walked into town with my 70 pounds of gear and a broken cart. I got hopelessly lost. After passing a police station on my last wrong direction, I stopped off at the station, picked up the phone and was told someone would be out shortly.

Two officers came out, the first one telling me the door had been open. I apologized with a quick recap of my exhausting day, told him what I needed. He pointed me in the right direction. As I left, I apologized again.

“Nae worries, mate,” he said.

I thanked him and headed back down the street. As I rounded the coroner onto Ravesdowne street, I saw the proprietor at the front door looking for me. She set me up with a room and I called Alison. We had plenty to talk about, with my crazy night, with a store in Edinburgh double-charging me for the cart, AT&T screwing Alison over use of her phone card (one idiot there argued with her that the card could not be used for local calls – Relevance? Truth? – and that her attempted calls to me using the card were local).

Well, afterward Alison successfully used it to make a local call. There is also a little problem with the fact that my cell phone number has a 44 (United Kingdom) country code. Since 1776, Virginia and England have been in two different countries. Oh well.

The Virginia Credit Union was also causing problems, with no credit showing for the overcharge on the cart, delays in crediting deposits made IN CASH, and other problems. Some of my debits weren’t showing up yet, so I went in search of ATM machines. The first one I tried, from the Royal Bank of Scotland, did not work. The second one, from Barclays did. I left with enough money to pay for my room as well as questions as two why I could not get any money from five previous ATMs. Three of them, however, were from the Royal Bank of Scotland, so I suspect some kind of network issue.

I tried to catch up on my writing back at the bed & breakfast, but gave up, tried to read, and quickly fell asleep.

Ascension Island Expedition -- Orkney

NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, England (Thursday, March 8, 2007) – I need not have worried about the previous night's storm. When I woke Tuesday morning, the wind that howled outside (and sometimes through) my window was nowhere to be heard. The sun was bright, with scattered clouds. This was looking good.

After breakfast I caught a taxi (₤4) to the Northlink Ferries port at Scrabster to board passage on the MV Hamnavoe (₤26 round-trip, or return as they call it). A light breeze blew across Pentland Firth, which connects the North Atlantic to the North Sea.



What can I say about the passage? Spectacular? The views of Dunnet Head, the northernmost point on the Scottish mainland, and of Hoy and Flotta, islands on the southwest portion of Orkney were, well, spectacular. I got a good look at what is arguably Hoy’s most famous resident, the Old Man of Hoy, a stone pillar that rises dozens of feet above the North Atlantic waves that crash into the base of it. I also saw what looked like a waterfall that dropped off the southwest portion of Hoy into the sea far below.

After about an hour at sea, the Hamnavoe steered east into Scapa Flow, and soon pulled into its berth at Stromness, on the southwest coast of Mainland, Orkney’s largest Island.

DARLINGTON, England (Thursday, March 8, 2007) – I wish I could say a lot about Stromness, but I was there just long enough to catch a ride elsewhere. I had originally hoped to see Scara Brae, the Neolithic settlement site, but bus access was limited, thus I selected plan B. I bought a one-day Orkney Rover pass (₤6), which would allow me to get on and off as I wished) and headed for my first stop, Stenness.


Near Stenness are three World Heritage sites, the Standing Stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brodgar, and Maes Howe. I walked up a road to the Standing Stones, a stone circle with a few giant stones that still stand. It dates to about 5,000 BP (before present).

Then I walked up to the Ring of Brodgar, about a mile away. On the way, I was accosted by a border collie and a black lab with muddy paws – who christened my formerly clean jeans. (Of course, I did NOTHING to encourage their visit.)

I cannot think of an adjective that adequately describes the Ring of Brodgar (4,000-4,500 BP). Amazing seems rather weak. Nearly 30 large stones remain, as well as a most that surrounds the ring of stones, a few large cairns and other structures.


On the way back to the main road between Stenness and Kirkwall I decided to stop by another site indicated by a sign on the road next to the Stones of Stenness – the Barnhouse Neolithic village. It dates to more than 5,000 BP. The settlement has been partially reconstructed. The highlight is a large building that may have been a ceremonial center. One large residence and several small ones are also there.


I was still tired and sore after my experience walking from Wick to Noss Head the day before, so I decided to try a shortcut to Maeshowe, a burial mound about a mile or more away. My shortcut consisted of walking along Loch Harray. It was NOT a good idea, but once committed, I persisted in my error. Most of the walking was slow, but uneventful, at least until I reached ditches I had to cross. One I had to jump. My right foot sank into the mud at the far edge and I ended up landing on my face on the other side. Too bad no one was there to capture the moment in videotape.


Eventually I reached a point where I could neither realistically go on, nor return, so I cut into a farm field and headed for a churchyard surrounded by a stone wall. There was only one way across the wall – up and over – but I could not have climbed it myself. Fortunately there was a trough of water for the sheep. With a little help from someone else’s concrete, and with my apologies to the permanent (and deceased) members of the churchyard, I made my way back to the main road an on to Maes Howe visitor’s center.

Rather than wait for the guided tour to the tomb, I decided to wait for the bus and write a couple of postcards (puffins for my son, Malcolm, and a seal for my daughter, Mei).


YORK, England (Thursday, March 8, 2007) – I did not have a lot of time to spend in Kirkwall, the main city in Orkney, but I made the most of what time I had. Near the bus stop was St. Magnus Cathedral, a eleventh century structure that is majestic both inside and out. The cathedral was open, so I walked up and down the aisles, taking not nearly enough photos of its magnificent interior. A couple of men were either rehearsing or working on the gorgeous organ in the center.



A model of a Viking longship is berthed upon an altar in the santuary, and several centuries of memorials to lost Orcadians adorn the walls. One modern highlight is the bell from HMS Royal Oak, sunk by a German submarine in Scapa Flow in 1939 with more than 800 lives lost.


Across the street was the Earl of Orkney’s palace, another example of spectacular medieval architecture as well as another spectacular building. I do not know what the other building was but I suspect it may be the bishop’s residence. After visiting the cathedral and Earl’s palace, I went in search of a post office from which to mail my postcards to Malcolm and Mei.

I also found a bakery and bought a meat pie and a drink, and had lunch in front of the cathedral. I used my few remaining minutes to walk around the cathedral’s neighborhood, then took off for the bus stop. I arrived there early, and decided to go across the street to a couple of stores in search of nail clippers with which to trim my claws. No luck.



The bus ride back to Stromness was uneventful, but I had a nice conversation with a young mother and her 10-month old, teething, and intense-looking daughter. Her gray eyes did not miss anything. (Her mother said she often won staring contests.)

The wind had picked up that afternoon, but the ferry captain said he expected a smooth passage back to Scrabster. He was right, but I got a good glimpse of how turbulent the sea could be, with wind whipping up a nice foam over the surface of the waves.


The Old Man looked better in the afternoon light, but the overcast to the west kept him somewhat enshrouded in shadow. I still enjoyed the view. As is my habit, I spent the passage outside rather than in, but the wind beat the hell out of me for my trouble.



From Scrabster, I caught a bus (₤1) back to Thurso, and eventually found a grocery store open that had nail clippers as well as a few snack items for what I expected to be a long travel day back south.

While on Orkney, my wife, Alison, called to tell me about a possible strike by railroad signalmen later in the week. The strike would affect my travel plans if it happened, as I was planning to do it all by rail. But I could learn nothing of the impending strike in Thurso.