RS, Author, Novelist on Nostr: #Writever 10.17 — Pingouin (Penguin) — Titled: *Pengiis!! We bounced and jostled ...

#Writever 10.17 — Pingouin (Penguin) — Titled: *Pengiis!!

We bounced and jostled over what could be loosely considered a road in the Land Rover, the low reddish green plants of sheep country rolling by and very recognizable waddling silhouettes growing larger ahead. I can't say that I'd come to the Falkland Islands just for this because it was just a stop on a 21 day cruise, but I'd waited for this specific penguin adventure almost but not quite as expectantly as I'd waited for the Cape Horn passage. Silly me; I was positive it would be a bust, that I'd the 400mm lens to get black thumb-shaped blobs, if we saw the birds at all. Hope springs eternal, right? I'd taken to saying "peng-ees!" when I hoped nobody was listening. But, shipboard, everybody hears you chortle.

The excursion sales pitch stated we'd get close to a gentoo penguin flock. They're a smaller-sized species with a white breast and black feathers, with a yellow beak and brush stroke of white that spreads upward from the eye toward the back of their head like eyeliner. Not at garish like their royal cousins, the kings and emperors, nor interestingly decorated like the rockhoppers. At only three foot tall, they were in no way imposing...

I'd thought.

The guide led us over the uneven ground towards them. I'd grabbed my 28-105 lens for the short hike, figuring the shorter telephoto would be what it take. We'd stop where we'd not disturb the animals. The Falklands were serious about their conservation efforts.

I'd taken the 16mm with out in wild-ass hope, though the sucker weighted too much. I already carried a very heavy tripod on the trip; I'd vowed almost two weeks earlier when I lugged the thing through swampy jungle I'd never make that mistake again. It was the only one I had on the trip, however.

We kept getting closer!

The little munchkins turned their beaks toward our little party, alternately showing one beady black eye, then the other. We kept getting closer.

Suddenly, they started marching.

As a group. Maybe fifty of them.

Waddling right toward us, making pengi-noises and squawks of interest.

Rapidly, not only didn't I need the telephoto, I'd not be able to use it!

The guide said to wait. I rapidly screwed in the 16mm, though if the guide kept us separated by even 10 feet, it's be useless. All he said was, "Don't touch them. Just let them be curious," or something to that affect.

I mounted the camera on the tripod, spreading the legs wide.

I looked up at the raucous. The flock had spread out. My companions realized what was about to happen and stepped back, I realized, almost as the smell of rotten fish punched me in nose. (Yeah, if fish is what you eat, the oil is what is on you, you smell really bad.) Before I knew it, I sat down hard, isolated, surrounded, gripping my tripod with white knuckles. Their beaks faintly resembles a yellow-hilted daggers, with the blade and the handle illogically the same.

I had them squawking 360º around me, waving their little flippers, so very palpably excited.

I almost forgot to take pictures.

Soon, even with the 16mm, I couldn't take anything good! One after the other they approached. My hat got flipped away. They crowded in, looking with one eye or the other. Peering at the lens. Pecking, but not poking.

Then I got it. Wearing a coat that neutralized my outline...

I looked vaguely peng-ish. All I needed was a tiny brown cigarette burning in a long black cigarette holder gripped in my teeth! I tried to scoot back, to get perspective. Any perspective—but they insisted.

Who was this strange penguin with the big glassy eye!?

I had a feeling the guide would be laughing his ass off tonight at the pub. Sometimes you get what you ask for.

[Author retains copyright.]

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