The following is a column from BarrieToday community advisory board member Peter Bursztyn about his trip south of the equator. This is Part 5 in a series. To read Part 1, click here. To read Part 2, click here. To read Part 3, click here. To read Part 4, click here. To read Part 5, click here.
Sailing from South Georgia to the Falkland Islands, we crossed one climate boundary. Between the Falklands and Montevideo, we crossed another.
A map shows a wavy red line at the bottom. This line passes between South Georgia and the Falkland Islands.
These mark a transition from the cold Southern Ocean and the warm(er) waters of the South Atlantic. South Georgia is glaciated — obviously cold, even in summer. On the other hand, the Falklands seldom get snow — clearly warmer, but at the same latitude.
As we sailed north, I was expecting temperatures to rise steadily. Instead, it failed to exceed 12 degrees Celsius for two days, and then, suddenly, rose to 15 C the evening before we arrived at Montevideo, and 22 C in the morning.
We had been sailing the cool Falkland Current near Argentina’s shore and crossed into the warm Brazil Current just south of the Rio Plata. The Spaniards named it River of Silver (Plata); they believed there were silver deposits upstream. They certainly didn’t call it that for its appearance; it is silty brown. It is also shallow with an average depth of five metres. Many ocean-going ships have deeper drafts. Sensibly, the Argentine and Uruguayan authorities have dredged and buoyed shipping channels.
We went ashore in Montevideo because it has a superb book shop (Libreria Mas Puro Verso) near the city centre. The books are all in Spanish. But, if you have young children, there are books telling stories in pictures requiring no particular language. The shop is also great ‘eye candy,’ harking back to an era of elegance.
Unfortunately, parts of the city close to the port were full of shops catering to tourists. With several cruise ships in port — all far larger than ours — the streets were full of tourists.
We went ashore at Punta del Este, a small holiday town catering to people from Uruguay, Argentina and Brazil. At the harbour, we saw a family of sea lions cavorting about. They had been attracted by discarded bits of fish from fishmongers preparing the catch for sale. Most of the goodies were taken by the huge male with a prominent mane.
Seeing these animals reminded me we had seen little wildlife since leaving Antarctic waters. We humans occupy much of the available space on our planet, leaving little for other creatures.
We took a cycling tour around the city. As you would expect of a vacation hub, it was well kept in every way. A walking path along the shore was elegantly tiled. There were small beaches everywhere. The town is well known for the sculpture, La Mano (the hand), by Chilean artist Mario Irarrázabal.
Our next stop was Ilhabela (Portuguese for lovely island), another holiday town catering to visitors. They had a small, well-stocked maritime museum. Although I could not read the Portuguese descriptions, it seemed dedicated to shipwrecks. This was likely due to local coastal geography, which featured lots of rocks poised to attack unwary ships. Lighthouse equipment was also displayed.
The museum also had detailed models of a 15th- and a 16th-century merchant sailing ship. There was also a model of a 19th-century steamer showing luxury accommodation for the wealthy and basic quarters for other passengers. All three vessels (and others) had foundered in the neighbourhood.
The highlight of this leg of the cruise was our two days in Rio de Janeiro. The city fills the space between its several impressive and steep mountains. The tallest, Corcovado, is 710 metres high. Although that may not sound impressive, it starts near sea level. Compare that to Mount Kenya with a summit of 3,000 metres, but starting out from a 2,000-metre-high plain.
Corcovado is famous for its immense statue of Christ the Redeemer. This is 30 metres tall, not counting an eight-metre pedestal. Christ’s outstretched arms span eight metres. To protect it from erosion, the statue is entirely covered with small triangular soapstone tiles.
Even if you have no interest in Christianity, the trip (15 minutes on a cog railway climbing a 30 per cent slope) offers incomparable views of this great city. Unfortunately, on our visit, Corcovado was shrouded in mist so thick that the statue itself was barely visible from a few metres away.
Rio’s other famous mountain is the Sugarloaf (Pão de Açúcar), a steep-sided 400-metre cone of dark grey rock. Arrival is via two cable car gondola rides offering dramatic city views. Sugarloaf provides superb panoramas of Rio de Janeiro in all directions (it was a crystal-clear day), including several of the city’s broad, gleaming white beaches, plus a good view of Christ the Redeemer four kilometres away.
With a population of 6.75 million, Rio is a big city, although dwarfed by its near (420 kilometres) neighbour, São Paulo, with twice the population. São Paulo, Brazil’s largest city and business centre, is for work, while Rio, endowed with beaches, immense murals and funky architecture, is for fun. Unfortunately, our visit came at the height of Rio’s summer when daytime highs are 30 C and nighttime lows are 25 C. July’s temperatures are cooler, between 25 C and 19 C — still comfortable for beach enjoyment.
Between Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro, our ship was accompanied by frigate birds with a wide wingspan (two to two-and-a-half metres) and narrow wings. Like albatrosses, they soar long distances, often remaining aloft for weeks. Unlike most sea birds, frigate birds do not settle on the sea to rest or sleep; their feathers are not very waterproof. They have been shown to sleep on the wing.
Farther north, we acquired an escort of masked boobies. (Who devises bird names?) Smaller than frigate birds, they have a wingspan of 1.6 metres. I watched one fold its wings and plunge into the sea at speed to catch fish. They are known to eat flying fish, grabbing them as they become airborne.
Frigate birds are also called pirate birds. They harass other birds like the booby until they regurgitate their meal, when the frigate bird grabs the food as it falls.
Definitely not ‘birdbrains,’ many birds follow ships, hoping their wake will bring fish to the surface.
A brief sighting of a pod of cavorting dolphins and a distant whale ‘blow’ bring to mind the fact the sea appears sparsely populated compared to Antarctic waters. The Arctic Ocean, too, has an abundance of marine life, a resource that sustained the Inuit for 5,000 years.
Polar seas are rich, partly due to their huge krill resource, but surely also because local human populations are sparse. After all, in the 1700s, fishermen boasted that you could walk across the Atlantic on the backs of cod.
What are we doing to our planet?
Peter Bursztyn is a self-proclaimed “recovering scientist” who has a passion for all things based in science and the environment. The now-retired former university academic has taught and carried out research at universities in Africa, Britain and Canada. As a member of BarrieToday’s community advisory board, he also writes a semi-regular column. If you have a question Peter might be able to answer or something you’re curious about, email us at [email protected].
