My dad follows the video blog of a group of adventurers aboard their ship Delos as they travel the world. In one particular episode they happened across an island loaded with seabirds off the coast of Africa. Knowing my love of birds, particularly cormorants (who are right up there with the wrens, chickadees, magpies, and ravens) he was excited to share the episode when he'd seen it a few weeks back. The crew remarked on the incredible density of the birds and the overwhelming guano smell radiating in the air in the seas around the island - which really was more of a very large and jagged rock that you could only see parts of, where the birds weren't covering it. They weren't able to dock because it's protected by Namibia's government and requires a permit due to the status of the wildlife there, but they managed to get the researcher residing there off for a few drinks and songs at the pub on the mainland. When I left the house that evening I had an overwhelming urge to try and reach out to that researcher and thank him - twenty years spent on a guano-soaked rock doing the, sadly, thankless job of monitoring 80% of the populations of particular sea birds. Twenty years surrounded by naught but sea and stench and squawking! That's some bit of sacrifice.
So it took me a great deal of rummaging through the internet and searching for any bit of information until I happened across a blog (here on blogspot of all places) that even mentioned his name - and from there another while of digging around until I could find any contact information, but the search was successful and so I took a huge step out of my comfort zone. I sent the penguin-man a long reaching-out message to let him know that a small someone on the other side of the earth appreciates what he does. I didn't expect a reply back (and had half expected him to be a cynical grump of a man after all that time, more resembling an attitude akin to the likes of that harsh rock than a biologist devoted to his life's cause at that point) but a series of conversations have since ensued that have proven my fears wrong and been a real treat. The cormorants and penguins and gannets are very lucky to have someone who cares so deeply for them as to devote their life to them.
I'm also glad I'm not the only human in existence who doesn't loathe the fiach mara, and finds them charming and striking in their own way (thank you, cormorants of Inis Oírr, for bringing your unappreciated character to my attention.)
It could be because Ive neglected a lot of relationships over the past four years - unanswered emails, unreturned phone calls, nothing but regrets for plans - living on my own version of this penguin island - and the guilt is onerous, so the warm feeling that comes from helping someone out, reaching out, letting someone know you care, feels stronger than it previously would have. Who knows. But making a difference in a living being's day - any positive impact at all - must be one of the purest forms of joy there is, however small.
Speaking of warm, I'm looking forward to curling up with a blanket and making a further dent in the library's copy of David Copperfield tonight. It occurred to me at some point this afternoon that I've officially lumped Charles Dickens in with winter-only activities, alongside listening to Simon and Garfunkel (snowy weather only), hikes in the park after noon (too busy for free-ranging Brógans any other time of the year), hot bowls of Flahavans, hunting for snowy owls and shed antlers, block-printing, blueberry tea, and anything remotely clove-scented. I only just read Dickens for the first time at exactly this time last year - A Christmas Carol, surprise surprise, followed by A Tale of Two Cities - and I liked both of them far more than I expected to. Yet I couldn't bring myself to read anything further once March hit. The warm air of spring came around and I feared that something in his language, or the stories, would be lost if I tried to read them without the frigid winter's night surrounding me. Alas, he'll remain on the list of many things that make me look forward to and enjoy the dark and bitter parts of the year, and I'll enjoy it while I can.
The cormorant is an interesting bird. I used to see them when I was living on the Northumberland coast and remembered that they were once believed to be the repository of the souls of drowned sailors. I might have imagined this, but didn't Dickens write that Uriah Heap resembled a cormorant when he was riding on the back of Mr Wickfiled's carriage in David Copperfield? And in one of my short stories a cormorant appears to be the physical alter-ego of the dark being who was playing a game of chess with the destinies of two people. Yes, interesting bird, and a handsome one at that.
ReplyDeleteAs for Dickens and winter, my problem is that I can only read at all in the winter, and even then it has to be by the hearth when a fire is burning. I've dispensed with the fires this year, so nothing is getting read.
You might want to trace a little known short story by Dickens called The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain. It's set in winter and is lyrically descriptive of the season, and I thought it a neat idea to have a morality tale set in the context of a man being haunted by his own ghost.