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Published: January 9th 2011
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Last night, I went out about 9 p.m. to see if I really could see Little Penguins coming ashore right into town. I couldn't, though I could hear them. I did see a freight train (I like trains!) and a pretty good sunset, so the excursion was not wasted, though the south wind was bitterly cold.
Almost as soon as I got back to my room, about 9:45, a dreadful din arose outside. At first I thought it was another train; then I realized it couldn't be, or, if it was, that the unfortunate train must be having a wreck. I rushed to the window of the lounge to see what was really going on.
It turned out that the rocket-train I had admired so much earlier in the day had been wired for sound. It was making an ear-splitting racket, mixed (I believe) with maniacal laughter. Its interior was glowing bright red and it was giving off clouds of what appeared to be steam.
At first, that was really neat, and I got my camera and took pictures, none of which came out well. But every time it finished its blast-off routine, someone started it again. It
was Friday night; there was a bar right across the street from it....
The racket went on for half an hour; I timed it by my watch. It hurt my ears, even with earplugs, though not seriously. It was exactly the wrong frequency motor for my artificial collarbone, though (probably a Ford). The steel in my collarbone vibrates in sympathy with some motors, inflaming the soft tissues around it, and that's just what happened in this case. I couldn't get away from it because that would have meant going outside, where the sound and vibration would have been even worse. By the time someone finally shut the thing off at 10:15 my shoulder was red and swollen; it still hurts a day later.
Well, that made my decision about the penguins easy. If I could get that badly hurt by playing it safe and lying in bed, I might as well risk my lungs and my knee by going to see the yellow-eyed penguins and the Little Penguins again -- especially since it might well happen again on Saturday night. So I did.
I bought my ticket first thing in the morning, at a backpacker's discount ($42.50)
and then I went swimming again. I spent the afternoon minding my clothes, some of which were still not dry. I considered taking them to a laundromat, but gave that up when I found that the closest one was six blocks away.
I went for one more ride on the vintage railway, this time taking due note of the fact that one of the buildings we passed was the watchman's hut to which the crew of the Terra Nova brought word of Scott's death in 1912.
At 6:45 it was time to catch the Penguin Express. I was outside by 6:30, and it quickly became obvious that I'd made a mistake in not wearing my Tilley hat. I had only worn my winter hat, assuming that this would be a night excursion, but the sun was still high at 6:30.
I dithered a bit and then dashed upstairs to get it as quickly as I could. I had just regained my place outside when the bus came 'round the corner.
There were six of us on a bus that would hold 15, so we were quite comfortable. The tour began with an hour-long ride through Oamaru's
streets. We saw the exteriors of all the buildings of note in the town, and we even had a brief stop at one of the historic buildings, where we were shown a map of 19th-century Oamaru and a number of other artifacts. The town has made a very good thing out of its limestone industry, and it was also noted for having an early provider of frozen meat. He came up with a way of maintaining a freezer with sea-water, which could then be installed on freighters.
After that, we went to Bushy Beach to see the yellow-eyed penguins. I could see at once why I'd gotten such contradictory information about the place. The hostel owner had warned me that a friend of hers who'd been there said it was way too difficult for anyone with a cane; the visitors' center staff said it was quite easy.
The path down to the beach was indeed a steep and uneven slope. But that wasn't the way we took. Indeed, we were forbidden to go that way; the beach is closed to humans at times when penguins are likely to be there.
Instead, there was a nice, flat, level
W.W. I memorial
There's a quote from Kipling on the base. observation deck above the beach. I had not brought my camera, since I'd assumed the photography restrictions would also apply to the yellow-eyes, but that turned out to have been a mistake. To all appearances, the yellow-eyes actually loved being photographed. I saw three, and all of them sat there in plain view being as photogenic as possible for their audiences; stretching their beaks up into the air, flapping their wings, preening themselves, etc. One was no more than a yard from me.
So I'm sorry I didn't get pictures for the blog. I would have had innumerable opportunities if I had only had my camera with me; I'd probably have taken another hundred pictures. (I'd still only have posted six; that seems to be the practical limit, given my usual connection.)
But, since I didn't, I'll just have to go with a thousand words. Or fewer, if possible. 😊
They are the classic penguin shape, but only about 2 1/2 feet high. They have dark blue tuxes, snowy white dress shirts, and pink feet that are so thick and wide that they look like they're wearing Wellington boots. They aren't really yellow-eyed, as far as I could see; rather, a yellow stripe runs back to their eyes, which are ringed in yellow. They look a bit like the University of Iowa's Hawkeye mascot.
They are the world's rarest penguin, and they only live on the southeastern shore of the South Island and on Stewart Island below it. The southwestern shore also has penguins, but they are not the same species. They are not kept in zoos, because the New Zealand Dept. of Conservation does not feel that there is any need to maintain a captive breeding program for them.
After 45 minutes with the yellow-eyes, we went on to see the Little Blue Penguins. We stayed there from 9 to 10:15, but they were much slower at coming inland this time than they were on Wednesday, so they were still in full flood when our bus group had to leave. Apparently they come in earlier on cloudy or rainy days; they feel safer in the gloom.
About 160 had come in by the time our group left. Last night they had had 205 in all, and they were bidding fair to match that number again. To my surprise, the grandstand was much less crowded than it was on Wednesday. Evidently penguin-watching is not a popular activity on Saturday night.
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