Tag Archives: Wildlife

A Musk-see sight

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Saturday 23 August 2025 – In yesterday’s post, I said that the plan for today involved tramping around looking for local wildlife. The activity was described as a “safari”, which conjures up images of hot, sunny conditions and being ferried around between exotic photo opportunities in a robust 4×4. However, we’re in the Norwegian midlands, and so realised that it wasn’t going to be hot, and the forecast suggested that it wouldn’t be sunny, either. So our getting-up activities involved a certain amount of rumination about how much protection we’d need against the almost-certain cold and the apparently likely rain. We also knew that there would be, as I said, a certain amount of tramping about, quite possibly up and down the side of mountains and maybe even in and out of Norwegian woods. So I was also concerned about not getting too hot, since the forecast temperature was some 12°C. In the end, I opted for more protection against the rain than against the cold.

At breakfast, and at the suggestion of the hotel staff, we stacked up a couple of sandwiches each so that we could take a packed lunch with us for the day, and set off for the two dozen kilometres to Hjerkinn, where we would meet up with our guide for the day. On the drive over, we noted a couple of things to be explored on the way back.

We arrived at a windswept car park which featured a few huddled groups of folk who, like us, were expecting a safari,

but there was no immediate information about what to do. There was a troll there, which was laughing at us,

but that was it. I realised at this point that I had probably got the balance between wet and cold wrong in my gear selection – it was chilly and there was a stiff breeze.

After a while, though, some chaps emerged from the building and it became clear that they were the guides for the day. There was a bigger group, around a dozen, who were going with one guide; and we had our own chap, Jakob. But we all piled into vehicles together and headed down the road for a few minutes to the starting point of the day’s safari. Jakob immediately led us off on our trip. I asked him what the plan was for the day, and it was straightforward enough: walk for a couple of hours in the hope of finding our quarry; spend some time eating lunch and watching it; and then walk a couple of hours back. Simples!

We crossed a river,

went under a railway and then headed along a track up the side of a hill.

The scenery was immense

and the wind was strong and cold; but walking up the hill was a nice warming activity. At one point, Jakob stopped and said, “Ah, I can see them already”. He was doing that thing that expert guides do all over the world and which annoys and impresses me in equal measure – picking out an animal from its surrounding scenery, even though it’s entirely invisible to my eyes.

Believe it or not, there’s a Musk Ox in the middle of that picture. In fact, it became clear that there was a small group of them, maybe some 700 metres away, which I could just about make out if I used the 30x telephoto of my phone.

It was clear that we would have a bit of a trek to get to the point where even I could see them with my naked and streaming eyes.

Jakob gave us a choice of route – we could take an easier, but longer way round, or we could do a shorter yomp across the intervening brush which should get us near the animals more quickly. We opted for the brush route, which took us across and through moss, lichen and small scrubby plants of various sorts.  The going was not easy.

but it conveyed the authentic Norwegian safari experience wonderfully well.  We even got to see Musk Ox poo.

Before you get too excited about that, let me show you the scale of this defecation.

This, remarkably, is the poo of an animal which might weigh half a ton. Jakob explained that it was winter poo – more details promised later.  We also, by way of balance, came across some summer poo

which was larger and, unsurprisingly, fresher. This demonstrated that we were actually using a track that a Musk Ox might choose as a route from A to B, via W and C.

We finally got to a place where even I could make out the beasts, some 250 metres away.

We were not the only people out looking for Musk Ox; I hope this picture gives some perspective of what could be seen with the naked eye.

We were not allowed to go any closer than this to the Musk Oxen. We had been told before we embarked on this diversion that that this was the case. I had thought that it was in order to afford the Musk Ox some protection from the ravages wrought by humankind. That’s not the case. The distance rule is for the protection of humans, of whom Musk Ox are not even slightly frightened. Jakob explained that the animals are very protective of their rather large personal space, and can be aggressive if people get too close. In fact, a handful of people get killed by Musk Oxen every year.

So – 250 metres.  Time to get the Big Camera (or, rather, the Big Lens) out.

We could see a family group – female, male and two calves. They seemed utterly unaffected by the proximity of the E6 main road going close by.

The E6, in fact, is a barrier – if they stray beyond it and can’t be shooed back, they have to be shot before they cause aggro.

Jakob had brought a spotter scope with him and was able to assist Jane in getting a couple of shots through it on her phone,

and the results are pretty good; but I was pleased with the results I got, particularly when three of them formed a nice family group photo for me.

Female on the left, 4-month-old calf in the middle, male on the right, distinguishable by the bulk of horns on his head.

I took a little video, also.

We spent probably an hour watching these, whilst we ate our lunch, and Jakob gave us a great deal of information about Musk Oxen, on which he is something of an expert, having written a thesis on the beasts at University.

They are not, despite the name, cattle. They are actually related to sheep and goats. Once you know this, it’s obvious from looking at the heads and eyes. It also explains the habit of the males during mating season of establishing superiority, and hence shagging rights, by running full tilt at each other, which is a disturbing sight.

They are mind-bogglingly stupid, apparently. Several die each year because they will charge an oncoming train, for example.  The area we were in used to be a Norwegian Army training area, and one Musk Ox apparently charged a tank several times. He actually survived, but minus one of his horns, which must have felt as odd to him as it would have looked to us. They are very agile, and will climb steep mountain sides, a la goat, but should they lose their footing it rarely ends well. They are also subject to dying from pneumonia. That said, they are very tough creatures, being able to survive in winter temperatures down as low as -60°C. This explains their winter poo – during extremely cold weather, they stop growing entirely in order to conserve what energy they can derive from what grazing they can dig up from beneath the snow. In summer, when the temperature climbs, they can simply go higher in the mountains to avoid the worst of the heat. And their poo reflects a more normal metabolism.

The big surprise to me is that they are not native to Norway, having gone extinct here some ten thousand years ago.  They were reintroduced from Greenland, a process that was far from straightforward and which took several attempts over the course of centuries, starting in the 18th century and only really succeeding in the 20th.  The group we were watching was part of a population in the area which is managed to only around 200.

We had been joined by the others in our larger group, and they drifted off to watch another pair of oxen just along the way.  We passed them on our trek back to the start.

There are a couple of Musk Ox there, honest.

We took the longer but easier way back to the van.

The way out (3km)
The way back (5km)

and Jakob explained to us a somewhat left-field, but lucrative, industry based around a lichen, the White Curl lichen, which is ubiquitous here. (By the way this is one of the several species collectively known as “Reindeer Lichen” because… er… they form the major part of the diet of reindeer).

These tiny little clumps are prized. People pick them dry them and then sell them – to model railway enthusiasts, who use them as trees. It’s a million-crown industry, apparently.

Generally, the colour and variety of mosses and lichens in the area is remarkable.

So ended our Musk Ox safari, six of the possible 200 animals sighted, altogether a satisfactory day out. The expected rain never materialised, further underlining my poor clothing decision-making ability. Although I found it very chilly at times, it could have been a lot worse; but I really could have done with an extra layer. Never mind – we saw our Musk Oxen and we were happy.

On the way back, we stopped off at the two places we’d noted on the way out.  Firstly, Dovregubbenshallen, which is a remarkable huddle of buildings just beside the E6. The wooden construction and turf roof is in the traditional architectural style called “Gudbrands”, which is a feature of the Gudbrandsdale valley, this region.

Translated, its name means “Old Man’s Hall”, or “King’s Hall”, and it has links with the well-known saga of Peer Gynt. Ibsen’s play confers the name “Dovregubben” to one Jotun Dovre who fostered and raised Norway’s King Harald, called Dovefostre as a youngster. I’m not sure that Edvard Grieg, in writing the part of his Peer Gynt suite called “In the Hall of the Mountain King”, had the cafe there in mind…

The cake (well-deserved, I’m sure you will agree) was good though.

The other place we wanted to visit was, again, a set of striking buildings beside the road.

This was Fokstugu Fjellstue, Fox Cottage Mountain Lodge, which turned out to be a pilgrim hostel and retreat, based upon a sheep farm.  There’s a pilgrim route, Olav’s Way, stretching from Oslo to Trondheim, on the coast, and this is a place where pilgrims could stay.  It looked a bit run down, frankly – the church was closed and some of the building structure was crumbling. But it’s a handsome site.

And that was it for the day – an active and full one, and perfect preparation for my deerburger evening meal back at the hotel.

We have one more day in Dovrefjell before heading back to Oslo to mooch around there. No formal activity is scheduled on our agenda, but Jane has just informed me that she has a few ideas.  I’ll come back to these pages tomorrow to see what it was we got up to.

 

Lizard Island, Part 2

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Monday 7 October 2024 – I was wondering how I would do when I faced the challenge of not making a total arse of myself on a snorkelling expedition yesterday, Sunday 6th, which was our last full day on Lizard Island. We were due to go out at 2pm on an expedition to see turtles and giant clams, so I started worrying thinking about how to prepare at, oh, I dunno, about 7am. Although I had vowed never to snorkel again, for some reason I had brought a waterproof camera with me, the rather capable Olympus Tough TG-5 that I had bought for our first major trip six years ago, when we went to South America, and it came in rather handy then. This, however, was its first serious outing since, and so I wondered whether 6 year old tech would still cut the mustard for creating photos for this blog. We’d also bought a waterproof case for Jane’s phone camera, which had not worked on its previous outing and we hoped it might be a backup in case my efforts came to naught.

There were only five punters for the outing: our American friends Susan and Michael (experienced divers both); Jane and me (experienced snorkellers one of us); and a lady called Louise who was perfectly pleasant but a bit of a chaos catalyst – she was a lady of last-minute decisions, such as would she snorkel or simply observe, and would she therefore fill out the disclaimer even if she was only going to observe, and would she provide credit card info to cover the cost and so forth.

So it was, at quite a few minutes past 2pm, we found Nemo

and set out across to Watson’s Bay, past a nice view of the resort’s main lodge.

Captain Tom briefed us on all the usual things,

like what to do if the boat caught fire, or sank, and Olla, our guide for the dive (sorry, no photo, but she’s a lot prettier than Tom) briefed us on what to do if we sank or otherwise had problems and, importantly, how to get out of the water once we’d finished.

Watson’s Bay revealed no turtles, so Tom steered us a little way out to what the resort calls the clam garden, where we could attempt to see the other half of the brief. Once there, Olla jumped in, Susan and Michael followed her example, as did Jane, and I did my best to slide gently off the boat so as not to get too much of the ocean deep into my sinuses, which I judged would have been a poor start to the activity.

My main reservation about snorkelling has been the dichotomy between being able to see (and photograph) what’s beneath me whilst still keeping up with a group; I can do one or the other, but not both. If I concentrate on looking below the water, I easily become disoriented and lose sight of the group, and then it takes me time to spot them and swim over, by which time, beneath their snorkelling masks, they’re rolling their eyes at my flailing around.  Thus you can imagine that I was a bit worried about keeping up, but Olla was towing a nice visible buoyancy ring, and I found this really helpful. I could see the group, the currents and the waves were small and so I could actually relax and spend a few of my limited mental MIPs on watching the reef below .

Which was fabulous.

For once, I was relaxed enough to be able to work out what the camera was doing and so, among the many dozens of photos I took, there are some good ones.

Blackspot Snapper and Lined Bristletooth
Colourful coral and fishes

Giant clam

Another giant clam

There are several more, which you can view at a Flickr Album I have created.

A photographic note here, since this is a photo blog as well as a travel blog.  If technical photo stuff bores you then (a) you are dead to me and (b) you may skip this bit (the next three images).

Here’s a comparison of what a photo from the Oympus looked like out of the camera, and what a bit of processing can do.

Image straight out of the camera, which means that the camera itself has made some decisions about colours and other key image characteristics

One of the things that I like about the camera is that it can capture images in RAW (sort of a digital negative format), which means two things: firstly, that every image needs some form of processing in order to be viewable; and secondly that a lot more detail can be got out of the image.  I can use my favourite processing software to gussy up the image that the camera has created from its own RAW data,

and you can see an improvement; but if I make exactly the same corrections to the RAW version, you get this:

better colours, more detail, less noise. To any people considering being serious about their photography, I present this as being why you should always make sure you have a camera which can do RAW.

OK, the rest of you can start reading again from here.

The giant clams were amazing – the colours (vivid electric greens, blues and purples) didn’t really look natural! As well as the many giants, there were much smaller clams, around 10-15cms long, embedded in the other corals (a few examples can be seen in the parrot fish picture above) which were equally brightly coloured although they tended to close up as one swam over them. To my untutored eye the coral looked to be in pretty good shape too, offering a multitude of shapes and colours. All in all the whole thing was a lot less stressful and much more rewarding than I had expected it to be.

That was pretty much it for the day, apart from one little item of wildlife that Jane spotted on our balcony before we turned in for the night;

a gecko, which had picked, as its ideal resting spot for the night, the space under my drying swimming trunks.

So: today, then: the day we left Lizard Island. There was something of a timing issue at stake: a visit to the Research Station was possible this morning, but then again our flight back to Cairns also left this morning. The resort staff did a great job of ensuring that we did both, again an example of the great service that accompanies the great food there.

We had a swift breakfast, keeping a stern eye on the seagulls which were positioning themselves for a guerilla raid on our breakfast bacon if we let our attention drift,

and then we (actually the exact same people who had gone out on the boat yesterday) set out in a couple of robust trucks on the track

to the Research Station

to be welcomed by Dr Lyle Vail,

one of the co-directors of the station, an extremely knowledgeable, eloquent and engaging man. He spent some 90 minutes filling our brains to overflowing with information about the station’s 51-year history, its three missions and the area it covers.

Lizard Island was once part of the mainland, back in the Good Old Days, when the sea level was 120 metres below today’s.  This, incidentally means that the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef was a 120-metre high cliff, since deep ocean starts there. That’s 400 feet in old money – it must have been an extraordinary sight to see the waterfalls pouring over the edge. But inland of that edge, some 20,000 years ago, it was dry land, which is how come the island has a significant aboriginal history. Sea levels rose and Lizard Island was cut off about 6,000 years ago. Lyle described (in simple terms such that we mere mortals could understand) some of the scientific research that gives the evidence for that history.

He showed us an example of the research lab space they provide

which doesn’t look like much, but then the researchers bring much of their own gear when they can.  He also showed us an example of gear the station can provide

in the form of sophisticated microscopes, which are a bit tricky for researchers and students to bring for themselves. The centre also provides accommodation for up to 37 visiting scientists and students and boats for them to do their expeditions to the reef for research.

The station was in a quiet time, research-wise, so Lyle wasn’t able to show us much activity in the aquarium section of the station; but there was some work going on concerning the crown of thorns starfish, or COTS.

which (a) has to be handled very carefully on account of the spines being able to inject a very nasty venom

and (b) is causing great concern because of its ability to inflict terminal damage to coral reefs by extruding its stomach (at the centre underneath it) over sections of coral

and digesting the coral polyps. They graze back and forth, basically killing areas of reef.  Again, in the Good Old Days before humans started dicking about with the world’s climate systems, this was not a problem; but the warmer waters that arise from climate change make it easier for the COTS to multiply, in turn threatening the reef. The female can produce millions of eggs; the survival rates of the subsequent larvae are boosted by warmer water temperatures (and higher nutrient levels due to agricultural runoff).

Lyle also talked us through bleaching (another probable consequence of climate change)

and showed us a tank where a controlled temperature is being maintained

in order to make specific observations. The tank, by the way, contained quite a sizeable clam.

It would have been fascinating to spend several more hours there listening to Lyle and appreciating his knowledge, passion and ability to explain stuff. But we had to leave, a departure made slightly more tense by Louise’s indecisiveness a out buying a Research Station T-shirt.  For our part, we made a small contribution to the station in the form of a nice new hat for Jane, swiftly chosen

and then had to take our leave for the airport to start our journey home.

So: is that it? Is That All There Is?

Not quite. We started our journey home as soon as the good old Cessna took off, but getting back to cold, wet, thundery Blighty was a two-day exercise, and I’ll write about that in the next post, which will be the closing entry for this trip.

 

Lizard Island, Part 1

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Saturday 5 October 2024 – Yesterday, 4th October, marked the start of the last leg of our two-month trip around Australia, as we beat a fairly hasty Retreat from the Rose Gums Wilderness (see what I did there?). Our destination for the day was Lizard Island, a 10 km² chunk of the Great Barrier Reef, off the north-east coast of Australia. The name refers to a multi-island group, a National Park, and a resort of the same name. The main island is small, and the only ways to get to it are by boat or on a light aircraft; using the latter was our plan, a one-hour flight departing from Cairns airport. We had a mild attack of planning hiccups when it became clear that we didn’t know how to get from the Avis car rental return depot to the “General Aviation Terminal” whence the East Air flight would depart. Our Audley instructions were simply to “make our way” thither, but it looked like it was over 1km, which is a bit daunting when burdened by suitcases and backpacks. We were also not sure that we’d get away with our baggage as it was – probably overweight and possibly oversize. (I emphasise that I’m talking about our luggage, here, but two months of relentless tourism travelling meant that those adjectives also applied to us by this stage.) We had pre-empted problems by hiving off some of the heavier and less relevant items (including my drone) into separate bags for storage whilst Jane contacted the Lizard Island Resort and we learnt a couple of key things: firstly, the flight was with an airline called Hinterland (not East Air as Audley had told us); the second was that there was a transfer possible (which it was clear that Audley had not booked for us), but the nice lady on the other end of the phone was able to fix it.

So we scurried off into the gathering dawn and drove to Cairns, where Avis agreed that I hadn’t trashed their nice Camry and where we had time for a coffee before being collected and taken to Hinterland’s small but comfortable terminal.  I had a slightly tense moment when they weighed my camera bag; we’d been told that there was a 5kg weight limit on hand baggage, but they didn’t seem too fazed by my 11kg of camera and related stuff. I’m not sure what I’d have done if they’d objected.

We were shown upstairs into the lounge where we made idle chitchat with fellow passengers Susan and Michael from Denver, and later with a chap called Harry who was travelling out to Lizard Island to skipper the resort’s fancy fishing yacht. He gave me the tip to sit on the starboard side of the plane if I wanted to take photos of the Reef as we went, which of course I did.  So I sharpened up my elbows in preparation. Our plane turned out to be (yet) another Cessna Caravan, so I knew which seat to head for, from previous experience.

There were some clouds around, but both Jane and I managed some, OK loads of, photos as we flew to the island. Here are some of them.

Cairns
A tanker which has just dischaged something that looks vaguely unpleasant
Batt Reef
Elm Beach
Three Islands Reef
Boulder Reef
Rocky Islets Reef
North Direction Island

Lizard Island

The resort is part of the Relais et Chateaux group and so one would expect a lovely environment and great service. One was not disappointed. We were whisked away by buggy to lunch with a view

while our bags were spirited off to our cabin, which shared, with Thala Beach, the distinction of being practically as far away from the bar as was possible. but which made up for that with its view.

After all our schlepping round Australia, I had expected our two-day stay here to be an opportunity, to misquote Br’er Rabbit, to “lie low and do nothin'”. It almost immediately became clear that this, while possible, was not the probable MO of our stay here, as that very afternoon there was a “bat walk”; an excursion to view the island’s colony of flying foxes. Harry the boat skipper had mentioned back in Cairns that there was a research station on the island, part of the National Park and sufficiently distinguished to have hosted no less an eminence than David Attenborough in the past, so a visit there was an attractive option. It’s indicative of the quality of service of the resort that they were able to fix up a way that we could squeeze in a visit to the facility on the morning of our departure. There would also be an opportunity to do some snorkelling. This is something that I had previously set my face against, but I decided to Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway. I’d brought my waterproof camera with me, and I would therefore hope to get some worthwhile underwater shots while not making a complete arse of myself in the snorkelling group.

All of this activity did leave us some time to relax, but come 5pm, it was time to hunt the bats, so we went for a walk. Obviously. Our guide, Lauren, was the resident naturalist for the resort, and thus, as one would expect, was very knowledgeable about all sorts of aspects of the wildlife and environment here, and also some of the history.  We climbed “Chinaman’s Ridge”, which gave us a decent view over Watson’s Bay.

Why is it called Watson’s Bay? I hear you cry. Well, it’s named after Mary Watson, who in 1881 settled in a stone cottage built there by her husband, Robert Watson. About 20 years before, other stone buildings had been erected there by Europeans, Chinese and South Sea Islanders in order to process bêche-de-mer, which is the posh French name for sea cucumbers. Sadly, the location was one that was sacred to the aboriginal tribes who had been dwelling hereabouts for several thousand years, and they eventually took umbrage and spears, and attacked Mrs. Watson and the two Chinamen who worked alongside her. The Chinamen were killed, and Mary Watson fled, but died in the escape attempt; her courage and the dignity she evinced in her journal of the episode has etched this rather distressing (and disrespectful) episode into the public imagination, and the site – now just the ruins of the cottage and visible from Chinaman’s Ridge –

is now listed on the Queensland Heritage Register.

Back to the bats, though. The idea of the walk was to see the colony of fruit bats who hang out (see what I did there?) in mangrove thickets. It’s a small colony, about 200 strong,

of black flying foxes, which were rather unexpectedly at eye level rather than high in the treetops. The mangroves were so thick it was still difficult to get good shots of them though. They were preparing to go out to forage,

but there was other fauna to be seen,

Male Garden Sun Bird
Pacific Golden Plover

and flora – kapok fruits bursting into seed on some trees and with flowers still on display in others.

After the walk, we had dinner in the restaurant, hanging from the roof of which was a Sun Bird nest, with the female guarding eggs and looking out at the world.

My plans to spend the whole of today, Saturday 5th, doing nothing also failed to materialise. Since we were on Lizard Island, Jane had the idea of going out and looking for lizards. She had another item on her agenda, which was to look for her sunglasses, which she was convinced had fallen off whilst we were looking at the bats. She told the hotel reception about the loss, but they had nothing handed in. So once again, we went for a walk. Obviously.

Actually, we cheated slightly. As we were walking the path towards the airport, a buggy driven by the resort’s Experience Manager, Paul, drew up, and he offered us a lift part way – indicative of the level of service the resort delivers. Paul took us to the track we’d walked the previous day and Jane and I cast about for the exact spot where we’d been watching the bats.  We eventually found it, but there were only footprints; no sign of the sunglasses. We did get some lizard pictures, though – various differently-sized Yellow Spotted (or Argos) Monitor Lizards, with the largest being a couple of metres from head to tail.

We got photos of a couple of other creatures, too.

Great Egret (juvenile)
Bar-shouldered Dove

On the way back to the hotel, we passed a bar called the Marlin Bar.  It is part of the hotel but is open to the public (e.g. those who have arrived by boat and been fishing for the day), and so we felt it our duty to pop in and check it out. Over the bar is a replica of a huge (500kg) Marlin that had been caught at some stage and which, I believe, had been the catalyst for starting the Lizard Island Marlin Challenge, winners of which were listed at the bar. I should point out that all marlin caught are returned to the sea…

It was

a pool bar. Boom, tish.

We headed back to the hotel proper for a final drink, and while we were sitting at the bar we got another dose of the hotel’s excellent service; one of the receptionists came up and handed Jane her sunnies! One of the staff had been out at around midday to watch the bats, had noticed the sunglasses there and picked them up. Back at reception, two plus two were added, the result four was obtained, Jane’s presence (surprising, this) at the bar was noted and the sunglasses handed over, to loud cheers and much laughter. It’s not like they were posh or expensive, but nonetheless Jane was very grateful to all the staff concerned in getting the glasses back to her.

After dinner, we headed back to our cabin,

and so I thought I’d end the day with a photographic cliché, just for you.

We have one more day here, but relaxing during it is not where my head is; I have decided that I will go snorkelling, despite having set my face against ever suffering the faff, salt water and embarrassment that has dogged my previous attempts. So, instead of relaxing, I shall be spending the day psyching myself up for it. Stay tuned to see how it went, eh?