Another bird, yes, but I’ve been trying to get a decent shot of a red fody, a.k.a. common fody (Foudia madagascariensis) since my first visit here. He — and this is definitely a male — really is that red: I’ve not tweaked the colour settings at all on this one. As the species’ Latin name suggests, they are originally from Madagascar, but have made it over to the other side of Africa by one means or another down the centuries.
I’ve been here before — not just in life, but on the blog, with this picture, taken on my first trip to St Helena. That one is also in black-and-white, and today that aesthetic move relieves some of the more garish colouring, particularly of the Hawaiian shirt of the guy on the left. Who, by the way, keeps saying hello to me as if he’s never met me before, whereas in the past we’ve had numerous conversations. But perhaps I am just forgettable, in a way that he is not.
Lucky is the guy who really runs the place where I’m staying. “He doesn’t like strangers”, I’ve been told. This seems to be true. Steadfastly, he continues to show his disdain for me. Even rubbing up against car exhaust pipes seems to be preferable. I feel suitably rejected.
Whatever the wind farm on Deadwood Plain is doing to help St Helena generate power in a sustainable way, this particular turbine ain’t contributing. The cows seem stoic about the situation, though, as cows so often do. I passed on my way up Flagstaff Peak behind, at 2,257 feet above sea level. A century and a quarter ago, this place would have been crowded with tents and huts — it was a prison camp for those captured in the Boer War (fought so the British state could get its hands on gold and diamonds, before anyone tells you it had worthier motives).
Mynah birds are everywhere on St Helena, and considered something of a pest by the locals, though I have to say I quite like them, they are handsome creatures I think. Two of them were the subject of the photo taken on my first full day here, in quarantine, back in November 2021 and it’s time one made a reappearance. This is the 60th shot taken on the island, and considered as a country, it thus draws level with Russia on the stats, ready to overtake it tomorrow and become the 5th most depicted one on here (after England, Australia, Scotland and Norway). And I doubt I’ll be going back to Russia any time soon — but there is more to be seen of St Helena yet.
I wasn’t flying from Cape Town back home, in case you were wondering, but instead to St Helena, for my fourth visit. Who can ever say these things for sure, but it’s possibly my last — put it this way, it’s the last, for now, for which I have the money, or rather, for which someone else has given me the money, in this case the British Academy (to whom thanks are due).
Whomever resides in this particular spot these days has definitely made their last visit to this remote little island, though. There are worse places to spend eternity.
Not only did I not leave the house today but I barely left this room. From 9am – 4pm at least my study, and (more specifically) the laptop within it, was the nerve centre of an international network of researchers, contributions from (at least) the UK, USA, South Africa, France, the Netherlands and — most importantly and relevantly — St Helena. Here, the Chief Minister of the latter territory, Julie Thomas, makes her introductions to the day. I have spent quite a bit of time and effort on getting this 2-day event organised and I am very satisfied that it all worked out. As far as we can ascertain this is/was the first online conference specifically devoted to the little island on which I have recently spent plenty of time.
I have met Julie by the way. If all Chief or Prime Ministers or Presidents were like her the world would probably be a better place.
The wirebird — officially, the St Helena plover (Anarhynchus sanctaehelenae) but nobody calls it that — is the one species of bird that is endemic to St Helena. That is, it is found nowhere else. It is very much the symbol of the island, appearing on its flag. In my three visits here so far I had never seen one, but there it is. This is quite a coup, as this is one of the planet’s rarest birds; the latest census counted about 640 of them, so this single one is 0.15% of the entire global population. Birdwatchers, eat your heart out.
Anyway, that’s it for St Helena — this time. But, I will be back.
I was supposed to be flying out of St Helena today, but I, and the, roughly, 75 other people due to make this trip have been obliged to stay there for another 24 hours thanks to the fierce and gusty winds which were blowing over the island, despite it being otherwise a nice, sunny and quite warm day. Of the six flights I have now made to and from St Helena, two of them have been so delayed. Well, never mind, there are worse places to wait it out. The anemometer was spotted above the Castle in Jamestown, and seemed appropriate. The wonkiness of the background is not my error: much of St Helena actually does look so non-perpendicular.
Had cause to return to Saint FM this morning, not to appear on the radio (unlike last time), just for a chat. My eye was drawn to this board, partly because of its nice grain, also because of the essential randomness of what’s there and what’s not. What did microphones 2 and 5-8 do to offend? What of L1, and what is an L anyway (loudspeaker)? Could I have centred it all a bit better? Probably.
Being 42 