Pulsar : 0 Km, Yvan : Km 380

March 10 to 12th : Field trip week-end in Kaikoura Peninsula, in the North of Christchurch.
Officially, we were there to study the behaviour of marine life (determination of the preferred hauling out sites of Arctocephalus forsteri, for me and two 'colleagues'), but according to our lecturers, we went there to enjoy the amazing place of Kaikoura.

Unfortunaitly, the vans which brought us to the peninsula weren't as comfortable as our Pulsar, so it was prohibited to sleep and compulsory to watch the rural landscape we crossed : dry hills where water erosion an wind carved the soils, drawing ways sometimes comparable to them of the Bardenas valleys, in Navarra, Spain...

We finally arrived in the Canterbury Uni's lodge, in front of the bay, under the clouds burnt by the sunset. Meeting with Eudyptula minor, a little blue pinguin.

Saturday March 11th :
Let's study the fur seals : some pictures, walking on the cliffs












The NZ landscape...without sheeps but with ships

On of the best hauling out sites, often full of turists

Arctocephalus forsteri, lying down and Homo sapiens sapiens, writting

Without Pulsar ...

...walking back from the beaches to the lodge















The evening has been illuminated by a really wonderful sunset . .
Have a look on these pictures..

On the sunday, we went to observe a breeding colony of fur seals. There, under the rain, we could watch the pups, learning how to swim in rockpools. Seen three dolphins playing in the waves..

On the way back, stopping to enjoy the ballet of Albatrosses among the waves, flying so close to the top of the water, I remembered the Baudelaire's poem, sung by Léo Ferré..

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers, Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage, Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches, Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux, Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches Comme des avirons traîner à coté d'eux.

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule! Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid! L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule, L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poête est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

see you
yvan