Isles of Scilly 2012

People who aren't involved in University of Exeter field courses tend to think that those of us who are are basically getting a free vacation that happens to involve a large group of students. This assumption couldn't be much further from the truth, because field courses are exhausting; I usually come back feeling more tired than I was when I left, and have often picked up some sort of illness along the way, to boot. This is not to say that the trips aren't enjoyable, because they are, but they also force us to earn our keep.

One of the biggest stressors in the days leading up to this year's Isles of Scilly field course was the abysmal forecast, which predicted nonstop wind and rain and altogether unpleasant conditions for a group of people who would be camping and wandering around on an exposed island. When we departed from campus for the drive to Penzance, and then again when we left Penzance on board the Scillonian III for the 3-hour trip to St. Mary's, the sky was looking overcast and threatening, but was not yet delivering any torrents of rain.

(Clouds over Penzance, as seen from the deck of the Scillonian III)

As per usual, we all bundled up in the hopes of withstanding the cold sea breezes long enough to catch sight of a whale or a sunfish or some other exciting marine creature. The wind was pretty cutting, though, and when the rain picked up as we bid farewell to Land's End, things got pretty uncomfortable. This is about the point when my morning cup of tea forced me to go down to the bowels of the boat for a quick potty break that doomed the rest of my trip, and most of the rest of my day.

If you've ever been on a boat in inclement weather, then you'll know that the best place to be to avoid seasickness is somewhere near the center of the boat, where there is the least amount of pitch and roll; hopefully this will also offer a view of the horizon. It also helps to be facing in the same direction in which the boat is traveling, because this helps your brain process all the different motion stimuli it's receiving simultaneously. Well, unfortunately for me, the ladies' restrooms violate all of these rules, and pretty much from the moment I walked in, I knew that I had to get out as soon as possible in order to avoid seasickness. Knowing and doing are two different things, however, and although I'd say I spent less than a minute in the bathroom, this was more than enough time for the damage to be done. Sasha has informed me that my face had gone colorless by the time I returned to the deck, and I'm sure that was true; all of the blood had probably drained to my stomach, which was by that time roiling with nausea.

By this point the ship had departed the relative shelter of the coastline and was making its way across the open seas, so we were exposed to increasingly intense waves and squalls; on even the best of days, I would have reacted badly to a mere fraction of the motion that we experienced. All I could do was find an available portion of railing and stand there staring straight ahead while taking deep breaths. Despite the cold and rain, I began sweating profusely and had to unzip my rain coat and fleece; that's when I knew I was destined to vomit over the side of the ship, in front of all our students. I also began shaking, first in my legs, then in my arms, and then in my head and jaw; my limbs started doing things that I couldn't control. It was very hard to stand up, but any time I sank down to a crouch or--heaven forbid--tried to sit all the way down on the deck, I couldn't see the horizon as well and immediately became even more nauseous. The most amazing thing was that I suddenly found myself more exhausted than I had ever felt before. I was actually falling asleep standing up, but the moment my eyelids drooped and I lost sight of the horizon, I immediately became sicker and jerked back awake. I was literally hanging from the railing of the ship, using every last ounce of strength and self-control to keep myself awake and on my feet. As horrendous as I felt, the scientist in me found the whole experience fascinating.

The latter 2 hours of the journey passed in an excruciatingly slow fashion. I have been motion sick very often in my life, but never so miserably. The only--and I do mean only--positive aspect of all this was that I happened to be standing on the port side of the boat (for all you landlubbers, that's the left-hand side as seen by a person facing forward while on the boat). The prevailing winds were blowing across the ship from the starboard side, which meant that every time I threw up over the railing, the wind carried it away from the boat rather than blowing it back on deck and into my face. I imagine things were a lot messier on the other side of the ship, and I know that they were pretty awful in the middle; more than one person failed to get to a railing in time and ended up vomiting right on the floor. Needless to say, this was not a great way to begin the trip, though it made me happier than I've ever been to finally reach St. Mary's.

(Another reason to be happy about our arrival: We caught a glimpse of blue sky and even a bit of sunshine. See the two yellow rods on the lower back half of the Scillonian? I was standing right behind far one during the trip from Hell...)

One of the funny things about field courses is how we basically do the same things every year, and yet still manage to have new and interesting experiences. Our itinerary, for instance, always involves a hike around the island, a few hours spent fossicking along a rocky shoreline, a walk on St. Agnes and Gugh, and a boat trip to see the auks on and around the Western Rocks. [Side note: Even the students seem similar from year to year. There is always at least one person who insists on wearing "civilian" clothes no matter how inclement or extreme the weather; there is always an ultra-hippie or someone with dreads; there is always a grump who complains about everything; and there is always at least one guy who has to do something ridiculous, such as dangerous rock-climbing or unwarranted push-ups, to prove his manliness. Other recurring events are a bout of intense weather, an unexpected illness, a surprise, and a last-minute change of plans. If a trip does not have all of these components, I'm not sure that it can be considered a success.]

Despite all these recurring themes, you always find a way to see something unusual, or at least to see the same old thing in a different light. This is partly thanks to the students, each of which has his/her own unique perspective; no matter how many answers you've stockpiled for their inevitable questions, there is always one inquiry that catches you off-guard. Mother Nature is also responsible for a good deal of the variety. We visit the Scillies to see wildlife, and of course you just never know what might show up where; this is especially true on Scilly, which is famous for hosting bird species blown in by bad weather, and for being susceptible to colonization by all manner of traveling species. During our first trip to the Isles I saw a single goldfinch, but this year I came across several large flocks; last year I photographed big patches of blooming thrift, but this year we've had a dry winter and a cold spring and all I could find were a few buds. The following are a few of this year's notable finds.

Something old, and yet something new: 

Every year we take the students to a big stone wall near our campsite and point out the breeding behaviors of resident house sparrows. This year, for the first time, I got a picture of one of the males sitting in the entrance to his nest cavity, guarding his territory--and possibly his mate and/or their eggs.

 

This is a view you might remember from last year: the colorful St. Mary's harbor. Last year's photo was taken from quite a bit farther away. This angle/distance kind of makes the boats look like the toy models of a very spoiled child.

One major difference of this year's trip is that I came equipped with my new 70-300 mm lens, which finally enabled me to take the kind of wildlife photos I've always wanted to take. Here's an up-close-and-personal shot of one of the incredibly tame song thrushes running around our campsite.

The rock formations of the Isles of Scilly are incredible, and every year I try--and fail--to capture their drama with my camera. No matter what angle or distance I shoot from, I can't seem to find a way to bring these to life in 2D:
 

Our campsite is located on the grounds of the old garrison, where you can still find fortifications and retired cannons. The military architecture dates back as far as 1593, when what is now known as the Star Castle Hotel was built by Robert Adams during the aftermath of the attempted invasion by the Spanish Armada. Exterior fortifications such as those shown here were transformed into gun batteries much later, in 1740. There are also several WWII bunkers located along the coastline.

Something I hadn't noticed during any of our previous trips: An old, but still functional, water pump in one of the municipal parks on St. Mary's:

I've learned a lot about wildflowers since my first trip to the Isles of Scilly, where lovely vegetation is abundant. However, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what this species is:

 Maybe someone more botanically inclined can enlighten me?

I happened upon a hunting kestrel while walking along the coastal path one afternoon. I brought my camera up just in time to snap this shot before the bird took off for more fruitful hunting grounds.

One of the many interesting species clinging to the boulders along the St. Mary's shoreline:

This one--a moss?--reminds me of a brain.

We Americans aren't supposed to like house sparrows, since they are an invasive species in the U.S. However, they're native in the UK and so I don't have to feel guilty about enjoying their antics and finding them to be quite handsome little birds.

A pair of herring gulls on Gugh:

The golden lichens growing on these boulders indicates that the rocks are in the "splash zone," or the area of the coast that can be hit by sea spray. Splash zones can extend quite far from the water because wind and wave action are often very intense during storms, causing the water to reach much farther inland than you might expect.

Just to emphasize that last point, some of the wave action I observed while taking a walk around the island the evening before we departed:

(The intense waves were causing some serious spray and making me very worried about the boat ride home.)

During a solo meander around St. Mary's, I visited the cemetery in Old Town for the first time ever. It was a treasure trove of neat old headstones and bird life.

I quickly snapped this photo in order to make a bird ID, and was surprised when it actually turned out quite clear. I think this is a chiffchaff, though it is not usual to see them foraging on the ground as they do on the Isles of Scilly. This would not be the first time Scilly birds were observed doing something odd--because the islands have so few trees and natural predators, and host an abundance of nonnative species, the animals have developed all sorts of strange and unusual behaviors.

Also in the graveyard was a European robin, using a number of headstones as perches from which he could locate prey.

As I mentioned above, one requirement of every field course is a surprise, and we had a couple this year. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that the weather basically behaved itself, giving us plenty of opportunity to traipse about the island in relative peace and comfort. This was more true of the daylight hours than those that came after sunset; we had some pretty intense nights during which our walls shook and rippled violently. At one point, the gusts exceeded 50 mph, causing flooding and the collapse of a couple tents and nearly blowing away another; luckily, a group of people returning from the pub arrived just in time to tie/pin down our kitchen tent after stealing spare rope from (and effectively sacrificing) our kit tent. Several students, including Sasha's PhD student who came along as an instructor, were forced to spend the night in various parts of the shower block in order to stay as warm and dry as possible.

A more pleasant surprise was an unprecedented wildlife encounter we had while touring the Western Rocks in search of auks. As usual, we saw a few lone seals and a couple of pairs, before rounding a corner and coming across two beaches chock full of sunning individuals of all ages and colors:

Our arrival caused quite a stir, as you can see here. Our wildlife guide extraordinaire, Will Wagstaff, was impressed by the size of the show and reported that he'd never seen anything like it--and, given Will's extensive experience around the Isles, that is really saying something.

Because of the turbulent evening weather, we were forced to cancel our traditional last-night barbecue and instead take the students to the Bishop and Wolf for burgers. Sasha often complains about British burgers because UK chefs have a tendency to mix in a bunch of bread crumbs, but these particular burgers were all-meat and all-delicious--much better than the half-cooked store-bought ones we usually end up with after struggling to prepare them on disposable grills in our wet and windy campsite.  I also enjoyed the eclectic decor of the restaurant, which gave me plenty of things to photograph while we waited for our meals to be delivered.

 (The moon and Venus, overseeing my walk back up to the campsite after dinner and a visit to The Mermaid.)

Luckily, the day of our departure was fairly calm and clear. Also lucky was the fact that I had packed Dramamine; although I hadn't taken it in time for it to work its magic during the ferry ride out to the Scillies, you can bet I made sure to drug myself up before the trip back. As a result, I was much happier and more comfortable during our journey to the mainland. This gave me the chance to do some wildlife-watching; for instance, we twice saw pods of common dolphins frolicking in the wake of the Scillonian. Despite the lovely views that the trip afforded, it was nice to see the increasing proximity of Penzance and its large supply of late-evening sailors out on the water:

 

From there onwards our trip was smooth sailing (not literally of course), except that Sasha's and my taxi reservation was forgotten and we were left waiting on campus for an extra 30 minutes--not what you want at 9 PM when you are desperate for a hot bath and your own bed. Despite this rocky ending (and much rockier beginning) to the journey, I'd say that the trip was a success. The Isles never get boring, and their stunning beauty is always impressive--an opinion that I know is seconded by at least one other tourist in this year's group: 

Falmouth Cemetery

I've always had a bit of a thing for cemeteries. Not all cemeteries; just the old ones. I find newer cemeteries a bit depressing because their tombstones generally aren't characterized by nearly as much variety and artistry, and because they don't seem to meld as well with the environment around them. Antique tombstones and cemeteries have a much stronger sense of "personality," which I think makes them all the more accessible and poignant; you can't help but be aware that each piece of weathered rock represents an actual person.

At the Falmouth Cemetery, or at least in the older section that I visited today, there are many tombstones representing people whose stories I would love to hear: counts and earls and dukes, fallen soldiers of many nationalities, seamen (including a good number who died very young), and countless more departed with old-fashioned names and beautifully ornate headstones:

(Chiseled bouquet)

(One of the many headstones belonging to a sailor; the majority of these--sailors, not headstones--seemed to have died between the ages of 15 and 20. The surname of this sailor, Trevillian, indicates that he was a native of Cornwall and not just passing through when he died.)

(Many of the stones hosted some very tenacious vines, lichens, and/or mosses. The cemetery in general was very lush, full to brimming with daisies, three-cornered leeks, bluebells, primroses, and various other wildflowers.)

(This headstone was one of my favorites; years of exposure have given it very dramatic coloration.) 

 (A close-up of the headstone and its elegant engraving--it reminds me of something from Lord of the Rings.)

(One of the feet supporting a stone sarcophagus in the cemetery.)

(Monument to fallen WWI soldiers. There are also 86 WWI graves, some of which belong to non-British soldiers. Each is marked by an insignia indicating where the soldier originated and/or with whom he fought; a rampant lion marked the grave of a Belgian soldier, for instance, while men from Cornwall and other areas of Britain had their own regional symbols.)

 

(This headstone was located near the WWI section; the relatively young evergreen that it nestled up against probably wasn't even a seed when the tombstone was first erected.)

 

(Exterior of one of the cemetery's twin chapels, approved for construction in early 1855.)

(Landscape shot of the cemetery. The facilities were originally divided into two sections: one for Anglicans and one for "nonconformists." Now, the most obvious distinction is between the older section where I was photographing, and the newer area across the road; birth dates on tombstones in the former were often early- to mid-19th century, while those in the latter are more commonly 20th century.)

 (A row of headstones, many of which had weathered to an unusual rust-colored hue.)

 (A small rhododendron was growing in the middle of one nearly empty field--empty except for wildflowers, that is--clearly unaware that bright red is not normally considered an acceptable color for cemetery decorations.)

(Another great headstone engraving)

(A row of Christian graves in one especially quiet corner of the cemetery.)

(The upper half of one of the most touching monuments I saw today. The bottom half is a large block of stone with an inscription that reads: "Here rests all that was mortal of William Ulick O'Connor, Fourth Earl of Desart, Born July 10, 1845, Died September 15, 1898, and Ellen Odette, his wife, Born September 1, 1857, died June 29, 1933. They were together in their lives, and in their deaths they shall not be divided.")

(The grieving statue, as seen from another angle)

(I ran across another poignant--and slightly eerie--statue nearby. I could see where the name on the grave had once been, but it had been worn away by wind and rain and was no longer legible.)

The cemetery is so large that I only had time to walk through a portion of it today; on top of that, it was rather overcast and the lighting wasn't great for photography. I hope to go back soon on a nicer day and get some more images. I also hope to visit Falmouth's even older (and apparently now "retired") Jewish cemetery, the existence of which I only just discovered this evening despite the fact that I walk past it daily on my way home from work. Just goes to show that Falmouth has lots of hidden gems, tucked away in surprising places.

---

Click here for an incredibly detailed account of the history of the Falmouth Cemetery, and here for more information on the Jewish cemetery.

Birthday 2012: Dinner at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant

Today is my 31st birthday, and although I am having some friends over this evening to help me eat my red velvet birthday cake, the real celebration took place on Sunday, when Sasha and I went to Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant in Padstow. Padstow is just across the estuary from Rock, where we gorged ourselves at Nathan Outlaw's restaurant late last year; clearly, that particular area of the country is an especially good place to get fresh seafood.

 

I had never heard of Rick Stein until I moved to the UK, but he is a well-known and highly-regarded food celebrity here. He recently opened an upscale "chippy" (a shop serving fish and chips), as well as a deli, in Falmouth--right on our front doorstep in Events Square. We've eaten at those establishments a few times but had never driven up to Padstow to check out Stein's flagship restaurant. My birthday seemed a good opportunity to do so.

When we were seated, we were left with a beautiful bowl of olives to munch on as we perused the menus; a basket of fresh bread soon followed. It was good to have the snacks because it took us a while to work our way through all the options. The list wasn't that long, but it had the kind of complex dishes that make you want to read all the ingredients and think deeply before selecting just one dish per course. Among the appetizers, there was one clear winner for me: oysters in tempura batter with sesame seeds and lime (and a soy dipping sauce).

(My last remaining oyster. The waiter informed us that if you order more than three, they bring them out to you in shifts so that the batter won't go soggy on the last few before you get around to eating them.)

Sasha had the fish and shellfish soup with rouille and parmesan. Neither of us knew what a "rouille" was, but according to Wikipedia it is "a sauce that consists of olive oil with breadcrumbs, garlic, saffron and chili peppers." I don't think Sasha had much with his soup, but to be honest I can't imagine how the rouille could have made the dish taste any better--it was fantastic, which I know because they brought such a large serving that there was plenty available for me to try.

While we waited for our main courses to arrive, we had the opportunity to check out the decor. The whole restaurant felt kind of like someone's study--one wall was fitted with a giant bookcase reaching up to the ceiling, and all the others were sprinkled with a collection of fine art in a variety of styles and featuring a variety of subjects. We were seated next to the bar, above which there was a large wooden panel that acted as a second ceiling; it diffused the colored lights that shifted in hue throughout the evening, from green to blue to red. Predictably, there were nautical/maritime touches wherever you looked:

As good as our appetizers had been, our dinners were off the chart. When examining the menu, I had immediately been attracted to the braised fillet of brill with bianchetti truffle, slivers of potato, mushrooms, and truffle oil; unfortunately, this was also what Sasha wanted, but because he couldn't stand to have us both order the same thing, he switched over to my second choice, the pan-fried monkfish with garlic and fennel. Sasha's meal looked beautiful and was quite tasty; he was especially impressed by the unique, almost chicken-like texture achieved in the fish: 

(Sasha's pan-fried monkfish with garlic and fennel. To quote the menu: "The monkfish is rolled in matzo meal--flavoured with fennel herb and garlic, fried then finished in the oven with slow cooked garlic and fennel.")

(Sasha, who couldn't pose seriously for photo if his life depended on it, about to decimate his monkfish.)

However, opting not to get the braised brill was really a bad idea on his part. It was probably the best meal I have ever eaten, and the sauce in which it arrived was certainly the most divine thing that has ever crossed my lips. As I told the waiter, if it wouldn't have looked bad, I would have licked every last drop of it off the plate.

(The piece de resistance--my braised fillet of brill with bianchetti truffle, slivers of potato, mushrooms, and truffle oil. It was rich and full-bodied but not overwhelming. Heavenly! I also ordered a side dish of glazed Chantenay carrots with parsley and tarragon, which were also quite tasty.)

Unsurprisingly, I didn't have a whole lot of room left in my stomach after all that, but how can you do a big night out at a gourmet restaurant and not order dessert? The dessert menu had several enticing options, but when it comes to the end of the evening there are really only two flavors that I ever want: apples and cinnamon, or lemon. In this case, it was the lemon that caught my eye--specifically, a lemon tart with a caramelized, creme-brulee style top, and lemon yogurt sorbet atop a bed of candied lemon slices (which, the waiter informed us, take 25 hours to prepare).

Sasha also ordered a dessert, but dived into it so quickly I didn't have time to take any photos. He received a giant bowl of passionfruit creme brulee with a side of passionfruit jelly (the British word for jello) served in a hollowed passionfruit. Both of us also ordered a small glass of port:

Of the three regional gourmet restaurants that we've been to--Jamie Oliver's Fifteen, Restaurant Nathan Outlaw, and Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant--I think this was one probably served up the most enjoyable meal (although, for me at least, it is in very close competition with Nathan Outlaw's). It required a less sickening car ride beforehand, was much more affordable, and has an incredible waterfront location--factors that all help tip the scale in favor of Rick Stein. Next time we have out-of-town guests looking for a good meal, this might just have to be the place that we take them.

As for Sasha's and my next eating destination, who knows? We may have to try the Restaurant at Fowey Hall, located inside the building that supposedly inspired Toad Hall in The Wind in the Willows. Or there's always the three-Michelin-starred Black Rock Restaurant in St. Ives, featuring locally raised, caught, and foraged foods, and the newly Michelin-starred Driftwood Hotel right next door in Truro. In all, there are 11 Michelin-rated restaurants in Cornwall and Devon, so we have plenty of options to choose from when we are overwhelmed with a gastronomical wanderlust.

If, however, we are merely interested in some well-made creme brulee, we now need to look no further than home. As of this morning, I am the proud owner of a brand new Master Class blowtorch:

Happy birthday to me!

Instagram madness: seeing Falmouth through my iPhone lens

I admit that I am a bit of a photography junkie, though it is a hobby that I have only recently taken up again after a long post-high school break. Not only am I having to re-learn which settings to use in which circumstances, but I'm also having to train myself to see good photo opportunities when I encounter them. I recently made some advances in this latter realm after downloading Instagram to my iPhone. 

For anyone not familiar with it, Instagram is an application that allows you to apply all sorts of filters to photos you've just taken with your phone, before then uploading the finalized image into an online database shared with other Instagram users. Many of my friends have had the program for ages and I finally brought myself up to speed this weekend--and oh my goodness am I already addicted. One nice thing is that the filters make practically any photo look good, but even better is the way that I now see Falmouth as one giant photo opportunity. Here are a few images that show my new perspective on the town:

(The marina next to the Maritime Museum and Discovery Quay)

(Looking toward the lighthouse while walking next to Pendennis Castle)

(Forget-me-nots by the roadside)

 (Looking out into the bay towards Swanpool)

(Fiddlehead)

(Shoreline)

(Unexpected garden)

(Waves behind a patch of thrift)

(Daffodil)

(Crochet)

(Primroses)

(Fragrant blossoms)

(Fern)

(Silverwinds, Penryn, UK)

(Bakehouse Court, Penryn, UK)

(Harbor at sunset)