Wildlife Vocalizations: Virginie Rolland

As a PhD student, I went to Kerguelen, a French archipelago in the Southern Indian Ocean, during the austral summer 2005-2006. I assisted with seabird research—fitting the birds with data loggers, retrieving stomach content and monitoring nests.

There were only two ways to reach my first site from the main port: through a canyon by helicopter or after a six-hour boat ride followed by a two-hour hike. I did both. Once I arrived, I stayed with five to nine men—no women—in a small cabin equipped with a gas-powered space heater. The small kitchen area had a couch, table, sink and a little stove. Though indoor, the bathroom didn’t have running water, so we washed in the river that ran by the cabin. There were two tiny bedrooms that held two bunk beds each, and a mezzanine, accessible by ladder, that could fit three to four twin mattresses. Although some of the guys’ jokes made me uncomfortable, they never exhibited inappropriate behavior with me and never expected me to do “women tasks.” Everyone pitched in when it came to cooking and cleaning. When the cabin wasn’t full, I had a bedroom to myself.

In the field, days could be 13 hours long. Back at the cabin, by candlelight to save the generator, we’d continue working, entering data and prepping the next loggers to deploy. The constant, strong wind up to 130 kilometers per hour made me feel alive, although the guys would joke that they’d weigh my backpack down with rocks so I wouldn’t get carried away. Mostly, I struggled to keep warm. To avoid hypothermia-driven sleepiness, I would sometimes climb up the cliff to warm up, leaving the rock where I was scanning for birds that had been spraypainted for identification.

But being in the middle of a seabird colony was worth it. There was so much activity—the air was filled with squawking, the land was dotted with the black-and-white speckles of penguins, albatrosses, and cormorants. Macaroni penguins (Eudyptes chrysolophus), back from the sea, would hop onto rocks or slide backward on their muddy highway. Then they would roll their heads back in a seductive dance once reunited with their partner. Black-browed albatrosses (Thalassarche melanophris) would circle the colony before landing at their nest where they’d spend some time preening their patient mate.

No one seemed bothered by my presence. I was so grateful they tolerated me in their land, but I also realized how vulnerable they are. Introduced rats and cats have become important predators, and rabbits damage the vegetation. It’s amazing that even that far from civilization, seabirds have been severely impacted by humans. My awareness of the terrain’s fragility was also acute: avoid stepping on Azorella plants or they’d die; stay on a narrow, eroded trail even if my boots get stuck in mud puddles; carefully sort and burn or flatten my waste; and clean my boots when changing sites. Overall, I worked closely with 10 seabird species from tiny petrels to albatrosses, but I saw many others. I also saw three seal species, three cetacean species, and icebergs! This was a truly humbling and enriching experience I’ll never forget.

Wildlife Vocalizations is a collection of short personal perspectives from people in the field of wildlife sciences. 

Learn more about Wildlife Vocalizations, and read other contributions.

Submit your story for Wildlife Vocalizations or nominate your peers and colleagues to encourage them to share their story. For questions, please contact tws@wildlife.org.