Alligator Dundee A small group of passengers left the ship at Port Stanley, the capitol of Falkland Islands. It was for a land excursion to Bluff Cove to visit a rookery of Gentoo penguins. A strong breeze raked the port keeping the air temperature in the low 50's. On the drive towards the cove I could see barbed wire fences marking off large sections of the landscape. Posted along the fences were signs warning that the grassland contained minefields. I heard a man sitting across the aisle say, "They were laid down by Argentinean forces when they occupied the islands in 1982. Over 600 Brits lost their lives in that war." Our local guide with braids wrapped around her head like some storybook Gretel said, �The mines have no metal parts and that makes them difficult to locate. It's a pity because for entertainment our youngsters used to drive out here and bog about in the soft earth. I did it as a teenager. It was fun." Her voice trailed off into her own thoughts. I was concentrating on the barren terrain alongside the road when Gretel said, "There are no trees in the Falklands; just lush green bogs and a small mountain range up to 2000 feet high. Off the elevated hills, rocks are carried down after heavy rains and form what locals call a river-of-rocks." We passed several waterless streams filled with rock. After a short drive on the two-lane road we stopped and transferred to a four-wheel-drive vehicle for the final run over rough terrain to the cove. Our colorful driver was dressed as if he was the model outback guide with wide-brimmed black hat that had half a dozen animal fangs stuck into the hat band. He had an unusually large tooth on a leather cord hung around his neck. He called himself Alligator Dundee. Another couple and I boarded his mud splattered Land Rover for the half-hour drive on a rough track over bogs to the colony of penguins on the waters edge. "Fasten belts mates," Alligator Dundee ordered as he began to move forward. "You might not know, but there are 1,000 pairs of Gentoo penguins and two couples of King Penguins here at the cove." He blurted out these words as the Land Rover continually changed direction; jerking right and left as if it was a crime to go straight even for a few feet. I, holding on to the over-the-door-strap and the back of the front seat asked, "How do you tell the difference between a King and Gentoo penguin?" "That's easy, King penguins have an orange patch on their neck. They are also slightly taller, although not by much." He shifted down into low gear to drive out of a watery stretch and stirred up a rich mud-smell. We drove on wiggling down the scarred bog listening to the growl of engine and gears shifting from low to not so low. Ahead we could see several other four-wheel-drive vehicles sashaying along different paths, all trying to avoid the deepest pocket of mud. To break the silence I asked, "What's the population of the Falklands?" "That's an easy one," he said. "We have about 495,000 on the main and outlying islands." He turned towards me with one eye closed and a grin on his lips. "I don't believe it," I said looking him straight in his one open eye. "Oh now don't you," he responded. "Well that's a true figure of our total population, population that is of our five types of penguins." He jerked the wheel hard left then hard right and continued with, "In addition we have about 3,000 people, most of who live in Stanley." Now he grunted a sort of laugh and we joined him with a few chuckles of our own. Then he said, "You folks are lucky. This land, including the area where the penguins stay is privately owned. The owner being a descent chap has just built a comfort station down on the beach for your use. And he gives anyone who wants a free tea, coffee and cake. Neat! Don't you think?" Spontaneously we all applauded. Leaving the Land Rover, I headed for the nearest group of penguins and the other couple went towards the comfort station. As I walked low mountains on the horizon rose behind a huge rookery of penguins standing directly in front of me. The birds were not disturbed by my presence. They completely ignored me. Some stood about with their beaks in the air as if they were snubbing the few who were watching them, while others stayed put, lying on the ground. Loose feathers covered most of their space. A young man with a tattoo on his wrist was standing near by and said, "They are molting. It's best to stay back a bit to give them their own space." Several Gentoo Penguins starting walking down towards the water. I followed and watched as they disappeared under the surface of the sea. At the same time a few penguins were leaving the water to return to their spot within the rookery. How they knew who was who or where they belonged was impossible for me to say. A thought played in my head, 'Its exciting being here without feeling that I'm disturbing them.' A woman standing nearby looked as colorful as the birds in her blue and orange stripped sweater and wearing green slacks. 'Yeah,' I said to myself, and headed down to the giveaway hut to get a sample of the free cake.