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New York Times
9 hours ago
- New York Times
The Icelandic Landscape Is Changing, and It's Changing Us
The geology of Iceland has always been on the move. The island sits on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, a long underwater mountain range that is also the boundary between two diverging tectonic plates, and eruptions are common, often leaving behind vast lava fields and ash layers. These changes can be deceiving. You can swim in Viti, a volcanic crater, or visit Lake Askja and feel like you are surrounded by something that is millions of years old, but both are younger than the Brooklyn Bridge. Nature's creativity has meant that the Icelandic language must also be nimble, and for centuries the language and landscape have been in dialogue. Nature makes something new, a mountain, a lava field, even a new island, which requires a name. The habit is often to say what we see — a tendency that can sound quite basic in translation. Eldfell mountain was formed in a volcanic eruption in 1973; its name means fire mountain. Other times we're more poetic, like with Surtsey, a new island formed in 1963, which takes its name from the fire giant Surtur in Norse mythology. Those names, in turn, influence the language. For example, the word 'fuglabjarg,' Icelandic for 'birdcliff,' is both a word and a metaphor. As a word, it is the name for a cliff where sea birds lay their nests. On one cliff you could have hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of seabirds — guillemots, razorbills, puffins and gulls. Seabirds are no songbirds, and the screeching, screaming, yeeking and honking made these places one of the noisiest places in Iceland. That's why in Icelandic, 'fuglabjarg' can also be used to describe a loud gathering of people. As when I go to a large conference and send a text message to my wife: 'This place is like a fuglabjarg.' The trouble with getting used to a landscape that changes so quickly is that you can become blind to a new pace of change — one that is not normal. As the oceans warm and some of the food sources fail, on some of the fuglabjargs the nesting bird population has decreased significantly. And so, of course, have the sound levels. Sometimes I wonder if I will live to witness the moment when fuglabjarg becomes a metaphor for silence. We are entering a new era, where the birds grow quiet, lakes form at the edges of glaciers and valleys start to appear where there used to be glaciers. What do you call a valley that used to be a glacier? The longest bridge in Iceland once arched over a vast plain of sediment formed by glacial meltwater called Skeidararsandur, which translates as boat-river-sand. In 1974 it was our great engineering achievement: about half a mile long and built to withstand substantial glacial flooding from the river that ran in hundreds of veins over a huge stretch of black sand. Even so, it was severely damaged by a massive flood after a volcanic eruption in the '90s. A bridge at Skeidararsandur now extends over much dryer land. The glacier has retreated considerably since 2000; the river found another path and a marvel of engineering stands there awkwardly, as if it has stayed too long at a party. At the same time the black sands of Skeidararsandur are also changing: With the river gone, the sand is not replenished with new glacial sediment, and vegetation is starting to cover the area. What do you call boat-river-sand when the boats and the river are gone and the sand is covered in forest? Skeidararjokull, boat-river-glacier, is a valley glacier in southeast Iceland, flowing from Vatnajokull, Europe's largest glacier, covering about 3000 square miles. I have crossed it myself with friends. It is strange to travel over such a massive and powerful entity, surrounded by ancient ice as far as the eyes can see, in places as thick as a skyscraper under your feet. It is hard for the mind to grasp how something so enormous can be so fragile. The formations are like nothing else I have ever encountered. First it was as if we were walking on the white scales of an ancient dragon; then suddenly we were in a forest of black sand pyramids until we came across something smooth and wide, almost like a highway. Out of habit, I looked both ways before I crossed it. I said the landscape and the language have always been in conversation. But in that moment it was as though the glacier was actually telling me something — that somewhere between the pyramids and the highways, something went wrong. If I looked at the nearby mountains, I could see a clear tideline in the middle where the color changed. The line marked the surface of the glacier up to 1995; since then, according to glaciologists, the glacier has lost mass almost every year. In 2014 the glacier Okjokull was declared dead. Ok was the name of the volcano where the glacier, the jokull, was located. Now it's just a patch of ice on a volcano, known as simply Ok. Anthropologists from Rice University in Texas asked me to write a short text for a plaque to commemorate Ok. Internationally, of course, those letters mean 'O.K.' — ironically — but in Icelandic, Ok means 'yoke,' like the beams that you put on your shoulder to balance a heavy burden. Or the yoke you put on two oxen to plow a field. The final text for the plaque was: Ok is the first Icelandic glacier to lose it status as a glacier. In the next 200 years all our glaciers are expected to follow the same path. This monument is to acknowledge that we know what is happening and what needs to be done. Only you know if we did it. August 2019 415 ppm of CO₂ This year, levels of CO₂ have already exceeded 430 ppm. The glaciers of Iceland cover about 10 percent of the land, but if that ice were spread like icing on a cake, the whole country would be under about 100 feet of ice. The next iconic glacier to go is likely to be Snaefellsjokull — snow-mountain-glacier. In 'Journey to the Center of Earth,' by Jules Verne, Snaefellsjokull is the gateway to a subterranean world. What do you call Snaefellsjokull when it is not a glacier anymore? Just Snaefell? What about when the snow is gone? And when the glaciers are all gone, what do you call an island that used to be Iceland? Just … Land? Andri Snær Magnason is an Icelandic writer and filmmaker. He is the author, most recently, of 'On Time and Water: A History of Our Future.' The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We'd like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here's our email: letters@ Follow the New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X and Threads.
Forbes
7 days ago
- Science
- Forbes
A Biologist Spotlights 4 Birds Of Earth's Most Remote Island. Hint: The Island Belongs To Norway, But It's In The Opposite Hemisphere
What's your guess for Earth's most isolated island? It's not Hawaii. It's not Fiji. In fact, if ... More you're thinking beaches, palm trees and turquoise water, you'd be dead wrong. The most isolated island in the world isn't exactly your vacation paradise. For one, it's 93% glaciated. The average water temperature is just slightly above freezing. And you won't find a single tree, or even any vascular plants, on the island. I'm speaking of Bouvet Island in the south Atlantic Ocean. Bouvet Island (or Bouvetøya in Norwegian) is a subantarctic volcanic island that lies about halfway between South Africa and Antarctica. Nearly all of the island's 19 square miles are covered in glaciers, punctuated by rugged cliffs, lava fields, and just a few ice-free stretches along the coast. The island is uninhabited by humans, battered by constant wind, and often hidden beneath fog and cloud cover. Hand-colored photo of Bouvet Island, taken during the German Valdivia expedition in 1898. Despite its desolate appearance, Bouvet is surprisingly rich in bird life. The island is surrounded by nutrient-rich waters, making it an ideal nesting ground for hardy seabird species. In fact, it's so biologically significant that BirdLife International has designated it an 'Important Bird Area.' From rockhopper penguins to elusive petrels, here are four of the most incredible birds you can find on Earth's loneliest island. 1. Snow Petrel (Pagodroma nivea) A snow petrel rests on the ice, its white plumage nearly indistinguishable from the frozen ... More landscape. Among the birds of Bouvet Island is the snow petrel, a dove-sized seabird with pure white plumage that blends seamlessly into the island's glacier-covered landscape. Snow petrels are the southernmost breeding vertebrate, found across Antarctica and the subantarctic islands. They have even been recorded at the South Pole. On Bouvet, snow petrels build their nests in rocky crevices on cliff faces, scree slopes and beneath boulders, which offer shelter from the fierce winds. In these nests, they lay a single egg that both parents incubate. They are expert fliers, capable of traveling hundreds of miles in search of food. Their diet includes fish, krill and squid, but they will also occasionally consume carrion from seal or penguin carcasses. Snow petrels are highly associated with pack ice, among the most ice-dependent of Antarctic seabirds. At sea, they tend to stay within the Marginal Ice Zone, the transition zone between open ocean and dense sea ice. They prefer foraging areas with moderate ice cover (12.5–50%), according to research published in Polar Biology. Despite their delicate appearance, snow petrels are survivors, well-adapted to one of the harshest climates on Earth. 2. Macaroni Penguin (Eudyptes chrysolophus) Macaroni penguins gather in dense breeding colonies along Bouvet Island's rocky shores, sporting ... More their distinctive yellow crests. Named for their unique yellow head crests, macaroni penguins are among the most colorful characters in the otherwise bleak landscape of Bouvet Island. These medium-sized penguins breed in noisy, densely packed colonies on rocky shores. Though they're not exclusive to Bouvet, the island provides crucial nesting grounds from December to March for thousands of breeding pairs. Macaroni penguins are natural swimmers, spending much of the year at sea and returning to land only to breed and molt. Their diet consists mainly of krill and small fish, which they catch during deep dives (sometimes reaching depths of over 200 feet). Despite being one of the most numerous penguin species globally, their population is in decline due to climate change and fluctuations in food availability. 3. Southern Giant Petrel (Macronectes giganteus) Southern giant petrels soar over the frigid waters surrounding Bouvet Island, riding wind currents ... More in search of carrion or prey at sea. With a wingspan of over six and a half feet, the southern giant petrel rules the skies of Bouvet Island. These formidable seabirds are scavengers and predators, often called the "vultures of the sea." They feed on everything from squid and fish to the carcasses of seals and penguins. Giant petrels are one of the few bird species capable of traveling thousands of miles across the Southern Ocean, using soaring to ride wind currents for days without flapping their wings. On Bouvet Island, they nest on the sparse, ice-free cliffs. Like the snow petrel, they lay a single egg. Though they may look menacing, giant petrels are sensitive to disturbance and are increasingly threatened by habitat degradation, longline fishing and plastic pollution. 4. Antarctic Prion (Pachyptila desolata) Antarctic prion flying low over the Southern Ocean. Last but not least is the Antarctic prion. The Antarctic prion is a small seabird that thrives in the cold, wind-swept reaches of Bouvet Island. Often mistaken for gulls at a distance, prions are members of the petrel family and are superb oceanic flyers. Their unique name comes from the Greek word prion, meaning "saw," referring to the ridged structure of their beaks, which helps them filter plankton from seawater. Antarctic prions breed in large colonies on sub-Antarctic islands, where they nest in burrows or under rocks. Bouvet's approximately 7% ice-free ground offers limited nesting sites, but prions make the most of it. Their soft, flute-like calls fill the air during breeding season. At night, thousands can be seen wheeling over the waves. Though small and unobtrusive, these birds play a vital role in the marine food web and are a key indicator of ocean health in the southern hemisphere. Are you an animal lover who owns a pet, perhaps even a pet bird? Take the science-backed Pet Personality Test to know how well you know your little friend.
The Independent
11-07-2025
- The Independent
The little-known island off the coast of Ireland that's filled with puffins and wildflowers
While Skomer Island in Wales often gets the headlines for its puffin colony, I've discovered an Irish outpost that is home to a large colony and is easier to visit. A friend of mine has long disputed my description of puffins as 'bonky', claiming it's both 'ridiculous' and 'not a word'. But I think it fits perfectly. These seabirds are both bonkers and wonky-looking, with their wobbly little walks and seeming inability to fly in a straight line. And when I saw them up close, waddling on the edge of the sea cliffs on the Irish island of Great Saltee, I became even more confident that I was right all along. Every year on this rugged island off Ireland 's Southeast coast, a colony of puffins migrate to breed and nest. And every year, between April and July, people like me flock to Great Saltee Island to see them up close. It doesn't take long to spot them. Mere minutes after landing on the island I was surrounded by a veritable swam of puffins as they pottered between our legs, waddling like tipsy toddlers between the thick patches of purple wildflowers and their burrows, the exact same ones they nest in year after year. I crouched down, silent, and leant against a boulder covered in yellow moss, in the hopes that they would get closer still. And they did. Puffins waddled right past my feet, popping in and out of their burrows and leaping off the cliffs, their bright orange feet splayed out and their bums wobbling as they flew against the sea breeze. More than one looked right into my eyes as they tried to work out who, or what, I was. At one point, I looked down at a burrow I was passing only to see a distinctive beak poking out, its sharp orange ridge the only part visible in the dark hole. As a lifelong puffin fan, it was everything I'd hoped for. Like similar puffin colonies in Wales, their population is on the up (as is their popularity among puffin spotters). By coincidence, I'd been on the Pembrokeshire coast the week before, in the hopes of seeing the birds on Skomer Island. But while Skomer is positively teeming with puffins (the Wildlife Trust of South and West Wales just counted a record number of 43,626 puffins on the island), tickets for the landing sell out months in advance. A ticket to the Saltee Islands, however, is much easier to snag and costs just £34 return. Though some dates book out, I found tickets relatively last minute, the week before I set off. And the journey is an experience, too. I spent much of the 20-minute crossing in the cockpit, with the three local lads who drove the ferry barefoot and handed out soggy life jackets when it was time for us to switch to the dinghy that could navigate the shallower waters our ferry could not. I hadn't realised it was possible to be rocked in four different directions simultaneously, but as soon as our boat hit the Irish Sea we were bobbing like an apple at Halloween, each wave causing a squeal of joy or horror among passengers. But as soon as I leapt over the tangled seaweed on the shore, miraculously avoiding putting my whole foot in the water, I spotted my first puffin, hidden in a craggy nook on the side of the dark green hills that lined the beach. And that was just the first of them. When I finally tore myself away from the hundreds of puffins at their main breeding ground, I started hiking the trail that weaves around the south of the island. For an hour, I walked past rocky outcrops overflowing with guillemots and razorbills, and under nesting black-backed gulls prone to swooping down and divebombing any potential human threats. The trail weaves through tall swathes of fern, up and over the headland that looks back over the island, the rocky ridges and arches jutting into and over the sea, the dense lushness of the grass on top scattered with thousands of bright yellow buttercups and bluebells. As we walked further and the puffin-watchers dissipated, we saw seals on the rocks, then three tiny gull chicks, their fuzzy feathers making them look like leopard cubs on the sandy beach. However, the island, and County Wexford itself, isn't just for puffin-watchers. Wexford town is about 25 minutes up the coast, with seafood restaurants like La Côte, where you can tuck into dishes like sea trout tartare with caviar, or herb-crusted local hake with zingy lemon confit, all while enjoying views out over the sea. Kilmore Quay, where the ferries depart (and the aforementioned hake is caught), is a cute harbour village where you can pick up artisanal breads for an island picnic and delve into top notch fish and chips from the Saltee Chipper when you land back in – and after a day on the wind-battered island, nothing tastes as good as a pile of hot, salty chips, crispy battered haddock and mushy peas. To cap off our visit, we saw a few more puffins, much hardier characters than the main gang, who clung to the wind-battered cliffs on the northern edge of the island looking like hardened thugs. Their feathers flurried in the wind as they wobbled back onto the land after diving into the sea, their beaks filled to the brim with lines of silver sand eels. I watched them with my friend as they landed, one after another after another. And there wasn't another person around to be seen. Fly to Dublin from London with Aer Lingus from £49 one-way. Flight time is around 1 hour 25 minutes. Kilmore Quay is a 2 hour drive away, or you can get the train to Wexford and take a local bus to the ferry departure point. A ticket to the Saltee Islands costs £34 return and can be bought at
BBC News
10-07-2025
- Health
- BBC News
Bird flu confirmed as Ceredigion council warns public
People in a Welsh county are being warned to "remain vigilant" after bird flu was detected in seabirds along a stretch of council has said residents and visitors should "exercise caution" following confirmed cases of avian influenza in wild seabirds, particularly between Aberaeron and New received a formal notification of avian flu in a guillemot found on New Quay beach, with further reports of deceased seabirds in surrounding comes after the first Welsh cases of bird flu in poultry for three years were discovered last month in Pembrokeshire and Wrexham, leading to protection zones being put in place. The council said it would be installing advisory signage at key beach access points, reminding people not to touch or pick up dead or visibly sick wild birds, keep dogs on leads and on designated footpaths, avoid contact with bird feathers or droppings, and to wash their hands after tending to poultry or other of the public are also being asked to report sightings of dead wild waterfowl – such as swans, geese and ducks - or other wild birds such as gulls or birds of prey to the department for environment, food and rural affairs (Defra).Matthew Vaux, Ceredigion's cabinet member for public protection said "while the risk to public health is low, vigilance is essential"."The public is thanked for their cooperation and reminded not to attempt to handle any dead birds," he added. What is bird flu? Bird flu, or avian flu, is an infectious type of influenza that spreads among birds and, in rare cases, can affect are many different types, but the strains of biggest concern in the UK can be spread by close contact with an infected bird - dead or alive - as well as its droppings and advice urges people to avoid contact with live birds where possible, and to wash their hands often with warm water and soap, especially before and after handling food, in particular raw tips for avoiding the spread include using different utensils for cooked and raw meat, and making sure meat is cooked until steaming hot.
South China Morning Post
08-07-2025
- South China Morning Post
Bike tour along France's Atlantic coast reveals its beauty and history
Wildly gesticulating, a cyclist swerves to avoid a group of tourists. 'Ah, ces touristes' – these tourists – he mutters as he passes them. But he has a point. The coastal cycling path south of Les Sables d'Olonne in western France can get crowded. Cyclists here often find themselves stopping and starting frequently. The photo opportunities are simply too numerous. The sea view is stunning, and seabirds flit about. Some visitors are also drawn to a fortification perched on a rocky cliff with the vast ocean behind it. More than 80 years ago, the German occupiers took advantage of this unobstructed view of the Atlantic. They built fortifications and bunkers to prepare for the anticipated invasion by the Western Allies, creating what became known as the Atlantic Wall. Cyclists ride along La Vélodyssée. Photo: Universal Images Group via Getty Images Today, the Atlantic Coast Road, part of the European long-distance cycling route, allows cyclists to follow these historical traces. The route runs for 10,650 kilometres (6,617 miles) from Norway to Portugal. The section in France, known as La Vélodyssée, is particularly rewarding for history enthusiasts, especially the stretch between Les Sables d'Olonne and La Rochelle.
