by Tom Michell
What a revelation! Suddenly, after all the years of wondering why Juan Salvado had so persistently refused to leave me on that beach in Punta del Este, I felt I had a satisfactory answer at last. Oh, the relief! It had been less to do with wet feathers and more to do with the fundamental psychology of penguins. A giant smile crept across my face because, finally, I had found some peace of mind; the very last piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. How strange is coincidence? Had that rockhopper not been there, had our paths not met, I might never have found the final part of the jigsaw. But how sad for him. This particular penguin was stuck there, confined not by the fences but by his own nature and instincts, until some new disaster brought another injured or polluted rockhopper to Mundo Marino.
Now, ever since the days of my compadre Juan Salvado, I have steadfastly believed Magellan penguins to be quite the most handsome and distinguished of all the biological order Spheniscidae, while rockhoppers, with their spiky hairdos—foolish, ostentatious, and theatrical “fascinators”—were the representatives of the disreputable, bohemian, punk side of the family. However, stroking that little bird, I discovered (as all too often before, I’m afraid) that my prejudices were founded on nothing more substantial than appearances. As the little rockhopper penguin pushed back against my hand, he studied me, first with one eye and then the other, just like Juan Salvado used to do. Just as intently, I observed him in turn, with his feathered feet, exquisite plumage, and eyes that were limpid amber pools of unfathomable depth. I was utterly enthralled by this beautiful and enchanting creature.
And at that moment I knew for certain, beyond the slightest shadow of doubt, that, given a fair wind, a string bag, and half a chance, I would unhesitatingly have set out on a South American adventure once again—with a penguin.
For Will, Alice, Mark, and Claire
I owe a debt of gratitude to many people for all their support, encouragement, and assistance in telling the story of Juan Salvador the penguin. To Jessica Leeke of Penguin Random House who ceaselessly championed the cause, to Laura Warner who “found” us, and to Sue Warga, my U.S. copy editor. I am greatly appreciative of everything these skilled and dedicated professionals have done. To Mike Tate, formerly of The Times, a man of letters and stalwart friend. To my mother who so carefully archived all the things I sent home, but most of all to my wonderful wife and children, without whom I would never have picked up my pen. Thank you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TOM MICHELL was born and grew up in the rural downs of southern England, where he learned a love of animals, birds, and plants. After living in Argentina, he returned home and settled in Cornwall, where he helps with the family business, tends a small plot of what he calls “good Cornish soil,” and sings with a local choir.
He is an amateur artist, and in his spare time he draws and paints subjects from the wildlife around his home, specializing in birds of prey.
Michell is an enthusiastic proponent of understanding how humans can live in genuinely sustainable ways. He is married with four grown-up children and three grandchildren.
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