Birds of a feather ...

WE WERE all at a loss to describe the vast albatross colony. Miles of densely-packed birds were sitting, each on its own mud eggcup nest, exactly a beak-jab distance from its neighbour.

The scene was one of a magical-looking island rising from a blue sea, skirted by green tussock with vast white patches of nesting albatrosses on each lobe of the colony.

The birds had run out of building plots on the flat coastal areas – too few mud cups to meet demand, a familiar tale of woe on small islands – and many had set up home in the less desirable tussock grass, even high up on ridges near the peak of Steeple Jason's escarpment.

Everywhere we went there were albatrosses overhead. Sitting in the tussock near parts of the colony, birds passed over our heads, missing taller group members by only an inch or two.

Our first encounter with the birds was soon after landing at the Neck. We had a cuppa in the warden's comfortable house before driving to the west end of the island.

Moving carefully to avoid sleeping sea lions, we pushed our way through dense tussock, finally emerging at the colony.

What a sight.

Many acres of bare soil had disappeared under black-browed albatrosses' nests. It was a sea of black and white birds, all intent on domestic duties.

The sound was amazing, too, as the birds called their bubbling 'ughooooo' greetings.

Black-browed albatrosses are gentle, turkey-sized birds.

On arrival, after a usually bad landing, they call loudly to nearby nesting birds, which jab at them.

Reaching their nest and mate, an intricate greeting occurs with one bird fanning and raising its grey tail and much billing and mutual preening.

Many birds were sitting on large, pink-white eggs. Others were doing what was necessary to make them.

Gradually, we became aware of other residents in this vast seabird city. Rockhopper penguins were sitting happily between nests on higher ground, presumably incubating their own eggs, although we saw none.

Wanting to see the full extent of the colony, we walked around its edge, parting a way through non-breeding birds which moved away, big webbed feet flip-flopping on the ground, just a foot or two away, unafraid.

A few deep, muddy ponds proved entertaining as albatrosses were using them to bathe or as take-off pads.

Eventually, we reached a spot where the nests spread several hundred metres up a ridge and around the base of a distant mountain.

Counting the huge numbers was impossible and estimating them futile. The colony was simply mind-boggling in its extent.

By now the sun was setting, temperatures were dropping and we were tired and hungry.

We retraced our steps and walked back to the house, where warden Rob McGill had prepared a delicious meal (the chilli con carne had been brought with us, along with a mountain of food and sleeping bags).

We divided accommodation into 'girls' and 'boys' and a good night's sleep was had after a few minutes' stargazing.

Breakfast was early: we did not want to waste a moment in this precious spot, with albatrosses watched in droves over the sea.

We spent the morning on the cool south side of Steeple Jason, where 'our colony' of the night before could be seen coming around the mountain and stretching two miles past us and on towards the Neck.

People with more time than we had had estimated the numbers at 175,000 pairs and 150,000 non-breeding birds – a total of 500,000.

Steeple Jason was a wildlife wonder of a place, unequalled anywhere for most of us.

Little wonder it is called the South Georgia of the Falklands, the largest albatross colony in the world.

Our journeys to and from the island in a converted German trawler were just as fascinating, although five hours each way tested a few constitutions.

We watched a peregrine chasing prions miles out at sea, until one was snatched and carried off – there were thousands for the falcon to choose from.

We tried to sort out the different species of prion and blue petrel but from a small, pitching and rolling boat it was not simple. Pintado petrels, southern fulmars, a few sooty shearwaters and a Wilson's storm petrel were easier.

After passing South Jason and Elephant Jason we went in close to Grand Jason to see gentoo and rockhopper penguin colonies and our first huge albatross colony – 30,000 pairs are thought to breed on the island.

Grand Jason petered away into a series of long, low rocky islets, on the last of which was a superb southern fur seal colony of 300 or more animals.

I was about to say that it could attract predators when suddenly a male orca breached 200 yards in front of our boat, an amazing sight. It then repeated the stunt, twisting as it descended back into the sea.

We watched it close in on the fur seal colony, its 6ft triangular fin and back clearly visible several times.

This account of my most outstanding wildlife event in 20 years of visits to the Falklands is a mere taste of the Steeple Jason experience.

We all came away from the island amazed at what we had seen and done, thrilled to have made the trip.