Caught in a pincer movement in the Azores
Sete Cidades caldera, Sao Miguel, Azores
The meteorological feature known as the Azores High, referred to periodically in the weather bulletins, may well be the main source of awareness that people have of the existence of these islands. Among the ocean-going yachting community, the Azores are also famous for being a mid-Atlantic stopping point, especially the port of Horta on the island of Faial with its brightly coloured harbour paintings that record many sailing trips of a lifetime. For those who have spent time on this Portuguese archipelago floating in the Atlantic Ocean, these islands receive less attention than similarly autonomous and popular Madeira. This sense of being overlooked motivated a trip there that did not disappoint. In particular, an unexpected experience occurred on the main island of Sao Miguel in the morning prior to flying onto the island of Faial later that day. Indeed, if it had been another glorious, sunny day, I would not have left feeling quite so enriched.
Walking trial around the Caldera
Two days earlier in warm, clear conditions, I had walked around the rim of the Sete Cidades caldera. So wonderful had that hike been, that when I woke up on that last morning, I was intent on reprising it before leaving the island on my afternoon flight. As I climbed up to the crater rim at Vista do Rei, everything became shrouded in cloud, making it impossible to see the lakes below. There seemed little imminent prospect of it clearing.
Red Swamp Crayfish (courtesy of Virtual Hunt)
Sensing this, I dropped down into the caldera and below the dense cloud base, eventually arriving close to the bridge dividing the two crater lakes. As the earlier rain had relented, I set out along the track, the gravel crunching underfoot. Hugging the east side of the green lake (Lagoa Verde), I strolled along, my mind wandering when ….. ‘What the heck is ….!’ I jolted to an abrupt halt as something truly astonishing confronted me. I instantly realised I was about to kick or tread on what looked like small lobsters. Three of these deep reddish creatures lined up before me on the path, each four to five inches in length with their large claws exaggerating their size. As I approached them more carefully, they rose up with their big pincers pointing towards me, apparently ready for a fight. I imagined them goading me. “Come on then, if you think you’re so big” they taunted with their show of bravado. At times they reared up so much that they toppled over onto their backs but were soon able to right themselves, much like a boxer not wanting to take the full count. My instincts suggested they might be some kind of crayfish, but I was unsure if they grew to such a size.
Threading my way slowly along the track, I realised there were not just two or three of these creatures but a whole battalion of them strewn across both the path and the adjacent, grassy apron that dropped gently to the lakeside. An army was seemingly on the march that was prepared to muster all its defiance to proudly defend its ground. I resumed my walk until the track petered out, all the time trying to avoid antagonising these creatures that were hindering my progress around the lake. Back at the bridge, I followed another path, this time around the blue lake (Lagoa Azul). Here too I had to plot my way carefully to avoid crushing any ‘lobsters’ in their attempts to block my route. My astonishment didn’t leave me> Each time I approached too closely they again reared up using their fearsome pincers to protect themselves.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
I was left rather bemused by the display and nature of these lobster-like creatures. I could only imagine that they must have emerged from the lake but simultaneously perplexed that they seemed able to exist out of water for so long. Was it the earlier heavy rain and lingering damp that had attracted them out of the lake, or had they simply decided to vacate the lake en masse? Was I gate-crashing some mystical, mass pilgrimage or was I perhaps observing some mating ritual? My mind went into overdrive as I tried to make sense of what I was witnessing.
Looking back up to where I had walked previously, the morning’s fresh but dank scene contrasted markedly from that earlier warm, bright day. However, the company of these crustaceans provided me with another and unexpected way to appreciate the caldera’s natural wonder. I later discovered these creatures were probably red swamp crayfish that were not indigenous to the island. Even if they were an ‘introduced species’, this did not undermine my amazement at stumbling upon this phenomenon. Just three hours later I was taking off and leaving Sao Miguel and its battalions behind, but this stunning spectacle had provided a vivid memory that has remained with me ever since.
