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At first I wasn't sure what to make of a pair of Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoos (Calyptorhynchus funereus) ripping off the bark in a copse of Black Wattles. Soon my curiosity was satisfied.
Strike two was also a miss but three through six were winners for the Snowy Egret. Not so much for the menhaden. On Horsepen Bayou.
The neoclassical Surgeons' Hall in Edinburgh, Scotland, is the headquarters of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh (RCSED). It houses the Surgeons' Hall Museum, and the library and archive of the RCSED. The present Surgeons' Hall was designed by William Henry Playfair and completed in 1832. It was extensively refurbished from 2013-5.
Premendo L, l'immagine sarà più bella :-)
Pour une plus belle expérience, appuyez sur L
For a better experience press L
My original worries (see the previous image) were unjust to this clever bird. It's beyond my comprehension how he knew that among the dense crown of the acacia tree one of its branches concealed a tasty grub, which he extracted and then enjoyed on a nearby eucalypt.
Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus funereus) & a Big Fat Grub (anonymous, unless someone knows the species, please)
I spent some time at the eye doctor today. In a wild and reckless moment- knowing the prompt for today- I took this photo when he left the room for a minute. An intricately designed technical machine. #cy365 25/365 #spontaneous
Smile on Saturday theme: Feathers 😊
Thanks to everyone who took the time to view, comment, and fave my photo. It’s really appreciated. 😊
Surgeon's Room
HDR 7 scatti
Fotocamera: Nikon D700
Aperture: f/8
Shutter Speed: 2.0 s
Lente: 27 mm
ISO: 200
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Flash: Off, Did not fire
Lens: Nikkor AF-S FX 24-70mm f/2.8 G ED
Pirate, not surgeon...
Round my way everyone seems to be preparing for Halloween as a surgeon with a mask. It's refreshing to see someone daring to take a different tack. The ladies love a Pirate.
Hello there. Relevant comments welcome but please do NOT post any link(s). All my images are my own original work, under my copyright, with all rights reserved. You need my permission to use any image for ANY purpose.
Copyright infringement is theft.
"My work is exquisite, they never come back."
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My entry in the preliminary round of the Bio-Cup 2021; Bionicle - REMIXED!
I Agfa Isolette III , Agfa Apotar 1:4.5 85 mm , Kodak Extacolor Pro 160 , F 4.5 1/25 , expired Dev. and Fixer . I
Pavillion . Kuala Lumpur.
MY
Acanthuridae are the family of surgeon fishes, tangs, and unicornfishes. The family includes about 86 extant species of marine fish living in tropical seas, usually around coral reefs. Many of the species are brightly colored and popular in aquaria. The distinctive characteristic of the family is that they have scalpel-like modified scales, one or more on either side of the peduncle of the tail. The spines are dangerously sharp and may seriously injure anyone who carelessly handles such a fish. The dorsal, anal, and caudal fins are large, extending for most of the length of the body. The mouths are small and have a single row of teeth adapted to grazing on algae. Surgeonfishes sometimes feed as solitary individuals, but they often travel and feed in schools. Feeding in schools may be a mechanism for overwhelming the highly aggressive defense responses of small territorial damselfishes that vigorously guard small patches of algae on coral reefs.
The Great Barrier Reef is the world's largest coral reef system composed of over 2,900 individual reefs and 900 islands stretching for over 2,300 kilometres over an area of approximately 344,400 square kilometres. The Great Barrier Reef is a distinct feature of the East Australian Cordillera division. It reaches from Torres Strait (between Bramble Cay, its northernmost island, and the south coast of Papua New Guinea) in the north to the unnamed passage between Lady Elliot Island (its southernmost island) and Fraser Island in the south. Lady Elliot Island is located 1,915 km southeast of Bramble Cay as the crow flies. It includes the smaller Murray Islands. The reef is located in the Coral Sea, off the coast of Queensland, Australia. The Great Barrier Reef can be seen from outer space and is the world's biggest single structure made by living organisms. This reef structure is composed of and built by billions of tiny organisms, known as coral polyps. It supports a wide diversity of life and was selected as a World Heritage Site in 1981. The Great Barrier Reef has long been known to and used by the Aboriginal Australian and Torres Strait Islander peoples, and is an important part of local groups' cultures and spirituality. The reef is a very popular destination for tourists, especially in the Whitsunday Islands and Cairns regions. Tourism is an important economic activity for the region, generating over A$3 billion per year. 22731
The Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh was incorporated in 1505, when it received its Seal of Cause or charter and became styled as 'The Incorporation of Surgeons and Barbers of Edinburgh'.[2] The Museum at Surgeons Hall, Edinburgh dates from 1699 when the Incorporation announced that they were making a collection of ‘natural and artificial curiosities’.[3] and advertised for these in the first edition of a local paper, the Edinburgh Gazette. Daniel Defoe, an early visitor in 1726, wrote in his Tour thro' the whole Island of Great Britain that the 'chamber of rarities' contained many curious things too numerous for him to describe. Much of this early collection was given to the University of Edinburgh in the 1760s.[3] The Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh was incorporated in 1505, when it received its Seal of Cause or charter and became styled as 'The Incorporation of Surgeons and Barbers of Edinburgh'.[2] The Museum at Surgeons Hall, Edinburgh dates from 1699 when the Incorporation announced that they were making a collection of ‘natural and artificial curiosities’.[3] and advertised for these in the first edition of a local paper, the Edinburgh Gazette. Daniel Defoe, an early visitor in 1726, wrote in his Tour thro' the whole Island of Great Britain that the 'chamber of rarities' contained many curious things too numerous for him to describe. Much of this early collection was given to the University of Edinburgh in the 1760s.[3]
I should probably apologise for my recent silence. It wasn’t neglect—it was obsession.
For weeks, I had been chasing a rumour that refused to sit still. Nights disappeared into Google Earth, my screen glowing with satellite imagery as I traced the scars of forgotten tracks and improbable clearings, places no one had reason to visit anymore. Coordinates were cross-checked, stories weighed, dismissed, then reluctantly revived. Most led nowhere. One didn’t.
Yesterday, under the advancing teeth of Storm Chandra, I finally went looking.
The forest swallowed sound. Wind dragged rain through the branches, and the pines—tall, ancient, and furred with pale lichen—groaned as though they resented being disturbed. I had parked at the roadside on the fringe of the forest and walked and walked far into its heart. The first clearing matched the coordinates perfectly and yielded nothing. I searched it twice, then a third time, feeling foolish as the rain found its way down my collar.
I almost turned back.
Instead, I trusted the second location—the one I had memorised like a confession. What3Words guided me deeper, the distance shrinking in nervous increments: 1,400 feet. 900. 450. With each step the forest thickened, the heather grew wirier, the ground more treacherous underfoot. I became acutely aware of how easy it would be to get lost. Or worse—how long it might take to be found.
As I crested a low rise, the trees opened just enough.
I saw it immediately.
Twenty yards ahead, half-sunken in a shallow dip at the ragged edge of a clearing, was the unmistakable curve of rusted steel. A car. Old. German. The rain slid down its corroded flanks as if it had been waiting patiently to be recognised.
The feeling that hit me was not triumph alone. It was relief—sharp and almost physical. The kind that comes when something improbable turns out to be true.
Because this car, according to the story, was never meant to be found.
Rudolf Hess—Hitler’s deputy—had fled Germany at the height of the war, stealing a Messerschmitt Bf 110 and flying it himself to Britain, at night and at low altitude to avoid British nightfighters, before bailing out south of Glasgow. He believed, or claimed to believe, that he could negotiate peace with the Duke of Hamilton. Instead, he was captured, tried at Nuremberg, and sentenced to life imprisonment.
While awaiting trial, Hess received visitors. Some were legitimate. Others were ghosts wearing borrowed names.
One of them, it’s believed, was Otto Skorzeny.
Skorzeny was already a legend—Hitler’s favourite commando, the man who had rescued Mussolini from a mountain fortress. To gain access to Hess, he posed as Karlheinz Haushofer, Hess's wartime adjutant. Inside Spandau Prison, behind walls thick with secrecy, a plan was whispered into existence.
Hess urged Skorzeny to disappear.
Ireland—neutral, sympathetic, porous—offered a future. The route would run through Scotland, to a forest Hess remembered from childhood holidays, a place of lochs and silence where questions weren’t asked. The escape would be folded into the chaos of Operation Surgeon, the British programme quietly relocating Nazi scientists before the Russians could claim them.
Skorzeny, inconveniently, was no scientist.
The solution was paperwork.
He was reborn as a specialist in high-altitude hypoxia research—valuable, plausible, and just scientific enough to justify leniency. Somewhere between files being stamped and crates being unloaded, a car was assigned to him at Sheerness docks. Anonymous. German. Left-hand drive. A 1940s Opel Olympia.
There is no registration record.
He drove north on back roads, sleeping curled inside the car, eating little, never lingering. The Opel was slow and heavy—too heavy—but he didn’t dare question why. Eventually, he reached the forest. He swam in the loch. He was close.
Then he took a wrong turn.
The track narrowed into something no road should have been. Trees closed in. The ground softened. The car sank.
He tried everything—branches, leverage, brute force—but the rear of the vehicle was trapped, dragged down by its own weight. Finally, he abandoned it and walked, directionless, until voices reached him through the trees.
Forestry workers.
He watched them for a long time before stepping out from behind a tree trunk.
They were German prisoners of war.
They agreed to help when they could slip away from their overseers. But when they returned to the car, curiosity overcame caution. One of them forced open the boot with a shovel.
Inside were gold bars, wrapped in cloth, stacked like ballast.
What happened next was never written down.
Skorzeny made it to Ireland. He lived well enough to never need to explain how. Two German POWs vanished from their work gang and were assumed to have escaped—an explanation everyone accepted because the alternative was too uncomfortable. Some whispered that they had recognised the tall stranger with the duelling scar. Others believed they were buried where the forest is thickest and the ground never freezes.
The car was left behind.
Decades passed. Trees grew around it. Moss claimed the steel. The forest forgot—almost.
Standing there in the rain, staring at the rusted Opel, I couldn’t tell whether I had found a tomb, a lie, or the last honest witness to something that was never meant to survive history.
The gold?
That’s the real mystery.
It has never been found. But rumours linger—that Skorzeny trained the IRA, that German money bought ArmaLites, that a forgotten cache still sleeps somewhere beneath the pines.
And now that I’ve seen the car with my own eyes, I’m no longer sure which part of the story is the most dangerous to go looking for.