Moonrise over Filfla
Filfla: one of the smallest and the remotest of the islands in the Maltese archipelago. An uninhabited limestone outcrop the area of two football pitches. Uninhabited by man but home to thousands of pairs of seabirds who find peace and quiet in a spot which is devoid of mankind’s disturbing activity.
Inaccessible due to its fragmented topography and out of bounds due to its scientific significance; a place where only those bearing a special permit can alight.
I sailed close by last summer. Without landing but close enough to see the detail. Experiencing an optical illusion whereby the island actually seems larger from the distance but amazingly small once approached. Fragmented and fragmenting due to its past history of bombardment and the merciless pounding of the sea from whose depths it emerges. I fear that one day it will just vanish in the wake of a huge storm.
As we sailed round the islet’s north-western shore, I captured a still moment with my camera. The flat plateau of Filfla’s peak with its profusion of hardy plants. The numerous seabirds, flying or perched on the rock’s edge, testament to their home’s importance as a roost of international significance. And a rising lunar disc, faint against the late afternoon sky but clear enough to show the contrasting features on our satellite’s barren surface. A special moment which merits today’s posting in my Malta Photoblog.