Fortress Falklands

By LAURA LOPEZ PORT STANLEY

It is a Monday morning like any other at the pastoral Port Howard Farm on West Falkland Island. Several shepherds roam the 200,000-acre spread in Land Rovers and on motorbikes, tending the 45,000 woolly residents. In the main house, farm owner Robin Lee, 42, checks over farm accounts and sips a final cup of tea before making the weekly commute to his desk job in the capital city of Port Stanley. When the call comes signaling that his ride is en route, Lee drives the short stretch to a grassy landing strip, arriving in time to make sure it is clear of wandering sheep. As the shiny red nine-seater air taxi appears over a rocky ridge, Lee gathers up his bag and surveys the rolling hills in the distance. "This is a good place. There is no danger, no crime," he says. "But the conflict brought changes. Once, we thought our life would go on forever."

The "conflict" is Falklander shorthand for the war between Britain and Argentina that ended 10 years ago this month after rocking the windy, 160- mile-wide archipelago of 778 islands for 74 days. The "changes" refer to the spurt of postwar economic development that has transformed this once depressed South Atlantic outpost into the wealthiest enclave in the hemisphere. Last week former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher received a hero's welcome as she touched down in the Falklands to celebrate the anniversary of the military victory. The warm welcome no doubt included a dollop of gratitude for the current economic state of affairs. Today the 2,050 people who live on the archipelago's 30 inhabitable islands boast a per capita income of $30,000, as compared with the U.S. per capita rate of $22,000. If the upside has meant a VCR in every home, the downside is a threat to the area's cherished isolation, as tourists, developers and oil speculators take notice of the archipelago's rich resources.

So far, the locals, or kelpers as they call themselves, have gained far more than they have lost. In the mid-1980s, the British government spent $1 billion to build a military base on the main island of East Falkland, where 2,000 troops are now garrisoned along with five Phantom fighter-bombers. London also earmarked more than $54 million for a development program that so far has furnished the islands with an improved water system, a new hospital and their first graded road, 35 miles long. At the same time, residents were encouraged to buy plots of land previously controlled by large absentee landowners; today 95% of Falklands territory is in local hands.

The most lucrative gift was bestowed in 1986 when Britain declared a 150- mile fishing-conservation zone around the archipelago, later extended to 200 miles. Sales of fishing licenses to Asian and European fleets on the hunt for prized illex and loligo squid bring the islands annual revenues of $47 million (in contrast to the $7 million earned by islanders in 1981, mostly from the sale of wool). Ironically, for a population made rich by the indigenous marine life, the kelpers have no fishing fleets of their own; until three years ago, when a swimming pool was installed in the capital, most islanders did not even know how to swim.

Yet they recognize the potential harm to their waterways and spend $10 million annually to make sure that fishing restrictions and conservation measures are enforced. A patrol fleet chases unlicensed boats out of the waters and monitors excessive fishing. Officials study fish-migration patterns and climatic trends to determine where to emphasize conservation.

The islands' Development Corporation spends $3.5 million a year building up the private sector. Improvements in the capital have included a two-car taxi service, a laundry, a fish-and-chips shop and a beauty salon. The face-lift also added a secondary school and a hydroponic garden to the community, and an additional 250 miles of road are planned over the next decade. The only extravagances, at least by island standards, have been the installation of a modern telephone system and a television station, which broadcasts taped British programming seven hours daily. Those modest amenities helped attract - almost 5,000 bird watchers, fishermen and nature lovers last year, all of whom provide word-of-mouth advertising for the islands' sightseeing treasures, including penguins, sea lions and diddle-dee plants.

Still, the kelpers are determined not to let their newfound wealth destroy the archipelago's charm. At present, sheep still outnumber people 365 to 1 -- and islanders would just as soon keep it that way. The tiny population has managed to hold the problems of the real world at bay; incidents of vandalism are few, and aids, prostitution and drugs are still confined to programs on the telly. Any kelper caught drinking to excess is put on the Black List, which means that no one can serve the offender liquor. Should someone be distasteful enough to start a pub-room brawl, he might be packed off to jail for a month. The lockup is quite civilized: at night prisoners are free to roam the facility, answering the phone and watching television.

The threat to this backwater existence lies just offshore. Seismic surveying will begin this year for oil; reserves could hold as much as nine times the deposits in the North Sea. It will be at least three years before the results are known, but kelpers are already nervous. They fear that the discovery of petroleum might renew Argentina's territorial interest in the archipelago.

No less a threat is the oil bonanza, which could destroy life as the kelpers know and love it. "We would get thousands of people in here who wouldn't be sensitive to our environment," says Mike Summers, general manager of the Development Corporation. If the islands are buffeted by the blustery mistrals of an oil free-for-all, the invasion of 12,000 Argentine troops might seem like a mild sea breeze by comparison.