The Antarctic: Day 4

Day 4 – Wednesday, January 19

    The Ship’s Captain awakens us by 4 AM.  By 4:30p, we have thermal underwear, fleece, Gore-Tex Polar Star outer pants and jacket, double gloves, wool hat, and Wellington Boots on in the ship wetroom.  Over that goes the life preserver.  Then, by careful maneuvering, we each sidle into the Zodiac inflatables for our first of three onshore trips for the day – to Half Moon Island.  There we have our first live contact with Chinstrap Penguins and Adelie Penguins.  We are supposed to stay fifteen feet away from them but this does not last long.    They penguins violate the rules repeatedly.  Apparently they took their ecology training in Pigeon English format (sorry).  We also see four fur seals, and a huge elephant seal that fancies himself a rock and has a disguise nearly equal to the task.  Plenty of evidence here, that life is “nasty, brutish, and short,” to borrow Hobbe’s famous expression.  You would not know it watching the penguins, however.  They appear to be very happy creatures.  They do a lot of laughing, chatting, act in a very social manner, show off repeatedly, and have fights that last only seconds (prompted by territorial issues over nesting rights, near as I can tell).

   By 7:30, we return to the ship for breakfast.  And a short nap.  A photography workshop follows at 11 AM.  I can stop wasting and having to delete so many pix now!  And I figure out the movie segment function of my digital camera for the first time.  Lunch is at 12:30, followed by Shore Visit # 2 to Hannah Point & Walker Bay on Livingston Island.  Here, the variety expands.  We see huge colonies of Chinstrap and Adelie Penguins again, and they are joined by Macaroni and Gentoo Penguins.  Further down the huge arc of a beach that leads to the glacier that dominates the island, we encounter a herd of Southern Elephant Seals, and more Antarctic Fur Seals.  The flatulence of the Elephant Seals is a sound that rivals that of dueling tugboat horns.  The question arose: are they burping, or farting?  The answer: “Who cares, it smells the same.”  The males and females always bask separately (and they do it with panache, the height of sloth, with only eyes moving even as they roll their up to four tons of blubber from side to side in an attempt to wedge themselves between their fellows).  Except during mating season, that is.

   Further down the beach, now on black sand, we encounter “The Hard Rock Café.”  Geologist Kirsten’s rock exhibit showing the glacial and volcanic influence on the topography here, the huge number of fossils laying about (including a 130 million year-old fern imprint clearly embedded in a rock), rare quartz embedded in the rocks, and a veritable garden patch of moss and lichens all focused on one delirious boulder.  The bones of a whale lay about fifty yards beyond.  Overhead, the air was thick with Snow Petrels, Kelp Dominican Gulls, and Southern Giant Petrels with their massive, condor-like wingspans.  Most impressive of all, was the five to six humpback whales we encountered in a feeding pod while in transit between stops.

   At 7:45, we enter Neptune’s Bellows, the extremely narrow entrance to the caldera of famous Deception Island.     We make our way to Whalers Bay.  Which is mindful of the question: what would bring men hundreds of years ago, to these cold, barren and often forsaken shores?  It was greed.  Or to make land claims on behalf of their King.  Greed, in following the whales and seals and sea lions further and further south, to the point the captains and navigators soon found themselves off the map.  And land claims extended to individual islands and whaling stations, but not to the continent itself, as conditions prohibited any permanent residency with constantly changing ice conditions and extreme cold. 

     The island is much like its much warmer Greek cousin, Santorini.  Only it has a fuller enclosure, the complete 10 kilometer diameter circle being broken only by the 200 yard portal to the island interior.  Deception Island still has active volcanic fuminoles, with eruptions ruining some of the old whaling stations there as recent as 1970.  In fact, a rather humorous “Escape Strategy In Case of a Volcanic Eruption on Deception Island” (written in typical British understatement) reads in part as follows:

   “A sudden collapse of the caldera could result in a much more serious eruption, with devastating effects on anyone on the island at the time.  Escape from the island during a caldera collapse eruption is unlikely.  If ships are present within Port Foster when an eruption occurs, they should depart the island immediately, ideally after uplifting all people ashore… (it then goes on to describe various escape routes in detail) … The routes are physically arduous.  Exhaustion is likely.  There are no recommended safe routes.”

    Of course, us Yankees would basically have just said “In the event of an eruption, you’re screwed.”

    After a cursory examination of an old British whaling station, some long dilapidated whale oil tanks, and an ancient aircraft hanger, most of us walk up about a mile to an overlook called Neptune’s Window, from which The Antarctic Peninsula itself can be seen for the first time from its incredible volcanic perch.  Directly below a curved scimitar of a beach shelters gentle waves which ripple against the completely vertical wall of the caldera.  But the weather doesn’t cooperate with sightseeing.  It is zero degrees Celsius outside (that is freezing, to those who wondered), with limited visibility, and light, driving snow.  Perfect weather for Polar Bears.  But not the furry kind.  The adventurous, bareskinned, time-for-an-Artic-dip type.

   About fifteen of us, strip down to underwear or bathing suits, and charge out into the frigid waters.   To me, if felt brisk and invigorating to the trunk and cranium.  My legs though, felt as if a thousand toothpicks were prodding them all at once.  I started losing feeling within my feet and calves in seconds.  Stuck around just long enough for the obligatory photo op – complete with personal Pirate Flag -- and then back to the beach where a waiting crew warmed us up with ready towels.  Nearly … some late stragglers decided to “have a go,” and they looked like they needed company.  Went in a second time, just to make sure I hadn’t done something wrong on the first attempt. It felt even better than the first.   A consensus among the crowd soon developed that I was clearly the dimmest of the Polar Bears though.  Especially after I put on Wellies to avoid the gritty volcanic sand of the island to walk back to the clothing pile.  Could not take them off for the life of me, the water inside having suctioned my foot to the sole.  So no change to dry clothes.  Took the Zodiac back to The Polar Star, in rubber boots and a bathing suit in sub zero weather, waving a frozen Pirate Flag all the way.

   Weather continued to be overcast, but the scenery as we approached the continent and terra firma continued to be outstanding.  As the waves subsided, more and more of our fellow passengers came out for the nightlife.  Simon, Marco and I still fulfilled our sworn duty and closed out the bar at 1:30 AM.