I could wax enthusiastically all day about the smells, the visual and aural cacophony, and behaviors of penguins and penguin colonies. I laughed at the "Three Stooges"-like slapstick acts of wandering gangs of King penguins, pecking and slapping each other like Larry, Moe, and Curly. And I watched in paternal amusement as penguin chicks begged to be fed by adults - whether their parents or some other chicks, sometimes chasing the adults all over a colony. The tender moments between nesting pairs of penguins were another thing altogether - deeply moving and serene at the same time. And have you heard of The Black Penguin we saw?
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I appreciated the fact that young male fur seal pups really try to look vicious, but are just too adorable to take seriously. And I was astounded to find adult fur seals chasing after reindeer, faster than a man could run.
Leopard seals were a whole different matter - sleek and menacing in a reptilian, sort of way.
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This amazing life was not limited to land and icebergs. The waters were teeming with life as well. I quickly lost count of the numbers of leaping penguins, porpoising as if in play, but really taking part in survival skills as they tried to avoid leopard seals. Fur seals played in the shallows, making the waters boil with their sinuous shapes and movements. King penguins swam in squadrons. And then there were the whales to behold, graceful behemoths of the sea, with only the sound of their exhalations marked their breaking the water's surface, followed by our cheers and exultations accompanying their dives - especially when they showed us their flukes.
And if the sights, sounds, and smells we encountered during our trip were not enough, there were also other senses affected by the Antarctic - the dampness of wet snow on my face, the warmth of the sunshine on my body, and the feel of the cool wind through my hair. Exhilarating.
We all traveled the decks of the Explorer, cameras never far from our hands, never knowing when the next of nature's miracles would be visited upon us. And that's why it's so difficult to merely summarize our trip.
Perhaps it would help to put matters in perspective to describe just our second day at sea after having left Ushuaia, Argentina, known by locals as "Fin del Mundo", or "End of the World". We were in the Drake Passage, and were woken by an announcement that there was an iceberg coming up ahead of us. It was the first of several icebergs that day - each getting progressive larger. And it wasn't white - it was almost blue because it was compressed glacial ice, and not sea ice.
More importantly, it was the first iceberg we had ever seen in person. The next iceberg, however, was even better - it was deceptively huge. We didn't realize how large until the tiny black spots on one end of it resolved to be a group of Chinstrap penguins, resting impossibly high upon the blue-white ice. As we got nearer, a small part of that penguin group, which had appeared ready to leap dozens of feet into the open water, changed their minds. I believe they were intimidated by our ship and all the crazed humans with cameras on the bow. They waddled back away from the edge towards the safety of the middle of the ice berg, as fast as a penguin can waddle - and that's surprisingly fast.
As we finished our circumnavigation of the iceberg, we heard a loud sound, akin to a gunshot, and were awed to see a large chunk of ice calve from the iceberg, generating froth and waves as it collapsed into the sea.
But that was just the tip of the proverbial (and real) iceberg. Before the day was out, we spent time with a pod of sei and fin whales, an Antarctic fur seal, and a humpback whale. We also observed various flying fowl (as opposed to flightless), and saw an even more magnificent iceberg as the sun was setting.
Icebergs, waddling penguins, whales, fur seals, and calving ice - sure signs that we had truly arrived in the Antarctic. We were finally there!
We probably spent more time outside on the bow, with cameras or binoculars in hand, than we did indoors, and this was on a day where no land was in sight, anywhere. Our only time back in the ship was spent getting warm and drinking tea in the chart room.
Only two days into our journey, and already we were filled with wonder and exhilaration and swapping stories about the wildlife we had just seen.
Amazingly, we still had about 19 days to go. And yes, every subsequent day was better than the day before. Imagine that.
Jake Richter is a writer, photographer, artist, homeschooling father, registered Patent Agent, technologist, and a scuba diving instructor who lives on the Caribbean island of Bonaire. Among his numerous web sites is one for The Traveling Richters, which chronicles his family travels, including his recent trip aboard Lindblad Expeditions' National Geographic Explorer. All photos Copyright © 2010 by Jake Richter
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