We thought we had a plan but as the old adage goes, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” We are learning very quickly to expect the unexpected and when one approaches each day with an open mind, surprises are sure to come along.
Today was a three act show, each isolated by curtains of fog or snow. Wrapped in a drizzly fog we awoke in Bransfield Strait where tiny Wilson’s storm-petrels danced on an ebony sea. The sun struggled to make its presence known appearing as a dim orb in the sky only for the briefest moment in time. Swallowed by heavy wet snow, the Antarctic Peninsula was simply a line on the chart off to our starboard side.
Midmorning the curtain lifted and the stage was set for our first adventure of the day. Brown Bluff rose above us as we set foot upon the shore at the tip of the Tabarin Peninsula. Giant golden ventifacts, boulders tumbled from high above long ago and sculpted by the wind, were the gateway to a relatively quiet community beyond. Scruffy looking gentoo youth meandered about the beach, periodically pestering adults that had somehow negotiated an icy barrier from the sea. Their previous suburban communities were mostly unoccupied now. Nearby, where just weeks ago a busy city thrived, only ruins defined by pink soil told of past occupation by tens of thousands of Adélie penguins. Their breeding cycle finished, these penguins of the ice had all gone to sea leaving only three. Off shore apparently satiated leopard seals lounged on ice floes as did sleek and silky crabeater seals. As the tide fell and bergy bits stacked themselves on the shallow reef, snow once again stole of view of the magnificent englacial volcano above our heads.
Slipping from Antarctic Sound through narrow Fridjof Strait, an interesting echo appeared on the radar that subsequently destroyed any thoughts anyone had of taking a nap. Here was a one-and-a-half to two-mile square skating rink floating upon the sea. After a tentative push with the bow we soon found ourselves wedged into an ice floe that had likely been fast ice isolated in a quiet bay some time ago. The cold temperatures of the approaching winter had refrozen any melt pools or slushy spots. The temptation was too great and down the gangway we flowed to swarm about slipping and sliding and generally having fun as snow fell like confetti about our heads. Suddenly a bouquet of orchids (not real of course) and silver trays appeared to deliver “champagne on ice.”
Between the acts, now well acquainted with Antarctic weather, it seemed appropriate to think of those that had gone before: Scott, Amundsen, Shackleton, Larson and Nordenskjold. All left us with enduring stories to be told. Outside the currents were ripping, whirlpools swirled and icebergs flew as we retraced our steps to Antarctic Sound once more.
Act three, the final for the day, began with a misty blow, unexpectedly close to a dense strip of brash ice and growlers in the middle of the sound. Massive rostrums and ballooning rorqual pleats rose from the sea. With a twist of the body, pectoral flippers and corners of tail flukes completed the picture of foraging humpback whales. “To the boats” we cried and for the third time today layers of clothing were donned but this time in record time. Being in a tiny Zodiac pushing growlers aside enhanced our appreciation even more of what the men of the Antarctic and the Endurance experienced as their ships became entrapped. After we had our fill of feeding whales, lounging seals, and flocks of snow petrels flitting like snowflakes in the wind, we were lucky to be able to retreat to our elegant home away from home.
