Antarctica
We parked in the ice last night. As evening progressed towards twilight, our bow pushed gently against floating fragments of ice that completely masked the channel. The pressure waves moved them as if they were the plates of our lithosphere. They separated and the resulting rift filled with water as dark as basalt. They crashed together, subducting here or building mountains of snow somewhere else. A transform fault floated by and exotic terranes accreted on imagined continental margins.
When our motion stopped we peered down on stories written in snow. Penguins had marched from shore to shore, their fleshy pink feet leaving imprints of each step taken. To gain speed they had dropped to their bellies. The trail became a rounded groove perfectly fitting their smooth curved bellies. Each wing beat against the surface drawing perfect commas on either side to punctuate the route. An Emperor penguin bid us good night and was our wake-up call this morning.
We moved away from the ice into a symmetrical black and white world. The water was dark as obsidian. Porpoising penguins cut conchoidal fractures in the glass-like surface, each irregularity mirrored by concavities in glacial faces that had cast their children to the sea. Ebony turned to charcoal and charcoal to pewter as the ceiling lowered and the wind churned the tops of the waves. Rounded mounds of snow melded with the sky. Only the sharp edges of eroded ice told of land nearby. Why is it that gray and clouds have become synonymous with gloomy or melancholy days? Although the sun never shone our day was filled with light and joy.
The red, white and blue of the Union Jack waved from Goudier Island and the orange and black buildings of the former Operation Tabarin hut mimicked the colors of the gentoo penguins nesting outside the front door of what was now a post office and museum at Port Lockroy. A short Zodiac ride away, nesting shags flashed their golden nasal ornaments and cobalt blue eye liner as they greeted their mates.
Enterprise Island and its entourage of rocky islets hid palates of verdant green mosses and sage green, orange or golden lichens. Antarctic terns would have blended with the ashen colored rocks except for their flashing crimson beaks and feet. From a British Army yacht nearby the echoing strains of a bagpipe added music to our delight.
We parked in the ice last night. As evening progressed towards twilight, our bow pushed gently against floating fragments of ice that completely masked the channel. The pressure waves moved them as if they were the plates of our lithosphere. They separated and the resulting rift filled with water as dark as basalt. They crashed together, subducting here or building mountains of snow somewhere else. A transform fault floated by and exotic terranes accreted on imagined continental margins.
When our motion stopped we peered down on stories written in snow. Penguins had marched from shore to shore, their fleshy pink feet leaving imprints of each step taken. To gain speed they had dropped to their bellies. The trail became a rounded groove perfectly fitting their smooth curved bellies. Each wing beat against the surface drawing perfect commas on either side to punctuate the route. An Emperor penguin bid us good night and was our wake-up call this morning.
We moved away from the ice into a symmetrical black and white world. The water was dark as obsidian. Porpoising penguins cut conchoidal fractures in the glass-like surface, each irregularity mirrored by concavities in glacial faces that had cast their children to the sea. Ebony turned to charcoal and charcoal to pewter as the ceiling lowered and the wind churned the tops of the waves. Rounded mounds of snow melded with the sky. Only the sharp edges of eroded ice told of land nearby. Why is it that gray and clouds have become synonymous with gloomy or melancholy days? Although the sun never shone our day was filled with light and joy.
The red, white and blue of the Union Jack waved from Goudier Island and the orange and black buildings of the former Operation Tabarin hut mimicked the colors of the gentoo penguins nesting outside the front door of what was now a post office and museum at Port Lockroy. A short Zodiac ride away, nesting shags flashed their golden nasal ornaments and cobalt blue eye liner as they greeted their mates.
Enterprise Island and its entourage of rocky islets hid palates of verdant green mosses and sage green, orange or golden lichens. Antarctic terns would have blended with the ashen colored rocks except for their flashing crimson beaks and feet. From a British Army yacht nearby the echoing strains of a bagpipe added music to our delight.
