Drake Passage
What’s in a face? We make so many judgments based on what we first see, on appearance and first impressions. But before we go there, let us talk about today. We are in the Drake Passage, heading for Ushuaia, Argentina. It is relatively pleasant with on again, off again sun through some fog, a bit of swell, but almost no wind. It is a time for reflection, where experience gives way to musing that transcends to memory. For myself a short clip of video from our last days in Antarctica will stay with me, mesmerize me, and haunt me for the rest of my life. There are two top predators in the Southern Ocean, the water that surrounds Antarctica, the killer whale and the leopard seal. As a diver, it is the leopard seal that we most wonder about.
Seals and sea lions, what is the difference? Sea lions can draw their rear flippers beneath them and walk on land. Seals, on the other hand, with their uniquely modified rear flippers for powerful dives and effortless, prolonged swimming crawl like worms on land, but they are able to dive much deeper and longer than the sea lions and their relatives. Sea lions mostly use their long, wing-like front flippers for swimming. Sea lions are acrobats; they have sinuous necks and twist their bodies about with a fluid grace, nervous, curious and always in motion. In shallow water seals are ponderous, yet sensuous, we find them rubbing themselves on rocks like a dog, like big, happy Labrador retrievers, yet they are somewhat shy, a bit hesitant and they have big inquisitive eyes like teddy bears brought to life. Now the leopard seal is completely different. Like a seal, its rear flippers have become a primary mode of rapid propulsion, but they also have a very long neck and front flippers that they use like a sea lion; on the whole they are sinuous and serpentine in motion and appearance. They are the sea lion of the Southern Ocean, a weird hybrid, unique.
During the Antarctic summer, the males, in particular, hunt swift, agile prey in shallow waters. They patrol the beaches in front of penguin rookeries. You’ve seen the pictures, a multitude of penguins, tightly packed, standing on the edge of land or ice, like Friday afternoon commuters at the train platform anxious to get home. But why do the penguins wait? The ocean is always there. Why the hesitation? Is the water so cold? I don’t think so. No, it’s because they know what is lurking, a monster that lays in ambush, invisible but for its peculiar eyes, two pale lanterns glowing with a soft white light. The head of a leopard seal is massive, the jaw long, ending almost at the ear, its gape eternal like darkest night with no hope of dawn. The penguins enter the water as a frenzied group and only one bird will meet its death…this time. Once seized the unfortunate penguin is brought to the surface where with several violent motions the bird is stripped of skin and feathers, then consumed in a single gulp!
Are they a coldly efficient eating machine, dull of mind, wanting of personality? No, like the sea lion, they are curious and will approach a Zodiac, look upon us, follow us, and sometimes teasingly seize an idled propeller or pontoon. When approached on an ice floe they give their standard salutation, a gaping jaw, a parade of prominent teeth, sharp and bright, to bird, to Zodiac, even to our ship; not so much as an anxious threat, but more an arrogant, almost lazy display of power and promised annihilation. In the water they are even more frightening, more than eight feet long and eight hundred pounds, the line of their jaws in a fixed smirk, their eyes confident, their glide effortless, overwhelming. Yet there has never been a report of an unprovoked attack. Perhaps they are just curious and playful, our fear a fantasy, maybe, just maybe, next time I’ll know. For now, in my thoughts they are the wilderness, they are beauty and danger, they are grace and terror, untamed and unbent and they swim through my dreams and memories of yet another voyage to Antarctica.
What’s in a face? We make so many judgments based on what we first see, on appearance and first impressions. But before we go there, let us talk about today. We are in the Drake Passage, heading for Ushuaia, Argentina. It is relatively pleasant with on again, off again sun through some fog, a bit of swell, but almost no wind. It is a time for reflection, where experience gives way to musing that transcends to memory. For myself a short clip of video from our last days in Antarctica will stay with me, mesmerize me, and haunt me for the rest of my life. There are two top predators in the Southern Ocean, the water that surrounds Antarctica, the killer whale and the leopard seal. As a diver, it is the leopard seal that we most wonder about.
Seals and sea lions, what is the difference? Sea lions can draw their rear flippers beneath them and walk on land. Seals, on the other hand, with their uniquely modified rear flippers for powerful dives and effortless, prolonged swimming crawl like worms on land, but they are able to dive much deeper and longer than the sea lions and their relatives. Sea lions mostly use their long, wing-like front flippers for swimming. Sea lions are acrobats; they have sinuous necks and twist their bodies about with a fluid grace, nervous, curious and always in motion. In shallow water seals are ponderous, yet sensuous, we find them rubbing themselves on rocks like a dog, like big, happy Labrador retrievers, yet they are somewhat shy, a bit hesitant and they have big inquisitive eyes like teddy bears brought to life. Now the leopard seal is completely different. Like a seal, its rear flippers have become a primary mode of rapid propulsion, but they also have a very long neck and front flippers that they use like a sea lion; on the whole they are sinuous and serpentine in motion and appearance. They are the sea lion of the Southern Ocean, a weird hybrid, unique.
During the Antarctic summer, the males, in particular, hunt swift, agile prey in shallow waters. They patrol the beaches in front of penguin rookeries. You’ve seen the pictures, a multitude of penguins, tightly packed, standing on the edge of land or ice, like Friday afternoon commuters at the train platform anxious to get home. But why do the penguins wait? The ocean is always there. Why the hesitation? Is the water so cold? I don’t think so. No, it’s because they know what is lurking, a monster that lays in ambush, invisible but for its peculiar eyes, two pale lanterns glowing with a soft white light. The head of a leopard seal is massive, the jaw long, ending almost at the ear, its gape eternal like darkest night with no hope of dawn. The penguins enter the water as a frenzied group and only one bird will meet its death…this time. Once seized the unfortunate penguin is brought to the surface where with several violent motions the bird is stripped of skin and feathers, then consumed in a single gulp!
Are they a coldly efficient eating machine, dull of mind, wanting of personality? No, like the sea lion, they are curious and will approach a Zodiac, look upon us, follow us, and sometimes teasingly seize an idled propeller or pontoon. When approached on an ice floe they give their standard salutation, a gaping jaw, a parade of prominent teeth, sharp and bright, to bird, to Zodiac, even to our ship; not so much as an anxious threat, but more an arrogant, almost lazy display of power and promised annihilation. In the water they are even more frightening, more than eight feet long and eight hundred pounds, the line of their jaws in a fixed smirk, their eyes confident, their glide effortless, overwhelming. Yet there has never been a report of an unprovoked attack. Perhaps they are just curious and playful, our fear a fantasy, maybe, just maybe, next time I’ll know. For now, in my thoughts they are the wilderness, they are beauty and danger, they are grace and terror, untamed and unbent and they swim through my dreams and memories of yet another voyage to Antarctica.
