Baily Head, Deception Island
Baily Head! The very name gives Zodiac drivers pause. Steep, breaking surf makes this the most difficult beach in the area, and a landing here can result in a soaking. And that’s on the nice days. But we always try, because this is a compelling, magical place.
We arrived early in the morning and found, to our utter astonishment, that it was absolutely flat calm, calmer than any of the staff had ever seen it. As if in a dream we rushed ashore to visit one of our favorite places, an amphitheater brimming with tens of thousands of Chinstrap penguins. Breakfast could wait.
Perhaps the most pugnacious of penguins, these Chinstraps graciously ceded space in the valley leading up to the colony. Two orderly black and white files marched past one another, one headed up to the colony to re-provision chicks, the other headed down to the beach for a much needed bath and a another meal for the hungry chicks. Curiously, both lines kept to one side of the valley, allowing us to proceed in a much less orderly scrum of red. Climbing, we met scruffy chicks, apparently well fed, waiting for parents to return with the next meal or chasing and begging from another that had. The view was tremendous – the raucous colony high on the slope of a sleeping volcano, the trail of commuters marching up and down on their short legs, and the glacier-clad mountains of Livingston Island looming in the distance. All this before 10am.
We departed Baily Head and sailed through Neptune’s Bellows, the narrow entrance to the flooded caldera. It is only about 1/3 of a mile wide with a rock lying just below the surface in the middle, reducing the navigable width to 1/10 of a mile. Not much room, but enough. As we passed through the Bellows the entire panorama of this bizarre island was revealed: the derelict whaling station at Whalers’ Bay, the ice cliffs covered in volcanic ash and cinder, the curious colors of hillsides littered with volcanic bombs, and steam rising from the shoreline.
Deception Island was discovered by sealers in the early 19th century. The name was given because the narrow entrance conceals the largest, most protected natural harbor in the region – this flooded caldera into which Endeavour sailed. A whaling station was built in 1911. Sir Hubert Wilkins flew the first airplane in Antarctica here in 1928. The British, Argentines and Chileans all built stations here during or just after WWII. Unfortunately the sleeping volcano came to life in 1967 with a terrific eruption. Although no lives were lost, the Chilean station was destroyed and everyone had to be evacuated. Two more eruptions in 1969 and 1970 completed the destruction, and now Spanish and Argentine scientists occupy the island only during the summer. We made two landings within the caldera, at Whaler’s Bay and Telefon Bay, and left in the late afternoon, wondering if this was perhaps one of the most unlikely places in an unlikely continent.
Baily Head! The very name gives Zodiac drivers pause. Steep, breaking surf makes this the most difficult beach in the area, and a landing here can result in a soaking. And that’s on the nice days. But we always try, because this is a compelling, magical place.
We arrived early in the morning and found, to our utter astonishment, that it was absolutely flat calm, calmer than any of the staff had ever seen it. As if in a dream we rushed ashore to visit one of our favorite places, an amphitheater brimming with tens of thousands of Chinstrap penguins. Breakfast could wait.
Perhaps the most pugnacious of penguins, these Chinstraps graciously ceded space in the valley leading up to the colony. Two orderly black and white files marched past one another, one headed up to the colony to re-provision chicks, the other headed down to the beach for a much needed bath and a another meal for the hungry chicks. Curiously, both lines kept to one side of the valley, allowing us to proceed in a much less orderly scrum of red. Climbing, we met scruffy chicks, apparently well fed, waiting for parents to return with the next meal or chasing and begging from another that had. The view was tremendous – the raucous colony high on the slope of a sleeping volcano, the trail of commuters marching up and down on their short legs, and the glacier-clad mountains of Livingston Island looming in the distance. All this before 10am.
We departed Baily Head and sailed through Neptune’s Bellows, the narrow entrance to the flooded caldera. It is only about 1/3 of a mile wide with a rock lying just below the surface in the middle, reducing the navigable width to 1/10 of a mile. Not much room, but enough. As we passed through the Bellows the entire panorama of this bizarre island was revealed: the derelict whaling station at Whalers’ Bay, the ice cliffs covered in volcanic ash and cinder, the curious colors of hillsides littered with volcanic bombs, and steam rising from the shoreline.
Deception Island was discovered by sealers in the early 19th century. The name was given because the narrow entrance conceals the largest, most protected natural harbor in the region – this flooded caldera into which Endeavour sailed. A whaling station was built in 1911. Sir Hubert Wilkins flew the first airplane in Antarctica here in 1928. The British, Argentines and Chileans all built stations here during or just after WWII. Unfortunately the sleeping volcano came to life in 1967 with a terrific eruption. Although no lives were lost, the Chilean station was destroyed and everyone had to be evacuated. Two more eruptions in 1969 and 1970 completed the destruction, and now Spanish and Argentine scientists occupy the island only during the summer. We made two landings within the caldera, at Whaler’s Bay and Telefon Bay, and left in the late afternoon, wondering if this was perhaps one of the most unlikely places in an unlikely continent.
