Grandidier Channel, Antarctica
“We are perfectly here!”
– First Officer Martin Graser
It was a late night last night scampering about on the rocks of Petermann Island, looking for the perfect perch to view the sun sinking toward the horizon and painting the sky with golden rays. On precipitous ledges gangly shag chicks draped from the rims of chimney-pot nests displacing their attentive parents. Plump Adelie penguin chicks hid their heads beneath their guardian’s belly as if to shut out the remaining light and doze peacefully. At eight minutes after midnight the glowing orb disappeared and the subdued tones of twilight became night. Thus sleeping in this morning was on the agenda in many a person’s mind.
If the thunk of ice against the hull wasn’t enough of an alarm clock, the sound of scampering feet and the excited voice of our expedition leader ensured that catching up on sleep was not an option. We thought we had met the ice yesterday. But we were wrong. Icebergs were only a prelude to the song of the frozen south. Pack ice is the reality. Flat floating plates, gnawed at the edges by rippling tides or battered by drifting neighbors, formed pieces of a jigsaw puzzle on a smoke-glazed glassy sea. Interspersed were bluish bergs tossed from the tongues of glaciers. Occasional ragged fingers of mountain tops projected from land that seemed strangely rounded by its billowing blanket of snow. “We are perfectly here!” This is the land we had dreamed of when still in far away homes. The land of ice and snow was finally revealed today in actuality.
Fast ice filled Harrison Passage between Larrouy and Llanquihue Islands. Our route further south seemed blocked but an opportunity had unexpectedly presented itself and we could not resist. Skillfully the Captain maneuvered the ship into an icy berth. The gangway was lowered and we stepped out to explore the realm of crabeater and Weddell seals. Ice castles from calvings in the past were trapped by the ice of the year upon which we strolled. Tucked up against their edges both species of seals slept. Nostrils flared, first one and then the other. Vibrissae twitched and periodically a flipper reached up to scratch an annoying itch. It was then that we noticed the sound. The sound of silence was as immense as the sea upon which we stood. We looked around and others of our group were only miniature figures in the distance, as tiny as the scurrying figures of a smattering of penguins passing by. Kayaks slipped from the edge of the ice and glided away across the deep dark stillness that echoed all around. But silence gave way to frivolity as the bar appeared on the “dock.” And then someone suggested a swim! Bathing suits were somehow found and a dozen or more brave souls plunged into the frigid pool. Shrieks echoed from the distant mountains and faces reflected looks of incredulity at the harshness of twenty-eight degrees touching bare skin.
All afternoon we worked our way through the pack. Leopard seals reared and showed their fangs in shock as we skimmed the edge of their beds. Crabeaters were as numerous as stars in a darkened sky. But all routes were blocked and we were forced to turn north and then west to seek our goal of the morrow. The Antarctic Circle beckons.
What fates were at work to choose our route or was it just plain luck that led us into the mouths of whales? The depth sounder showed huge masses of krill just below the surface but no instruments were needed to prove their existence. No matter where one looked, whether it be from bow or bridge-wing rails, swarms of pink Euphausids could be seen popping through the surface tension or swimming within the brine. Bubbles rose in curtains and two huge yawning maws lunged in unison engulfing gallons of diluted dinner fare. Powerful muscles worked to contract the rorqual pleats, expelling surplus liquid while concentrating nutritious krill in brush-like baleen plates. Five or more humpback whales dined within our sight but two were especially social and stayed close to the ship creating a surging wave of humanity as we rushed from side to side for better views. Time and again they appeared, long white pectoral flippers glowing green in the clear water. Flukes raised gracefully with sounding dives showing their signature fluke prints for individual identity.
We were perfectly here and here was perfect today.
“We are perfectly here!”
– First Officer Martin Graser
It was a late night last night scampering about on the rocks of Petermann Island, looking for the perfect perch to view the sun sinking toward the horizon and painting the sky with golden rays. On precipitous ledges gangly shag chicks draped from the rims of chimney-pot nests displacing their attentive parents. Plump Adelie penguin chicks hid their heads beneath their guardian’s belly as if to shut out the remaining light and doze peacefully. At eight minutes after midnight the glowing orb disappeared and the subdued tones of twilight became night. Thus sleeping in this morning was on the agenda in many a person’s mind.
If the thunk of ice against the hull wasn’t enough of an alarm clock, the sound of scampering feet and the excited voice of our expedition leader ensured that catching up on sleep was not an option. We thought we had met the ice yesterday. But we were wrong. Icebergs were only a prelude to the song of the frozen south. Pack ice is the reality. Flat floating plates, gnawed at the edges by rippling tides or battered by drifting neighbors, formed pieces of a jigsaw puzzle on a smoke-glazed glassy sea. Interspersed were bluish bergs tossed from the tongues of glaciers. Occasional ragged fingers of mountain tops projected from land that seemed strangely rounded by its billowing blanket of snow. “We are perfectly here!” This is the land we had dreamed of when still in far away homes. The land of ice and snow was finally revealed today in actuality.
Fast ice filled Harrison Passage between Larrouy and Llanquihue Islands. Our route further south seemed blocked but an opportunity had unexpectedly presented itself and we could not resist. Skillfully the Captain maneuvered the ship into an icy berth. The gangway was lowered and we stepped out to explore the realm of crabeater and Weddell seals. Ice castles from calvings in the past were trapped by the ice of the year upon which we strolled. Tucked up against their edges both species of seals slept. Nostrils flared, first one and then the other. Vibrissae twitched and periodically a flipper reached up to scratch an annoying itch. It was then that we noticed the sound. The sound of silence was as immense as the sea upon which we stood. We looked around and others of our group were only miniature figures in the distance, as tiny as the scurrying figures of a smattering of penguins passing by. Kayaks slipped from the edge of the ice and glided away across the deep dark stillness that echoed all around. But silence gave way to frivolity as the bar appeared on the “dock.” And then someone suggested a swim! Bathing suits were somehow found and a dozen or more brave souls plunged into the frigid pool. Shrieks echoed from the distant mountains and faces reflected looks of incredulity at the harshness of twenty-eight degrees touching bare skin.
All afternoon we worked our way through the pack. Leopard seals reared and showed their fangs in shock as we skimmed the edge of their beds. Crabeaters were as numerous as stars in a darkened sky. But all routes were blocked and we were forced to turn north and then west to seek our goal of the morrow. The Antarctic Circle beckons.
What fates were at work to choose our route or was it just plain luck that led us into the mouths of whales? The depth sounder showed huge masses of krill just below the surface but no instruments were needed to prove their existence. No matter where one looked, whether it be from bow or bridge-wing rails, swarms of pink Euphausids could be seen popping through the surface tension or swimming within the brine. Bubbles rose in curtains and two huge yawning maws lunged in unison engulfing gallons of diluted dinner fare. Powerful muscles worked to contract the rorqual pleats, expelling surplus liquid while concentrating nutritious krill in brush-like baleen plates. Five or more humpback whales dined within our sight but two were especially social and stayed close to the ship creating a surging wave of humanity as we rushed from side to side for better views. Time and again they appeared, long white pectoral flippers glowing green in the clear water. Flukes raised gracefully with sounding dives showing their signature fluke prints for individual identity.
We were perfectly here and here was perfect today.
