Paradise Bay & Cuverville Island
Our last day here in the Antarctic got off to a sleepy start, as the peninsula seemed reluctant to crawl out from under it’s blanket of fog and face the day’s activities. So, we glided into Paradise Bay this morning hidden beneath the rocky spires on either side of the channel and wondered at the various shapes looming in and out of the mists. Anticipation was high, for the bay is aptly named for it’s striking scenery, and we were eager to go ashore and capture a few last images of the continent before continuing northward. Yet despite a few brief gaps in the haze, we were left wishing in vain since the waning astral sun packs less and less punch in these ever-shortening days of Antarctic autumn. The only thing that became clear was that this sleepy hollow was not coming out of its slumber for us anytime soon. Still, we gaped at the fleeting glimpses of the snow-capped peaks idly watching over our passage and marveled at the stillness of the bay’s mirrored waters; for even under less than perfect conditions, the peninsula held sway over us and our thoughts.
Our reverie, however, was later interrupted as a dark form began to materialize in front of the ship. During our moments of reflection the Endeavour’s captain and crew had managed to stealthily guide the ship up to the face of one of the few cliffs not overrun by glaciers in Paradise Bay. The granite escarpment disappeared from view both above into the clouds and below into the depths, but before us a small colony of blue-eyed shags peered back at the ship, likely as amazed and surprised as we were. Closer and closer we inched forward towards the moss and lichen-covered crags as more and more of us crowded up onto the bow to watch the gap between sea and land pass beneath our keel. Had the bridge gone mad? Or perhaps the captain, too, had been swept up in the serene surroundings and let our bearing slip from thought. Of course, neither were the case, as became plainly evident by the skill used in gently setting us ashore, ship and all, on the continent one last time. With that light kiss from the bow of the ship, we began to say our goodbyes to Antarctica. It, in turn, offered up an eventful afternoon and early evening filled with kayaking and whale-watching. Even the skies rewarded us for our patience by lifting the shroud long enough for us watch the continent settle into the Southern Ocean as we sailed into the Drake Passage once more.
Our last day here in the Antarctic got off to a sleepy start, as the peninsula seemed reluctant to crawl out from under it’s blanket of fog and face the day’s activities. So, we glided into Paradise Bay this morning hidden beneath the rocky spires on either side of the channel and wondered at the various shapes looming in and out of the mists. Anticipation was high, for the bay is aptly named for it’s striking scenery, and we were eager to go ashore and capture a few last images of the continent before continuing northward. Yet despite a few brief gaps in the haze, we were left wishing in vain since the waning astral sun packs less and less punch in these ever-shortening days of Antarctic autumn. The only thing that became clear was that this sleepy hollow was not coming out of its slumber for us anytime soon. Still, we gaped at the fleeting glimpses of the snow-capped peaks idly watching over our passage and marveled at the stillness of the bay’s mirrored waters; for even under less than perfect conditions, the peninsula held sway over us and our thoughts.
Our reverie, however, was later interrupted as a dark form began to materialize in front of the ship. During our moments of reflection the Endeavour’s captain and crew had managed to stealthily guide the ship up to the face of one of the few cliffs not overrun by glaciers in Paradise Bay. The granite escarpment disappeared from view both above into the clouds and below into the depths, but before us a small colony of blue-eyed shags peered back at the ship, likely as amazed and surprised as we were. Closer and closer we inched forward towards the moss and lichen-covered crags as more and more of us crowded up onto the bow to watch the gap between sea and land pass beneath our keel. Had the bridge gone mad? Or perhaps the captain, too, had been swept up in the serene surroundings and let our bearing slip from thought. Of course, neither were the case, as became plainly evident by the skill used in gently setting us ashore, ship and all, on the continent one last time. With that light kiss from the bow of the ship, we began to say our goodbyes to Antarctica. It, in turn, offered up an eventful afternoon and early evening filled with kayaking and whale-watching. Even the skies rewarded us for our patience by lifting the shroud long enough for us watch the continent settle into the Southern Ocean as we sailed into the Drake Passage once more.
