Crabeater seals, Lemaire Channel, Antarctica
There is a ruddy cast to the tans of those who live in polar climes. The hue is so unlike the golden bronze of lower latitudes that just a glance will tell the tale. 'Tis true that only face and hands bear this signature, but there will be little doubt when we return of where it is that we have been. It was the icy fingers of the wind that abraded first, setting the base of red upon which the brilliant sun danced to add the after glow.
All who come here wear this badge whether their visit be short or whether they come to stay. There are few that live in this land of open spaces. Those that do are cast back to a time when human contact was limited. No cars or planes whisked neighbors to distant communities. Gatherings then were a special time with close kinship and cooperation. This day allowed us to experience that type of unity. Like the matchmaker of old we introduced the people of Palmer Station to three souls based on Petermann Island and then carried them all to greet the tiny population of Ukraine's Vernadsky Station. One felt the spirit of a Sunday picnic with food and fun and recreation.
Rounded islets, like pillows to rest our heads upon or like stepping stones across a river, led the way from Arthur Harbour to the Lemaire Channel between Booth Island and the Antarctic Peninsula. In the distance clouds poured through mountain passes spilling to the waterline where they were swallowed in the calm. Low light illuminated tall hanging blows, exhalations of humpback whales. Mother and calf plus two others, they were momentary escorts in our passage. Fractured and angular plates of thin ice parted partially to release mirror images of sharp peaked mountains and irregular glacial crevasses. Thicker floes supported crowds of golden pelaged pinnipeds, crabeater seals.
Where Charcot once moored his sailing ship in Circumcision Harbour, we anchored our kayak platform and soon the obsidian sea was decorated with splashes of yellow. On shore, the red-coats shed their skins for the air was warm when combined with the thermogenesis of muscular activity. Adélie penguins seemed content to share their space with gentoos and with edge-loving blue-eyed shags that busily built their pedestal nests higher.
The Argentine Islands were dressed in lacy skirts of snow, all raised to a perfect height of a couple of meters or so by the rise and fall of the tides. Stranded by the receding sea, limpets held tight to the rocks while noisy kelp gulls searched them down in an avian treasure hunt. Antarctic terns courted and squabbled over turf. On one rocky mound tidy Vernadsky Station stood, doors thrown open wide in welcoming congeniality.
Too soon we bid new friends farewell and began our northward journey back through lovely Lemaire and then to Palmer Station.
There is a ruddy cast to the tans of those who live in polar climes. The hue is so unlike the golden bronze of lower latitudes that just a glance will tell the tale. 'Tis true that only face and hands bear this signature, but there will be little doubt when we return of where it is that we have been. It was the icy fingers of the wind that abraded first, setting the base of red upon which the brilliant sun danced to add the after glow.
All who come here wear this badge whether their visit be short or whether they come to stay. There are few that live in this land of open spaces. Those that do are cast back to a time when human contact was limited. No cars or planes whisked neighbors to distant communities. Gatherings then were a special time with close kinship and cooperation. This day allowed us to experience that type of unity. Like the matchmaker of old we introduced the people of Palmer Station to three souls based on Petermann Island and then carried them all to greet the tiny population of Ukraine's Vernadsky Station. One felt the spirit of a Sunday picnic with food and fun and recreation.
Rounded islets, like pillows to rest our heads upon or like stepping stones across a river, led the way from Arthur Harbour to the Lemaire Channel between Booth Island and the Antarctic Peninsula. In the distance clouds poured through mountain passes spilling to the waterline where they were swallowed in the calm. Low light illuminated tall hanging blows, exhalations of humpback whales. Mother and calf plus two others, they were momentary escorts in our passage. Fractured and angular plates of thin ice parted partially to release mirror images of sharp peaked mountains and irregular glacial crevasses. Thicker floes supported crowds of golden pelaged pinnipeds, crabeater seals.
Where Charcot once moored his sailing ship in Circumcision Harbour, we anchored our kayak platform and soon the obsidian sea was decorated with splashes of yellow. On shore, the red-coats shed their skins for the air was warm when combined with the thermogenesis of muscular activity. Adélie penguins seemed content to share their space with gentoos and with edge-loving blue-eyed shags that busily built their pedestal nests higher.
The Argentine Islands were dressed in lacy skirts of snow, all raised to a perfect height of a couple of meters or so by the rise and fall of the tides. Stranded by the receding sea, limpets held tight to the rocks while noisy kelp gulls searched them down in an avian treasure hunt. Antarctic terns courted and squabbled over turf. On one rocky mound tidy Vernadsky Station stood, doors thrown open wide in welcoming congeniality.
Too soon we bid new friends farewell and began our northward journey back through lovely Lemaire and then to Palmer Station.
