Paulet Island, the Weddell Sea, Antarctica
Penguin Punk. In November it was an egg, one of two in the stone nest of a pair of Adelie penguins. By mid December it had hatched into a small and helpless chick huddling next to its nest mate, protected from the Antarctic elements and the predatory skuas by its parents, male and female in turn. By mid January our penguin had grown into a round smoky-gray ball of down, its demand for food ever increasing, surpassing the capacity of its parents foraging one at a time. Now it joined others in its neighborhood in a crèche, a group of penguin chicks gathered together, able to fend off the skuas, as both parents simultaneously went off to seek the krill demanded for growth. Return of a parent with a crop full of krill resulted in the food chase, chicks running clumsily after an adult bird that was seemingly reluctant to feed; eventually the adult penguin relented and the chick’s head went deep into the mouth of its parent for the transfer of krill. As our chick continued to grow, it reached the point where its dense coat of down would be replaced by the sleek, water-repellent feathers of a grown penguin ready to enter the sea.
Which brings us to the penguin shown above, caught at the absolute height of penguin chic … or not. Soon its parents will return no more, and our youngster must complete its molt, enter the Antarctic sea, and learn to fend for itself. Its parents never teach it to swim, to seek swarms of krill in the open ocean, to search the underside of the Antarctic ice in winter for krill. But all of this it must do if it is to survive for four or so years until a mysterious drive leads it to return to the natal colony court and bond with a mate, steal rocks from its neighbors for a nest, and begin the process of raising its own young. For such is the life of an Adelie penguin.
Penguin Punk. In November it was an egg, one of two in the stone nest of a pair of Adelie penguins. By mid December it had hatched into a small and helpless chick huddling next to its nest mate, protected from the Antarctic elements and the predatory skuas by its parents, male and female in turn. By mid January our penguin had grown into a round smoky-gray ball of down, its demand for food ever increasing, surpassing the capacity of its parents foraging one at a time. Now it joined others in its neighborhood in a crèche, a group of penguin chicks gathered together, able to fend off the skuas, as both parents simultaneously went off to seek the krill demanded for growth. Return of a parent with a crop full of krill resulted in the food chase, chicks running clumsily after an adult bird that was seemingly reluctant to feed; eventually the adult penguin relented and the chick’s head went deep into the mouth of its parent for the transfer of krill. As our chick continued to grow, it reached the point where its dense coat of down would be replaced by the sleek, water-repellent feathers of a grown penguin ready to enter the sea.
Which brings us to the penguin shown above, caught at the absolute height of penguin chic … or not. Soon its parents will return no more, and our youngster must complete its molt, enter the Antarctic sea, and learn to fend for itself. Its parents never teach it to swim, to seek swarms of krill in the open ocean, to search the underside of the Antarctic ice in winter for krill. But all of this it must do if it is to survive for four or so years until a mysterious drive leads it to return to the natal colony court and bond with a mate, steal rocks from its neighbors for a nest, and begin the process of raising its own young. For such is the life of an Adelie penguin.
