Deception Island
The Bransfield Strait was a perfect mirror this morning as we approached Deception Island. Once again we’ve been blessed with ideal weather conditions. Calm seas allowed us to get ashore at the infamous Baily Head, one of the most difficult landings in the region. Here we were met by tens of thousands of Chinstrap penguins, marching to and fro in orderly columns from the sea up the ravine and into the nesting amphitheater. Thousands of birds had begun their post-breeding molt, and carpets of feathers lay everywhere, occasionally erupting into miniature blizzards with a passing wisp of wind. This explosion of life was augmented by hundreds of Fur seals lounging on the beach, sleeping, scratching, and snoring. Just offshore, death stalked the penguin fledglings as Leopard seals and Giant petrels took their rather grisly toll. Meanwhile Livingston Island glistened and shimmered in the background, leaving most of us without adequate words to describe the intensity of the whole spectacle.
This afternoon the intensity was of a different sort. We sailed into the caldera of the volcano and landed at Whaler’s Bay. The remains of a once thriving industry lay all around us in the form of the derelict Hektor Whaling Company shore station. This eerie, moon-like setting was the scene of almost unimaginable carnage from 1912-1931. Thousands upon thousands of great whales were taken from surrounding waters and processed here, transformed into margarine, lard and soap for a burgeoning world population. Whale oil even found its way into the trenches of World War I as glycerine, a key ingredient in explosives. By 1931 populations were exhausted, and the hunters moved elsewhere. Now, the last reminders steadily crumble into the volcanic cinders of Deception Island. Whales again frequent these waters, demonstrating that change, not stability, is the one constant here in the Antarctic.
The Bransfield Strait was a perfect mirror this morning as we approached Deception Island. Once again we’ve been blessed with ideal weather conditions. Calm seas allowed us to get ashore at the infamous Baily Head, one of the most difficult landings in the region. Here we were met by tens of thousands of Chinstrap penguins, marching to and fro in orderly columns from the sea up the ravine and into the nesting amphitheater. Thousands of birds had begun their post-breeding molt, and carpets of feathers lay everywhere, occasionally erupting into miniature blizzards with a passing wisp of wind. This explosion of life was augmented by hundreds of Fur seals lounging on the beach, sleeping, scratching, and snoring. Just offshore, death stalked the penguin fledglings as Leopard seals and Giant petrels took their rather grisly toll. Meanwhile Livingston Island glistened and shimmered in the background, leaving most of us without adequate words to describe the intensity of the whole spectacle.
This afternoon the intensity was of a different sort. We sailed into the caldera of the volcano and landed at Whaler’s Bay. The remains of a once thriving industry lay all around us in the form of the derelict Hektor Whaling Company shore station. This eerie, moon-like setting was the scene of almost unimaginable carnage from 1912-1931. Thousands upon thousands of great whales were taken from surrounding waters and processed here, transformed into margarine, lard and soap for a burgeoning world population. Whale oil even found its way into the trenches of World War I as glycerine, a key ingredient in explosives. By 1931 populations were exhausted, and the hunters moved elsewhere. Now, the last reminders steadily crumble into the volcanic cinders of Deception Island. Whales again frequent these waters, demonstrating that change, not stability, is the one constant here in the Antarctic.
