Brown Bluff, Antarctic Peninsula & Penguin Island, South Shetlands
Tension release can be attained in many ways. Frantic activity might be one method. Encountering something exciting certainly distracts one's mind from worries. Or maybe finding a quiet spot to be alone and soak up the sun could be the mode of choice. Imagine curling up in a comfortable chair with a book, cozy warm while the wind blows outside. That might just fill the bill.
We paced all night. Or at least the ship did. Back and forth, back and forth in Antarctic Sound she sailed, waiting not for light to come but for exhausted souls to rise from bed and start another day. The skies were azure above. Clouds flowed over the snow-covered cap of Joinville Island like a soft snug comforter. Bergs and islets were dark silhouettes with crisp sharp edges. The tip of the Antarctic Peninsula seemed to combine both textures. Dark volcanic layers piled high into impressive cliffs alternated with crevassed glacial faces curving gently shoreward. The scene was serene; stunningly beautiful. But what was that between the bergs? A single blow and then many more erupted from the sea. Killer whales in a long, fast-moving line supplied the adrenaline rush and provoked a wake-up call.
Someone stilled the wind. Not even a breeze tickled the surface of the Sound. Its waters cast reflections back of icebergs, penguins and us. The continent welcomed us, but something was amiss. Crowds of Adélie penguins massed on every rocky prominence pointing away from shore. They pushed and squirmed. They squawked and squabbled but no one wanted to be the first in the water. If one slipped, others followed. But not many, and most squirted back out as fast as they splashed in. Where was the predator? Its snakelike sinuous body surely was somewhere nearby. None of us spotted the leopard seal. Most likely it had moved on, but the penguins were nervous none-the-less. As the morning progressed, the need for food for hungry chicks overcame their anxiety. The cobbled shore became a busy freeway. Who knew what it was that determined the exit taken? Warm sunshine massaged our bodies as we stood and watched. Those same soothing rays, however, were too hot for the penguin chicks dressed in their gray downy suits. Their tubby tummies and rubbery wings pressed against the cool ground. Dozing seemed to be the best way of avoiding overheating until the dinner bell rang. Amidst the calm and quiet, frantic chases ensued as youngsters dashed behind adults proving to their parents that they were really theirs. Little did they know that this pursuit for food was really a subtle way of ensuring that they got exercise.
What sailor opened Aeolus' sack and let the winds escape? Bransfield Strait was like the Drake. Wind whistled through cracks in doors and stirred the sea. Bergy bits rocked like rafts in rapids and spray swept over their tops. Fog hid islands and shore. Inside, we curled up, relaxed and warm and listened to fascinating stories of heroic men and early expeditions. As the ship searched for sheltered bays, our imaginations wandered through the visions of the morning.
A little exercise post-dinner ensures a good night's rest. Penguin Island hiding behind St. George offered shelter from the gusting wind. Here a Weddell seal wiggled into a snowy patch, turning first this way and then that until it had molded a perfect “nest,” or resting spot. Elephant seals and fur seals too seemed attracted to this strange isle where the cobbled beaches were littered with cetacean bones and the flanks of the cinder cone carpeted with grass. High above the volcanic neck rose like a chimney from within an explosion crater. Perched on the edge of this friable hill red coated forms watched the light turn blue and gold until it was time to go.
Tension release can be attained in many ways. Frantic activity might be one method. Encountering something exciting certainly distracts one's mind from worries. Or maybe finding a quiet spot to be alone and soak up the sun could be the mode of choice. Imagine curling up in a comfortable chair with a book, cozy warm while the wind blows outside. That might just fill the bill.
We paced all night. Or at least the ship did. Back and forth, back and forth in Antarctic Sound she sailed, waiting not for light to come but for exhausted souls to rise from bed and start another day. The skies were azure above. Clouds flowed over the snow-covered cap of Joinville Island like a soft snug comforter. Bergs and islets were dark silhouettes with crisp sharp edges. The tip of the Antarctic Peninsula seemed to combine both textures. Dark volcanic layers piled high into impressive cliffs alternated with crevassed glacial faces curving gently shoreward. The scene was serene; stunningly beautiful. But what was that between the bergs? A single blow and then many more erupted from the sea. Killer whales in a long, fast-moving line supplied the adrenaline rush and provoked a wake-up call.
Someone stilled the wind. Not even a breeze tickled the surface of the Sound. Its waters cast reflections back of icebergs, penguins and us. The continent welcomed us, but something was amiss. Crowds of Adélie penguins massed on every rocky prominence pointing away from shore. They pushed and squirmed. They squawked and squabbled but no one wanted to be the first in the water. If one slipped, others followed. But not many, and most squirted back out as fast as they splashed in. Where was the predator? Its snakelike sinuous body surely was somewhere nearby. None of us spotted the leopard seal. Most likely it had moved on, but the penguins were nervous none-the-less. As the morning progressed, the need for food for hungry chicks overcame their anxiety. The cobbled shore became a busy freeway. Who knew what it was that determined the exit taken? Warm sunshine massaged our bodies as we stood and watched. Those same soothing rays, however, were too hot for the penguin chicks dressed in their gray downy suits. Their tubby tummies and rubbery wings pressed against the cool ground. Dozing seemed to be the best way of avoiding overheating until the dinner bell rang. Amidst the calm and quiet, frantic chases ensued as youngsters dashed behind adults proving to their parents that they were really theirs. Little did they know that this pursuit for food was really a subtle way of ensuring that they got exercise.
What sailor opened Aeolus' sack and let the winds escape? Bransfield Strait was like the Drake. Wind whistled through cracks in doors and stirred the sea. Bergy bits rocked like rafts in rapids and spray swept over their tops. Fog hid islands and shore. Inside, we curled up, relaxed and warm and listened to fascinating stories of heroic men and early expeditions. As the ship searched for sheltered bays, our imaginations wandered through the visions of the morning.
A little exercise post-dinner ensures a good night's rest. Penguin Island hiding behind St. George offered shelter from the gusting wind. Here a Weddell seal wiggled into a snowy patch, turning first this way and then that until it had molded a perfect “nest,” or resting spot. Elephant seals and fur seals too seemed attracted to this strange isle where the cobbled beaches were littered with cetacean bones and the flanks of the cinder cone carpeted with grass. High above the volcanic neck rose like a chimney from within an explosion crater. Perched on the edge of this friable hill red coated forms watched the light turn blue and gold until it was time to go.
