Deception Island, Antarctica
Summer is beating a path towards fall here in the southern latitudes. No longer does night hold onto the light of day but darkness descends for a brief interval and thus the sun can rise and set with a palette of warming colors. Morning arrived with just enough clouds in the eastern sky to separate the "god light" from the ordinary and paint the sugar frosting on low profiled Deception Island a delicate shade of pink. Slightly less than two hundred years ago, Nathaniel Palmer claimed he could see the Antarctic Peninsula from the gap in the rim of Deception. On such a day as this we easily became believers. The air was crisp and clear, so clear that every mountain crest drew sharp lines against the cerulean sky.
Pintado petrels twittered as their wings sparkled against the seas in Neptune's Bellows, the narrow entrance to the hidden harbor within Deception's core. How brave was that first Captain who sailed his ship inside or was it desperation that drove him hard to seek a sheltered anchorage from angry southern seas? Once discovered, word rapidly spread until the harbor became a pool of death. Whale carcasses littered the sea and shore. Today, the bones remain, not just the skeletal remains of magnificent mammals but the scattered shells of buildings telling tales of populations of man that came and went. Sealers were replaced by whalers plying their trade both on ship and on shore. Industry gave way to science and adventurers. Now all sits silent offering our imaginations artifacts to weave together into tales to be told.
Deception simmers beneath its calm countenance. The only sign that she seethes within is steam rising from the coal black sand. But we can easily decipher her explosive personality. Eruptive centers create great cinder cones, the ash a cushiony carpet beneath exploring feet. Once icy white, the glaciers now all have dirty faces. And yes, that donut shape of the island itself, clearly visible from perches high above the bowl-like harbor, seems to shout "caldera". Fingers tentatively touch rivulets seeping from the sand. Bare toes follow and then there is a frenzy of disrobing for the steam has led us to waters warmed by magma chambers not far below. A quick dip and then we're off. We escape Deception's fury. But she remains restless, waiting for another day.
Summer is beating a path towards fall here in the southern latitudes. No longer does night hold onto the light of day but darkness descends for a brief interval and thus the sun can rise and set with a palette of warming colors. Morning arrived with just enough clouds in the eastern sky to separate the "god light" from the ordinary and paint the sugar frosting on low profiled Deception Island a delicate shade of pink. Slightly less than two hundred years ago, Nathaniel Palmer claimed he could see the Antarctic Peninsula from the gap in the rim of Deception. On such a day as this we easily became believers. The air was crisp and clear, so clear that every mountain crest drew sharp lines against the cerulean sky.
Pintado petrels twittered as their wings sparkled against the seas in Neptune's Bellows, the narrow entrance to the hidden harbor within Deception's core. How brave was that first Captain who sailed his ship inside or was it desperation that drove him hard to seek a sheltered anchorage from angry southern seas? Once discovered, word rapidly spread until the harbor became a pool of death. Whale carcasses littered the sea and shore. Today, the bones remain, not just the skeletal remains of magnificent mammals but the scattered shells of buildings telling tales of populations of man that came and went. Sealers were replaced by whalers plying their trade both on ship and on shore. Industry gave way to science and adventurers. Now all sits silent offering our imaginations artifacts to weave together into tales to be told.
Deception simmers beneath its calm countenance. The only sign that she seethes within is steam rising from the coal black sand. But we can easily decipher her explosive personality. Eruptive centers create great cinder cones, the ash a cushiony carpet beneath exploring feet. Once icy white, the glaciers now all have dirty faces. And yes, that donut shape of the island itself, clearly visible from perches high above the bowl-like harbor, seems to shout "caldera". Fingers tentatively touch rivulets seeping from the sand. Bare toes follow and then there is a frenzy of disrobing for the steam has led us to waters warmed by magma chambers not far below. A quick dip and then we're off. We escape Deception's fury. But she remains restless, waiting for another day.
