Pléneau Island & Palmer Station, Antarctica
Signs of summer's senescence surround us. No longer does the sun dominate each minute of the twenty-four hour day. Sunrise and sunset separate themselves gifting us with time to slumber. And yet, the greatest happiness arrives with the golden glow of morning light.
We are so far from the rest of the world that the twinkling of a light-bulb upon the shore startles our senses. Vernadsky Station blinked a hello as we passed in dawn's early light. Above, half a moon glowed in the ever brightening sky. In the distance the Lemaire Channel focused our attention on Mount Français as it was washed with gold, then pink and blue. Slowly the sun worked its way above the peninsular peaks changing the water of the Penola Strait to silver and painting random bergs with gold while leaving others bearing the blue-gray hues of twilight. Penguins ruffled the smooth surface of the sea. Their white skullcaps and bright red beaks could only be interpreted as saying, "We are gentoo."
Pléneau Island hid in shadow as we set foot upon its shore. Glacially rounded and grooved, its granodioritic bedrock became the stairway to the sun. Upon its ridge, penguin bellies glowed, each family intent upon completing their breeding cycle before winter again came this way. In well-constructed pebble nests, a few nursed tiny young while most had more appropriately aged chicks. Below, massive bergs parked in the shallows, their icy surfaces a luminescent blue.
Cyan dominated as we proceeded north through the Lemaire Channel. The cerulean sea bounced light back from the azure sky. Bergy-bits danced on the surface fracturing the perfect reflections of glaciers pouring from the mountain sides.
Someone wished for cloudy skies. Obligingly condensing moisture coalesced covering the sky with gray and diffusing all the light. Adélie penguins stood sadly in tiny clusters at the water's edge or on ghost town colonies on Torgerson Island, waiting for their moult to end. With newly renewed plumage they will face the winter storms. Some few still fed chicks that were taller than their folks and dressed in adolescent finery. "Mohawk" hairdos and moustaches seemed to be all the rage, the style only making sense when one realized that preening and scratching is difficult in those still downy spots. Across Arthur Harbour, Palmer Station's personnel welcomed us with friendly smiles and decadent chocolate brownies, sharing too the challenge of their scientific studies.
Night falls and sleepy heads find pillows to rest upon until the light indicates another day has come.
Signs of summer's senescence surround us. No longer does the sun dominate each minute of the twenty-four hour day. Sunrise and sunset separate themselves gifting us with time to slumber. And yet, the greatest happiness arrives with the golden glow of morning light.
We are so far from the rest of the world that the twinkling of a light-bulb upon the shore startles our senses. Vernadsky Station blinked a hello as we passed in dawn's early light. Above, half a moon glowed in the ever brightening sky. In the distance the Lemaire Channel focused our attention on Mount Français as it was washed with gold, then pink and blue. Slowly the sun worked its way above the peninsular peaks changing the water of the Penola Strait to silver and painting random bergs with gold while leaving others bearing the blue-gray hues of twilight. Penguins ruffled the smooth surface of the sea. Their white skullcaps and bright red beaks could only be interpreted as saying, "We are gentoo."
Pléneau Island hid in shadow as we set foot upon its shore. Glacially rounded and grooved, its granodioritic bedrock became the stairway to the sun. Upon its ridge, penguin bellies glowed, each family intent upon completing their breeding cycle before winter again came this way. In well-constructed pebble nests, a few nursed tiny young while most had more appropriately aged chicks. Below, massive bergs parked in the shallows, their icy surfaces a luminescent blue.
Cyan dominated as we proceeded north through the Lemaire Channel. The cerulean sea bounced light back from the azure sky. Bergy-bits danced on the surface fracturing the perfect reflections of glaciers pouring from the mountain sides.
Someone wished for cloudy skies. Obligingly condensing moisture coalesced covering the sky with gray and diffusing all the light. Adélie penguins stood sadly in tiny clusters at the water's edge or on ghost town colonies on Torgerson Island, waiting for their moult to end. With newly renewed plumage they will face the winter storms. Some few still fed chicks that were taller than their folks and dressed in adolescent finery. "Mohawk" hairdos and moustaches seemed to be all the rage, the style only making sense when one realized that preening and scratching is difficult in those still downy spots. Across Arthur Harbour, Palmer Station's personnel welcomed us with friendly smiles and decadent chocolate brownies, sharing too the challenge of their scientific studies.
Night falls and sleepy heads find pillows to rest upon until the light indicates another day has come.
