Drake Passage, Aitcho Islands
“Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night is a sailor’s delight.” So goes the old seafarer’s adage. If such a statement could be accepted as a seagoing truism, then our journey south would continue to benefit from benign weather and a sleepy Drake Passage. For the night before, as a beautiful and complete rainbow arched the eastern sky, a western orange and crimson tide of light swept our day into night.
Dawn in the Drake brought with it gathering winds and mounting seas, but they were following. The morning was bright and breezy; the region we were sailing freshened on the backside of a low-pressure cell by equalizing air currents. Upon these invisible and sweeping tides of energy the aerial masters continued to move. However, the demographics of said denizens had changed somewhat. During the night the National Geographic Explorer had logged another 120 nautical miles farther south. We had crossed the Antarctic Convergence, a threshold of complicated ocean currents and one of the world’s great biological barriers; we now found ourselves in Antarctica proper. Some different residents patrolled these seas.
A few albatrosses (black-brows, gray-heads, and the magnificent wanderers) and giant petrels continued to shadow our vessel, but gone were the white-chinned petrels and sooty shearwaters. Entering into the avian traffic stream were southern fulmars and rafts of pintado petrels, like fleets of taxis rushing about during morning commute. Prions cut erratically back and forth across the thoroughfare of our wake like pedestrians J-walking across a busy street. All the while, wilson’s storm-petrels, a few black-bellied storm-petrels, and even one Antarctic petrel (a species typically found farther to the west), dipped in and out of the fray. Close to the water, they flew well below the chaos of general flight paths.
With afternoon and a growing proximity to land, the weather began to change. Winds increased to a steady 40-50 knots, and scattered clouds gave way to low haze. The temperature, abetted by the gathering winds, dropped further. As we approached English Strait, the shadowy forms of the rocky Aitcho Island group rose as dark, menacing phantoms from the mist. By the time our ship was through the strait and around to a location just off Barrientos Island the dripping gloom had mostly burned off. The sun blazed once more, but the winds increased. Hardly a matter – the visibility was now unusually glorious.
Through salt spray we Zodiaced ashore to our first landing in the Antarctic. With the excitement of explorers of yore we took our initial tentative steps onto a pebbly beach seen by few and trod on by less. Of course penguins were the most conspicuous residents of this alien realm. More curious than concerned, they greeted us with a tentative sense of interest. We had all seen the pictures and read accounts of the avian world’s most unusual and perhaps intriguing members, but to be among them, to share their world, was to finally gain the intimacy and perspective we had strode so hard to attain.
Chinstrap and gentoo penguins were the dominant breeders here. Most of the penguins were well along in the reproductive cycle. Chicks of both species were at or near the crèche stage of development where groups of young, having reached the first stage of independence, gathered together for protection and warmth. Their curiosity bordered on overwhelming. Some adults, perhaps new or young breeders were on recently-hatched chicks. Will these newborns make it? Perhaps; it is all dependent on this continuing season’s weather and the availability of food. As in all matters, only time will tell.
As the day waned, the winds virtually stilled, and the sun continued to shine against a blanket of blue. The old mariner’s rhyme had held true.
“Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night is a sailor’s delight.” So goes the old seafarer’s adage. If such a statement could be accepted as a seagoing truism, then our journey south would continue to benefit from benign weather and a sleepy Drake Passage. For the night before, as a beautiful and complete rainbow arched the eastern sky, a western orange and crimson tide of light swept our day into night.
Dawn in the Drake brought with it gathering winds and mounting seas, but they were following. The morning was bright and breezy; the region we were sailing freshened on the backside of a low-pressure cell by equalizing air currents. Upon these invisible and sweeping tides of energy the aerial masters continued to move. However, the demographics of said denizens had changed somewhat. During the night the National Geographic Explorer had logged another 120 nautical miles farther south. We had crossed the Antarctic Convergence, a threshold of complicated ocean currents and one of the world’s great biological barriers; we now found ourselves in Antarctica proper. Some different residents patrolled these seas.
A few albatrosses (black-brows, gray-heads, and the magnificent wanderers) and giant petrels continued to shadow our vessel, but gone were the white-chinned petrels and sooty shearwaters. Entering into the avian traffic stream were southern fulmars and rafts of pintado petrels, like fleets of taxis rushing about during morning commute. Prions cut erratically back and forth across the thoroughfare of our wake like pedestrians J-walking across a busy street. All the while, wilson’s storm-petrels, a few black-bellied storm-petrels, and even one Antarctic petrel (a species typically found farther to the west), dipped in and out of the fray. Close to the water, they flew well below the chaos of general flight paths.
With afternoon and a growing proximity to land, the weather began to change. Winds increased to a steady 40-50 knots, and scattered clouds gave way to low haze. The temperature, abetted by the gathering winds, dropped further. As we approached English Strait, the shadowy forms of the rocky Aitcho Island group rose as dark, menacing phantoms from the mist. By the time our ship was through the strait and around to a location just off Barrientos Island the dripping gloom had mostly burned off. The sun blazed once more, but the winds increased. Hardly a matter – the visibility was now unusually glorious.
Through salt spray we Zodiaced ashore to our first landing in the Antarctic. With the excitement of explorers of yore we took our initial tentative steps onto a pebbly beach seen by few and trod on by less. Of course penguins were the most conspicuous residents of this alien realm. More curious than concerned, they greeted us with a tentative sense of interest. We had all seen the pictures and read accounts of the avian world’s most unusual and perhaps intriguing members, but to be among them, to share their world, was to finally gain the intimacy and perspective we had strode so hard to attain.
Chinstrap and gentoo penguins were the dominant breeders here. Most of the penguins were well along in the reproductive cycle. Chicks of both species were at or near the crèche stage of development where groups of young, having reached the first stage of independence, gathered together for protection and warmth. Their curiosity bordered on overwhelming. Some adults, perhaps new or young breeders were on recently-hatched chicks. Will these newborns make it? Perhaps; it is all dependent on this continuing season’s weather and the availability of food. As in all matters, only time will tell.
As the day waned, the winds virtually stilled, and the sun continued to shine against a blanket of blue. The old mariner’s rhyme had held true.
