Palmer Station
So many of our experiences have been as stark as black and white these past several days. It all started when we told our friends and family we were going to travel to Antarctica. Their reactions were either a startled “Are you nuts?” or a pleading “Oh, can I come with you?” There seemed to be no middle ground.
We received a seldom offered invitation yesterday evening from Palmer Station scientists for a visit to their facility. The original station was built in 1965. Subsequently, construction on a larger and more permanent station was started in 1967 with the biology laboratory opening in 1970. The brochure offered by the station states that it is “A Community for Science.” Among various projects underway include; the biological effects of ozone depletion, penguin and seabird ecology, krill biology and the molecular biology and evolution of cold adaptation in fish. It was also obvious it is a community with a sense of humor, evidenced by the sign on the carpentry shop directing “Hippies – Use the Side Door.” A most pleasing aspect of the station to a chilled explorer is the hospitality that welcomes the invited guest to come in from the cold and chat while enjoying the home baked delights of soft fudgy brownies and steaming hot beverages.
Part of our visit this morning also included a visit to nearby Torgerson Island. Dressed in their now familiar black and white cummerbund-less tuxedos, we observed a colony of Adelie penguins, busy with the rearing duties of their ever-growing chicks. The penguins are not the only ones busy with the duties of parenthood and survival. Patrolling the periphery of the colony were brown skuas, waiting for the opportunity to procure a means of sustenance for themselves and their own downy chicks. A move was made, attentions were diverted for a moment and a penguin chick was snatched away. In an instant, life ended for the chick, and at the same time, life continued one more day for the skua. This moment is played out on multiple levels daily, hourly and minute by minute. Krill are devoured by the ton, fish are gulped down, seals become food for Orca and as harsh as it may seem, penguin chicks too are in this cycle of survival.
We headed north after our visit, towards the Drake Passage and ultimately homeward bound. How will we tell the tales of the wonders we have experienced; the inspiring landscape, floating iceberg sculptures, diversity and numbers of wildlife, exploration history and the pure gem of silence and solitude we found? What will we say about our penguin chick? To those that thought we were “nuts” as well as those envious of our travels, will this experience be shared as a black and white story of survival, a necessary link in the food chain? Or will we evoke our own human values and morals and tell the tale of the nasty skua and the helpless downy chick. If we are bias in our telling, cheering for the penguins and hissing and booing the skuas, what would that tell us about ourselves?
So many of our experiences have been as stark as black and white these past several days. It all started when we told our friends and family we were going to travel to Antarctica. Their reactions were either a startled “Are you nuts?” or a pleading “Oh, can I come with you?” There seemed to be no middle ground.
We received a seldom offered invitation yesterday evening from Palmer Station scientists for a visit to their facility. The original station was built in 1965. Subsequently, construction on a larger and more permanent station was started in 1967 with the biology laboratory opening in 1970. The brochure offered by the station states that it is “A Community for Science.” Among various projects underway include; the biological effects of ozone depletion, penguin and seabird ecology, krill biology and the molecular biology and evolution of cold adaptation in fish. It was also obvious it is a community with a sense of humor, evidenced by the sign on the carpentry shop directing “Hippies – Use the Side Door.” A most pleasing aspect of the station to a chilled explorer is the hospitality that welcomes the invited guest to come in from the cold and chat while enjoying the home baked delights of soft fudgy brownies and steaming hot beverages.
Part of our visit this morning also included a visit to nearby Torgerson Island. Dressed in their now familiar black and white cummerbund-less tuxedos, we observed a colony of Adelie penguins, busy with the rearing duties of their ever-growing chicks. The penguins are not the only ones busy with the duties of parenthood and survival. Patrolling the periphery of the colony were brown skuas, waiting for the opportunity to procure a means of sustenance for themselves and their own downy chicks. A move was made, attentions were diverted for a moment and a penguin chick was snatched away. In an instant, life ended for the chick, and at the same time, life continued one more day for the skua. This moment is played out on multiple levels daily, hourly and minute by minute. Krill are devoured by the ton, fish are gulped down, seals become food for Orca and as harsh as it may seem, penguin chicks too are in this cycle of survival.
We headed north after our visit, towards the Drake Passage and ultimately homeward bound. How will we tell the tales of the wonders we have experienced; the inspiring landscape, floating iceberg sculptures, diversity and numbers of wildlife, exploration history and the pure gem of silence and solitude we found? What will we say about our penguin chick? To those that thought we were “nuts” as well as those envious of our travels, will this experience be shared as a black and white story of survival, a necessary link in the food chain? Or will we evoke our own human values and morals and tell the tale of the nasty skua and the helpless downy chick. If we are bias in our telling, cheering for the penguins and hissing and booing the skuas, what would that tell us about ourselves?
