Drake Passage and Aitcho Island, South Shetlands
Last night we crossed the invisible boundary that defines Antarctica: the antarctic convergence. Sea temperatures tumbled from 5º to 1ºC as we crossed into colder waters. We are have survived our ordeal by ocean and emerged into calmer seas, though still with our loyal escort of wheeling pintado petrels. With mounting excitement as we approach land, we gather in the lounge to have a formal introduction from our Expedition Leader to the guidelines of the Antarctic Treaty. Lindblad undertakes to bring nothing extraneous to the continent, to minimise our impact on the local wildlife, and to leave nothing behind. This is a serious contract: none of us wish to damage this precious world. We come back out on deck, to find new aerial escorts: antarctic petrels, immaculate in brown and white livery, and silvery antarctic fulmars racing alongside despite swirling snow. Then it is all eyes ahead as the first land emerges through the fog: the jagged islands of the South Shetlands, and within minutes, our first iceberg.
Half an hour later we have Zodiacs on the water and are heading in to land. Once ashore on a black gravel beach, we look around in amazement: penguins on hilltops, penguins on rock outcrops, penguins in the snow, penguins leaping ashore out of the surf. The placid gentoo penguins are settled in small suburbs, each sitting quietly on eggs atop their stone nest-mounds. But on either side the chinstrap colonies seem to be in uproar, birds flapping wings, beaks pointing skywards as they display with raucous staccato barks. Many pairs are still establishing nest-sites or are part way through egg-laying. This is the penguin breeding season in full hue and cry. We walk carefully between the colonies and reach the ridge, to look out on a dramatic volcanic landscape mantled with snow. Penguins everywhere. Cruising overhead, long-winged giant petrels glide menacingly by. There is a fracas in one colony as a brown skua makes off with a penguin egg in its beak. In the shallows a Weddell seal drifts, contentedly scratching. It is our first introduction to the vibrant world of Antarctica, as we stroll in awe through a bustling, crowded penguin city. Wonderful. As someone asked tonight, back in the comfort of our trusty ship: “How are we going to top this?”
Last night we crossed the invisible boundary that defines Antarctica: the antarctic convergence. Sea temperatures tumbled from 5º to 1ºC as we crossed into colder waters. We are have survived our ordeal by ocean and emerged into calmer seas, though still with our loyal escort of wheeling pintado petrels. With mounting excitement as we approach land, we gather in the lounge to have a formal introduction from our Expedition Leader to the guidelines of the Antarctic Treaty. Lindblad undertakes to bring nothing extraneous to the continent, to minimise our impact on the local wildlife, and to leave nothing behind. This is a serious contract: none of us wish to damage this precious world. We come back out on deck, to find new aerial escorts: antarctic petrels, immaculate in brown and white livery, and silvery antarctic fulmars racing alongside despite swirling snow. Then it is all eyes ahead as the first land emerges through the fog: the jagged islands of the South Shetlands, and within minutes, our first iceberg.
Half an hour later we have Zodiacs on the water and are heading in to land. Once ashore on a black gravel beach, we look around in amazement: penguins on hilltops, penguins on rock outcrops, penguins in the snow, penguins leaping ashore out of the surf. The placid gentoo penguins are settled in small suburbs, each sitting quietly on eggs atop their stone nest-mounds. But on either side the chinstrap colonies seem to be in uproar, birds flapping wings, beaks pointing skywards as they display with raucous staccato barks. Many pairs are still establishing nest-sites or are part way through egg-laying. This is the penguin breeding season in full hue and cry. We walk carefully between the colonies and reach the ridge, to look out on a dramatic volcanic landscape mantled with snow. Penguins everywhere. Cruising overhead, long-winged giant petrels glide menacingly by. There is a fracas in one colony as a brown skua makes off with a penguin egg in its beak. In the shallows a Weddell seal drifts, contentedly scratching. It is our first introduction to the vibrant world of Antarctica, as we stroll in awe through a bustling, crowded penguin city. Wonderful. As someone asked tonight, back in the comfort of our trusty ship: “How are we going to top this?”
