Into the Abyss

 

Thursday – Friday, November 2-3, 2023

On Thursday morning the captain attempted to anchor our ship just outside of St. Andrews Bay, but wicked winds whipped up and large icebergs began bearing down on us. It’s crazy to imagine that of all the hazards in the Southern Ocean, you don’t just have to worry about crashing into an iceberg, you have to worry about one crashing into you!

Henry keeping an eye out for icebergs

We adjusted our position, fought against heavy winds, and managed to cruise close by two whaling stations at Leith Harbor and Stromness, which is where Ernest Shackleton and two of his men arrived after their harrowing hike over the icy ridges, following their treacherous open water journey from Elephant Island. We could see the white siding of the station master’s house where Shackleton knocked (there’s talk of restoring it). The town is otherwise a deserted rusty wreck.

The abandoned Stromness Whaling Station, The white structure at the center is the manager's house where Shackleton knocked on the door.

In the afternoon we were able to anchor in Godthul Bay as the weather settled once again. Rather than kayak, Henry and I chose to hike the hill overlooking the harbor to see a colony of gentoo penguins.  We needed some terra firma under our feet.  A Zodiac ferried us to shore and we waded up a gray, rock and  mud beach between large, lounging fur seals.  It was a rigorous 40-minute climb that began with a steep maze of clumped tussock grass.  Just as I reached the top of the ridge, a juvenile fur seal charged out from the grass. Thankfully, Gaston was there to fend it off, but it scared the crap out of me!  We were all amazed to find a seal so high up from the beach. 

Fur Seal at Godthul Bay

Giant petrels soared overhead as we made our way along a freshwater stream flowing down from the glacier, which was once a key water source for the early whalers. We crossed a broad plain dotted with small ponds where a South American pintail duck led her ducklings away, and we walked another half mile to a large rookery of gentoo penguins.  It was amazing to just stand and watch as they cooed and chirped, tending to their nests and eggs. We are always moved by dedicated penguin parenting.

Gentoo Colony overlooking Godthul Bay

Gentoo penguin on the move

One of the restrictions of South Georgia Island is that all lights need to be turned off at night – or blackout curtains drawn – in order to prevent errant bird strikes by the many precious species such as albatross and petrels.  This seems counterintuitive to me, as it seems the ship would be more visible and avoidable if it were brightly lit. But we did as requested, and when Henry and I walked onto our balcony late at night we felt quite unnerved. There was a blackness beyond any perceptible depth.  It seemed as though we might just vanish into nothingness if we took one more step. We teetered on an existential abyss.   I can understand now how this seemingly endless icy unpeopled sea could drive people to madness. How did people survive Antarctica over an entirely dark Winter season?

Overnight we traveled to the southeast tip of the island to explore Cooper Bay. No landings were permitted due to the spread of avian influenza, so we were restricted to our boats. But the large bay provided a myriad of wildlife, including four species of penguins: macaroni, king, gentoo and chinstrap. Motoring through thick brown kelp, we approached a rocky cove and beheld a large colony of macaroni penguins. There are over ten million pairs of macaroni penguins in the world and one million on South Georgia alone, the most abundant species on the island.  Our timing was key as it was noted that just 10 days ago, there weren’t any macaroni penguins in the area.  They only recently arrived to begin their annual breeding season.  We also witnessed the inevitable predation that takes place--a blood-stained macaroni staggered on a small rocky pinnacle, a victim of an encounter with one of the local leopard seals.

Macaroni penguins, Cooper Bay

Many other birds flourish in this protected bay. We saw snowy sheathbills, blue-eyed shags, Antarctic terns, South Georgia pipits, grey-headed albatross, and an abundance of giant petrels. Our Argentine guide, Gaston, said he had never seen so many giant petrels in Cooper Bay.  The large brownish petrels pecked away at floating carcasses of seals and penguins, doing their part in the environmental cleanup.  A rich forest of brown kelp swayed in the clear turquoise water and provided a lush food source and camouflage for various creatures.

One long beach was lined with elephant seals, many nursing newborn pups. Just behind them was a colony of king penguins, many of which made a long hike up a steep snow-capped slope to their high rookery.  Gentoos and chinstrap penguins rounded out our sightings before we had to make our way back to the mothership.  The energy of the passengers was quite high back on board.  It was an experience few of us could have imagined.