At home and abroad

Okay, we weren’t ON South Georgia Island for 48 hours. We slept next to it on the ship Friday and Saturday nights (March 13 and 14). But we got out into the Zodiacs four times, and landed three of the four. I took several hundred photos. Books have been written about the island, but for this post, words pale. Instead here’s a little photo essay about how we spent our time there.

We woke up before dawn Saturday moored in East Cumberland Bay, with the glassy waters reflecting the mix of clouds and azure sky.

Right after breakfast, we climbed into the Zodiacs and headed for the Nordenskjöld Glacier. At certain magic moments, this huge river of ice appeared to be the end of the rainbow.

Over the next two or three hours, we saw several chunks of the glacier calve off and hit the water with a distant roar and giant splash.

Chunks from other recent similar events floated all around us.

The beauty of the land- and seascape was far from the only attraction. Motoring near the shore, we got our first good views of king penguins, second largest of all penguin species. More of them breed on South Georgia than anywhere else in the world.

The baby fur seals seemed as fascinated by them as we were.

A small posse chased after these three and tried to sniff (or nip at?) the birds’ feet.

When they got too annoying, one of the kings would whip around and warn them off.

The seal babies reminded Steve and me of canine pups.

But young dogs are nowhere near as good at swimming.

We also got our first close look at young elephant seals.

When they grow up, these boys will engage in savage fights with each other to win control over a harem. But outside the breeding season, they looked like the chummiest of bros.

We returned to the ship, and while we ate lunch the captain made for a protected inlet known as Jason’s Harbour. By mid-afternoon we climbed in the Zodiacs again and this time we landed on a rocky beach.

Covered in six-foot-tall mounds of tussock grass, this was a very different landscape from anything to be found on Antarctica.

Frolicking baby seals churned up parts of the shoreline.

We weren’t supposed to get within about 15 feet of any animals in South Georgia, but no one told the penguins and seals that. The birds waddled up to us as if we were fellow avians. Except for this guy…

Our expedition ornithologist said he was a male on duty guarding an egg. But sadly, for some reason, he was a couple of months behind schedule. With autumn beginning, any chick wouldn’t have time to grow big enough to leave with all the other penguins. A little later that morning, the drama ended when a predatory sku dived in and smashed the egg and slurped up its contents.

Antarctic fur seals don’t go for the penguin eggs. But they gave us some startling moments. They seemed by turns curious and eager to show off how brave they were. One after another would work up his or her courage and make a floppy charge, sometimes growling or baring teeth. Then they would stop, as if realizing they had no idea what to do next.

Sometimes they parked smack in the middle of the path we were hiking, as if tickled by the chance to block our progress.

We passed several mothers giving their offspring some of their last milky feasts. Soon the moms would turn their backs on the youngsters, who would then be on their own to find the fish and other sea life that makes up their adult diet.

On this outing, our destination was the top of a knoll commanding sweeping views of the inlet and the ship waiting for our return.

The next morning when I looked out our window, the ship had repositioned to Fortuna Bay. The weather was grayer but calm, and we piled into the Zodiacs again as soon as breakfast was over.

The clusters of curious penguins and fur seals were even thicker than what we’d seen the previous day.

Lots of the babies bluff-charged us. Others played in a pond…

…or napped in the lush grass…

…or nursed.

We hiked along and gradually began seeing way more penguins than seals.

From the top of the knoll the view was breath-taking—- thousands upon thousands of penguins and their chicks, seemingly all emitting their buzzy calls. It reminded me of the world’s largest kazoo band.

That afternoon we moved on to Stromness, one of the stations that processed slain whales during the first few decades of the 20th Century.

Because of the asbestos and other hazards, we could only gaze at the site from a distance.

These chunks of whale vertebrae were the only evidence I saw of the carnage that wiped out hundreds of thousands of the magnificent animals.

Besides seeing the abandoned whaling station, the other lure of a visit to Stromness is historical. Ernest Shackleton and his crew stopped here at the beginning of their ill-fated Endurance expedition, and it was to here that the ordeal for Shackleton and two of his men ended. They had sailed (by dead reckoning) to South Georgia in a makeshift boat, landed on the uninhabited side of the island, and then traversed its brutal mountains to find the whalers and get help for the rest of their crew.

For the final challenge of that awful trial, they’d had to descend a steep waterfall then slog a couple of kilometers to the beach. It’s a flat, if boggy, slog, and Steve and I set out on it together from the beach.

I turned back about three-quarters of the way, but Steve made it to the foot of the falls.

Five hours later, we sat in the lecture room, listening to Gaby break the news about our having to leave South Georgia immediately. You can see why everyone felt so sad.