Ryan's Journal

The skies were clear and the sunrise beautiful this morning, but apparently plans had changed so instead of spending a few hours at Gold Harbour everyone but David and I got out at Royal Bay to hike, and we then continued on to St. Andrews Bay. We had beautiful weather for enjoying the immensity of wildlife, and I spent nearly ten hours out roaming.

This is the first trip on which I’ve used a digital camera, and while I have absolutely no complaints about the Canon 10D, the one downside is that not having to worry about film or processing costs means I’m taking an immense number of photos, and must then spend a couple of hours each night deleting the chaff. Jerome has an uncanny ability to walk by just as I’m getting ready to delete a bad photo and then call attention to it, causing everyone in the boat to gather around the laptop, so there have been a number of rather embarrassing moments (“Yeah, that’s an underexposed shot of half of a fur seal’s head”); however, being able to see the day’s shots so immediately makes it worthwhile.

It’s very late, but the politics on this boat lean left and Jerome, Mike and I were venting over the current state of affairs in the world. Getting up at sunrise may be tough tomorrow… anyhow, today was a snowy day, although it made for interesting photos and was easier to walk around in than rain. The day started with temperatures in the boat hovering in the low thirties since the stove had died overnight. After getting underway the first stop was Iris Bay for king penguins in snow flurries, as well as the usual complement of elephant seals and others.

The second stop for the day was a return trip to Gold Harbour — we have started back up the coast, so we’re revisiting a few places. This time I hung out with the elephant seals, and while none of the fights were of the scale of what I saw at St. Andrews Bay they were nonetheless impressive. At one point an elephant seal I was photographing reared up, and turning around I found myself only two feet from another of the four ton bulls; needless to say I got out of the way fast. It’s a total chess game with these animals, as they position themselves around the harems and strategically try to find ways to sneak in on the dominant bull, who is constantly checking to make sure that no one has snuck in. Micky and I agreed that sports commentators are needed to keep track of all of the action.

Mike decided that today was a good day for a swim, and donned a dry suit and went for a dip with penguins and icebergs. He made it for nearly forty minutes, which is about thirty-nine minutes longer than my California constitution would have survived. He also shared a bag of bowhead whale jerky which he apparently got from some Native Alaskans; eating whale in the midst of such vast natural richness was a bit odd, but everyone nevertheless tried a piece and the taste actually wasn’t too bad. Combined with the krill we’ve been eating we’re not the greatest of eco-tourists, but the stuff is mighty tasty.

My skis were finally put to use today as the options were to hang out with twenty Weddell seals or to ski up the Phillipi Glacier. Amazingly, with a set of skins attached to the bottoms touring skis will travel up steep slopes; unfortunately our initial ascent was extraordinarily steep, and near the top I was slipping a bit. Since an out-of-control fall would have meant a trip over the edge of the glacier and then a fifty foot plunge into the ocean, after my second slip (which sent me sliding about fifty feet down the slope) I ditched the skis and walked uphill.

Once at the top the slope was much more gentle, and we skied about four miles over the icy snow to the head of the glacier — the snowfield there was vast and pure white, with small mountains and ridges enclosing either side. We spent the next four hours each going our separate directions to do a bit of exploring, and on Shane’s advice I brought my iPod — strangely listening to Pete Townsend while sitting on a snow-covered ridge added a very cool element to the experience.

Aside from reaffirming what a terrible skier I am the return trip was uneventful, and once back we briefly visited the seals. They were allowing us to approach within six feet or so, and the Weddells are the most affectionate of the seals that we’ve seen, with the mothers and pups cuddling together. We’re now anchored for the night, but wind gusts keep pushing the ship over to nearly ten degrees, so tomorrow may not have the nice weather that we had today.

Woke up at dawn in Gold Harbour, but the weather had turned so everyone went back to bed and Jerome pointed the boat towards the southern coast, which is normally stormier but today had good weather. We spent most of the afternoon at Trollhul with elephant seals, some fairly belligerent fur seals, gentoos, kings, albatross, and various other birds. The weather turned sunny while we were there, with dramatic clouds around the high mountains and a soft light that lit up the glaciers in incredible ways. While sitting on the beach and enjoying the sun Micky wrote himself into South Georgia legend by radioing the boat, not for a pickup, but for a delivery of beer if any was available. Amazingly Jerome showed up a few minutes later, and despite the heavy surf tossed a few Budweisers ashore. We made an early exit as droves of gentoos were returning from the sea, and we’re now harbored off of Drygalski Fjord in Larsen Harbour with a small colony of Weddell seals on the beach to keep us company.

We motored from St. Andrews Bay into Royal Bay this morning to see the enormous Ross Glacier, which was calving off pieces as we watched. As we were leaving the skies finally began to clear, and we arrived in Gold Harbour with near-perfect weather. I spent the afternoon hiking along the cliffs looking for light-mantled sooty albatross, and managed to find a few of them nesting on the rock faces, including one pair that allowed me to approach within a few feet. These are beautiful and peaceful birds that are probably the most graceful fliers that we’ve seen thus far.

After leaving the cliffs I spent time on the beach with the elephant seals, fur seals, king penguins, gentoo penguins, skuas, and assorted others. The skuas seemed willing to have me sit next to them at an arm’s length, and the king penguin chicks followed me around, always a few feet behind. Most impressive today were the elephant seals, which were piled so thickly that it was nearly impossible to safely walk along the beach. In order to avoid the elephant seals I walked along the edge of the beach, but the fur seals had taken up refuge in the tussocks, and twice one charged in within inches before I could chase him away.

Today’s weather was thirty-eight degrees with a cold rain, so for the majority of the day no one really felt like leaving the ship. At around four o’clock most of us headed ashore, and despite the wet and cold it ended up being well worthwhile. Another giant petrel (perhaps the same one as yesterday) came running up to me, and we played for a while — he would grab my glove while I attempted to ruffle his feathers with the other hand.

Despite having to ford a few small rivers I was able to walk the entire beach (two miles?), and on the return trip saw what has thus far been the bloodiest elephant seal fight of the trip — the two bulls fought for over ten minutes, and when it was done both had chests stained bright red with blood, the victor had a cut to the bone over his eye, and the right half of his nose had been literally torn to ribbons and was hanging on only by threads of skin. During the fight the beasts were like the titans of Greek mythology — they would rear up eight or nine feet in the air and then smash together, trying to bite each other. At intervals they got so tired that they would collapse on one another before recovering enough to continue the battle. Amazingly, after such a bloody battle a third elephant seal came in and chased off the two combatants without a fight, so in the end they had fought for nothing.

We had excellent weather early today, but after last night’s outing Jerome could not be roused until well after 9:00 so it was a bit of a late start. He more than made it up to us by taking us to Ocean Harbour where we were able to board a one hundred year old shipwreck that is now home to a blue-eyed shag colony. Normally visiting an old shipwreck would be a highlight, but with so many beautiful and relatively fearless birds aboard hardly anyone was paying much attention to the boat. A huge herd of reindeer was roaming the shoreline, so it was definitely a great wildlife spot.

After cruising through more icebergs we arrived at St. Andrews Bay, which is probably the premier wildlife spot on South Georgia. At the moment there are approximately 7,000 elephant seals ashore, in addition to the (at least) half million king penguins that are here. Mike pretty much summed it up when he first came on deck and inadvertently muttered “Holy shit” upon seeing the shoreline.

After coming ashore at St. Andrews another giant petrel took a liking to me, and this one was actually so playful that we ended up practically wrestling in the sand. Later a group of a dozen or so king penguin chicks wandered within a few feet of me, and when I walked away I discovered that they were following behind. Perhaps a half dozen of the birds came with me a good ways up the river before I finally picked up the pace and they dissolved back into the colony. The other highlight here was the elephant seals, who are at the height of their season. The big bulls are constantly bellowing out, and some vicious fights break out occasionally — we saw one big male the other day with his nose half torn off, hanging only by a few bits of skin. Almost all of the bulls have numerous deep gashes over their chests and backs — their fights are a bloody occurrence, but quite impressive to watch. They are surprisingly tolerant of us, although everyone except for Jerome is still giving them a fairly wide berth.

A very late night — Tim & Paulene Carr, the caretakers of the Grytviken Museum, invited us in for drinks, and afterwards the British Antarctic Survey team asked us to come have drinks. All of the British folks we’ve met here have been really nice, really fun people who are passionate about being in South Georgia. Jerome seems to be a major attraction at each base; tonight the Brits managed to get him to fall into one of their practical jokes and he returned to the boat with a face covered in talcum powder, the result of some goofy party gadget they had at their bar.

The day’s main activity was meeting Ted and company in the morning near Fortuna Glacier in order to complete the Shackleton Crossing with them. Apparently they crossed the island in near record time, and since the final traverse to the Stromness Whaling Station didn’t require skis Christine and I tagged along. The backcountry of South Georgia is beautiful, and the weather was amazing — warm enough for a t-shirt, and the sky was a perfect blue. We later found out that the ozone hole is exceptionally bad today, so we also returned with harsh sunburns, but it was worthwhile for the views over the glaciers and of the icebergs off the shore. Tonight the sky is clear and the stars are shining as brightly as I’ve ever seen, although aside from the Southern Cross the constellations are all unfamiliar.

The forecast was for good weather today, so Jerome stayed up all night to navigate the boat to Possession Bay, thus allowing Ted and the group to start off on the Shackleton Crossing at dawn. Jerome is something else — once he had dropped them he didn’t sleep but instead went ashore with David and I to visit a king penguin colony, and then motored on to Fortuna Bay where he single-handedly hacked footholds in icy-snow up the side of a cliff with an axe so that he could get from the beach to an overview of the Fortuna Glacier. The man impresses me greatly.

After leaving Fortuna we motored through icebergs to our mooring at another abandoned whaling station in Leith Harbour. Unlike Prince Olav, this station was operational until the mid-60’s and seemed more like an industrial plant than a historical relic. I briefly looked around, but the massive machines and huge buildings made it all too clear how whaling was once a heartless, assembly-line process, and I returned to the boat early.

After six days here our time on South Georgia is one-third over, but that still leaves twelve days for exploring. I’ve fallen into the routine of time ashore with wildlife interspersed with boat trips, meals of mutton or some kind of stew, and late evenings talking or looking through the day’s photos. Memories of home are happy ones, but they are acquiring fuzzy edges that weren’t there two weeks ago; life is good right now.

Any misgivings I had about quitting my job, leaving friends, and coming to South Georgia are gone — today exceeded all expectations. The day started with a really nasty four hour trip from our anchor point to Elsehul that kept everyone in their bunks. However, once at Elsehul the day improved as dramatically as could have happened. We hiked briefly from the beach and up to the cliffs where grey headed albatross were nesting — these were simultaneously some of the most beautiful and tranquil animals I’ve ever seen, and their nesting spot high up on the edges of sheer cliffs was the perfect setting for them. I was sitting within a few feet of the birds, but they didn’t seem to be phased by my presence at all — one even flew in and landed within inches of me. My analytical brain isn’t capable of describing the peacefulness and beauty of the experience with words; the task requires a poet.

After leaving Elsehul we spent an hour motoring across the roughest seas we’ve yet faced in order to drop some things at the British research station on Bird Island. The island is closed to anyone but the research staff, but we were invited ashore to chat with the five-person staff and to hike out to see the birds. The Brits on this base were awesome — they had pictures on the walls that ranged from the group skinny-dipping in an iceflow on Midwinter day to one chap decked out in a tuxedo standing in the midst of a penguin colony. At one point we heard a loud banging on the roof, and looking to the Brits for guidance one simply said “Sheathbills. Station’s been here since 1982 and they still haven’t figured out it’s not edible.” It seemed an enviable existence.

When they took us out to see the birds it was completely amazing — the animals are totally habituated to humans, and I was within inches of numerous wandering albatross chicks. The chicks sit almost two feet high and have definite intelligence in their eyes, which was moving to experience up close. The petrels and skuas were also very tolerant of us, but it was the wanderers that were by far the most impressive, and definitely something I will remember.

Best day thus far. We dropped Ted and party off early near the Shackleton Gap so that they could get more ski practice, and then Jerome left David and I at Salisbury Plain. We went ashore in a near-whiteout, but the weather alternated between snow and sun all day, so it was both beautiful and exhilarating. The king penguin colony is smaller now than it was in January, I suppose due to many of the adults being out to sea, but the chicks (who have been here throughout winter) all stand shoulder to shoulder in giant groupings, making for some really cool patterns against the landscape.

After picking the rest of the group up Jerome returned to get David and I, and we then headed across the bay to search for wandering albatross. For the most part we saw only chicks, but they were well worth the visit. The wandering albatross chicks are born in fall and spend the winter here, so these chicks were nearly full-grown and were testing their wings whenever the wind came up. As a gust would hit them they would stretch out their three meter wings, flapping in the nest with their down shaking — it looked like a happy time for them. As we were returning to the beach a giant petrel, one of South Georgia’s more skittish birds, took an interest in me and ambled across the snow, finally settling down about two feet away. I sat with him a bit, and when I got up rather than running away he followed me further down the trail before visiting Shane and eventually Mike. All in all a lot of tremendously cool experiences.

The weather early this morning was a miserable cold rain, so everyone slept late with somewhat lowered spirits. Mike decided pancakes were called for and cooked us up a great batch, and when the rain started slowing Ted and Shane headed off to do some skiing while I set out with the camera to finally take some pictures. By lunch time the rain had stopped completely, and later in the day the sun came out for the first time on the trip. I spent most of the afternoon sitting a few feet from a group of fur seals — we barked at each other but generally got along fairly well. Ted, Micky and Shane spent the day climbing the mountains and skiing down, and for just four runs traversed a total of more than 3500 feet of elevation change; they say it was well worthwhile. Tomorrow we’re leaving our dock at the whaling station and returning to Salisbury with the hope that the sun will continue.

Salisbury Plain is one of the places on South Georgia that I was most excited to return to, but the weather turned against us today. Due to the large waves we had to land about forty-five minutes from the king penguin colony, and during the hike to the colony the winds slowly started picking up. Fearing a repeat of January’s experience at St. Andrew’s Bay I was on guard, and when the wind began driving the rain horizontally I decided it would be safer to be nearer the boat. David and I ended up returning after only two hours ashore, although Ted and the others have been skiing in the backcountry for more than three hours now. What little time I did have at the colony was again impressive — there aren’t many places in the world that cause a suspense of disbelief, but first sight of this colony is one of them.

Having some spare time aboard allowed me to finally get a shower, and yet again I need to make an offering at whatever altar exists to the shower’s inventor — being clean after five days is as close to godhood as mortal life gets. The afternoon plan is to visit one of the wandering albatross colonies in the Bay of Isles, but the weather may have postponed that — we may yet be able to go, but with eighteen days here losing an afternoon luckily isn’t too terrible.

It’s far too late to still be awake, but we were out hiking until after nine o’clock and then spent a long time after dinner talking. The weather never really broke today so the afternoon activity was a late-day hike between two bays. Ted, Mike, Shane and I started off on the beach with elephant seals and gentoos, traveled up through frozen tussocks and into snow and rock, crossed over a high ridge shrouded in fog, and a few miles later came upon a small cemetary on a cliff before arriving at a whaling station that has been abandoned since the 1930’s. The hike was excellent — Ted got to do some snowboarding while the rest of us just sort of reveled in the solitude — and the whaling station is straight out of a Steven King movie, with a feeling of both familiarity and unfamiliarity in the wreckage that gives it a sense of mystery. The current plan is to stay here in the morning to explore further and do a bit of skiing before heading on in the afternoon, weather permitting.

After one full day on South Georgia the four days at sea are forgotten. The majority of the day was spent at Right Whale Bay with a few thousand king penguins, several hundred elephant seals, and assorted fur seals, giant petrels, skuas, and others. There was both life and death on the beach — elephant seals were being born while king penguin chicks were being attacked and killed by giant petrels. In the evening we made a short hike across a narrow portion of the island that ended with slides down the steep side of a mountain and to the zodiac waiting at the beach.

I don’t want to go overboard about how amazing this place and the wildlife here is (and both deserve any superlative you can think of) but while hiking it struck me that South Georgia is a tremendously lonely place, but not a place in which one feels alone. The island is a bit of rock at the bottom of the world, mostly covered in ice, freezing cold, and yet the sense of wonder here is that child-like sense of how incredible and full of potential life is. It’s a lonely place in that the solitude is as complete as it could possibly be, but at the same time it’s filled with peacefulness and possibility, rather than hopelessness. The world I’ve left, in which meetings and timelines seemed important, is a place where I’ve always felt very alone, while here on the bottom of the world there is only a sense of awe and amazement.