23 December 2004
After lunch we made our third stop of the day, on the continental mainland, after sailing through the narrow iceberg-filled Errera Channel. The channel was absolutely beautiful, with steep rock cliffs and tumbling glaciers reflected in the still water, and icebergs of all sorts of sizes. We saw some crabeater seals basking on floes, raising their heads in dozy reproach when the ship’s wake set their resting-places rocking.
We anchored in Neko Harbour in Andvord Bay, and went ashore on a stony beach inhabited by Gentoos. They looked quite unfazed by our arrival. We were warned not to stand on one end of the beach, because ice is always breaking off the active glacier on the other side of the little bay and causing mini-tidal waves. We climbed the steep snow slope, our boots sinking deeply into the snow, to a rocky saddle where more Gentoos were lying (apparently cosily) on their little nests of stones. When they are brooding eggs they lie on their tummies and often half close their eyes, for all the world as if they were lying on a comfortable beanbag by a fireside. (Later, someone told me that one of the Italian ladies was hushing her nattering husband with the words, “Ssh – the little penguins are sleeping!”) Above us was another steep snow slope. The two young Dutch cooks raced up there with plastic carrier bags and tobogganed down. Of course then one of the Finns had to have a go, then the Doctor. Of course, AJ and I could not be left out either. It felt strange to be fighting our way up the steep, slippery slope, away from the group, heading (briefly) for the continental interior. This way to the South Pole … we had been warned not to go higher than a certain point, because the ground beyond is crevassed and dangerous.
Tobogganing in Antarctica - there’s a minority sport. I was awarded nil points for style. Allegedly I was flailing my arms and legs around most inelegantly. Photographic evidence indicates the judge may be right, but I blame inferior equipment. Had I known, obviously I would have brought a superior Harrods carrier bag, or similar.
On the way back down to the beach we passed an orange emergency hut and more Gentoos nesting in its lee. A snowy sheathbill was wandering confidently around. I hadn’t got my binoculars with me and I was admiring its pure white form from a short distance, but our bird expert scoffed and said it was the ugliest bird in Antarctica. AJ and I were shocked, until he lent us his binoculars. Reader, it’s true. On close inspection, the sheathbill has a bare, pockmarked face with a strong resemblance to Tommy Lee Jones’ uglier brother. The expert thinks it should fly around with a paper bag over its head out of courtesy to the rest of us. Ah yes, but if that were applied to humans …
Back on the beach we saw a blue-eyed cormorant (or shag) on a rock. It took a moment’s mental adjustment to realise that this large black and white bird was not another penguin.
A very graceful small black-headed bird flew by. A tern, but what sort? Antarctic, probably, it seems. However, Arctic terns also appear down here in the austral summer, though they are in their winter plumage. That could confuse a stupid person.
Back to the landing place for 3 pm and another turn, the nasty kind this time. A group of Finns plus our Dutch cooks were stripping off to their swimming costumes and diving into the (literally) icy water. ARE THEY MAD? I know at home they get in cold water after a sauna etc, but this is Antarctica … Most leapt out and got dressed again pronto, but the Finnish tobogganer went in twice, swimming around, then wandered up and down the beach in his swimming trunks drinking whisky as if this were Brighton beach. (Note: eating and drinking is completely forbidden ashore because of the risk of litter, but this was an exceptional case.) The Doctor hovered anxiously, but everyone got back to the ship OK and seemed physically fine. The weird-ometer went off the scale. It’s official: Finns are nuts.
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Saturday 25 December
Last night I left the bar and went to bed, then wondered what on earth I was doing going to bed at midnight on the most beautiful Christmas Eve ever. I put a down jacket and boots over my pyjamas and went up on deck. The sun was low on the horizon in a rose glow, but there was no darkness. Calm water and the most extraordinary light on the mountains.
This morning we had a long landing on Hydrurga Rocks. (Hydrurgas are leopard seals, but we didn’t see any.) Weddell seals were lying near the beach, and there was a chinstrap penguin colony and some blue-eyed cormorants (or shags). We walked in single file through deep snow up to a rocky outcrop, but had to come down because there was a nesting gull with a small chick. Our presence was frightening the mother away, so our guide said we should come straight down before the chick got too cold. He was ignored (or, to be fair, not understood) by a few people. A minority of the group (usually the ones with video cameras) seem impervious to the idea that the wildlife might be disturbed by their presence and their intrusive photography, even though the guides have already told us a horror story about something that happened a year or two ago. A group of tourists intent on photography surrounded a seal, who panicked and in its fear threw itself off a 15 metre cliff. They call the spot Suicide Wallow.
We saw a lone Adélie penguin on the snow, who was moulting. They aren’t waterproof while moulting, so they can’t swim and catch food. He has to stand miserably on the beach for 8-10 days. It’s early in the season – he shouldn’t be moulting till February - so he’s in trouble.
Then the more able-bodied went with the guides to the top of another rocky outcrop at the highest part of the island, slogging up a steep snowy slope, after a warning that only people “stable on their feet” should attempt it. I stuck close behind the guides and did the “in his master’s steps he trod/where the snow lay dinted” thing again. Appropriate enough for Christmas Day. Then AJ and I sat on a rock at the top near the penguin nests and soaked in the beauty of the scene.
Nesting pairs of chinstraps were doing (I assume) courting dances, gracefully bending down their two necks into a sort of heart shape, then stretching their beaks upwards. One penguin kept trying to present his mate with a pebble, but it didn’t seem to be the one she wanted. “She’s not impressed, mate,” said Martin, behind me. Fabulous views opened out all round us. Wherever you are in Antarctica, there always seems to be a distant vista where the light gleams on some impossibly seductive, far range of mountains and snow. There’s always a somewhere else, seen but out of reach.