My final footsteps in Antarctica were on another volcanic outcrop of black sand and grey rock, backdropped by a large glacier. It was busily inhabited by penguins, seabirds, and seals. The seals were adolescent males, and as it was a Sunday afternoon, these creatures behaved much like teenage boys the world over. Slovenly sprawled on the shore and emitting sounds, where it wasn’t clear which part of the body these were emerging from. They were moulting. Once a year, over a period of a few weeks, they shed their old fur which is replaced by a shiny, new coat. In their relaxed, patient state their facial expressions seemed to express extreme contentment. But they differed from teenage boys in their closeness. To better conserve heat, they were packed tightly together, some with a fin gently resting on the belly of a neighbour.
It was the penguins I sat with for my visual goodbye to the continent. Numerous and endearing. Large Gentoo and Chinstrap rockeries sat at one corner of the island, and by repetition of footsteps, they had constructed the largest penguin highway I’d yet seen. A mammoth trail of steps along the shoreline back towards the rockeries. There was a certain idiocy in all of this. It surely seemed that it would be easier to land close to home, using their elegance in the water. But instead, washed up wherever, each penguin would take the long walk back across the beach. Often 5 or 6 abreast they’d pass the dozing sea lions and their malting counterparts – penguins that stood calmly, patiently waiting for their feathers to change. They had home in mind, only they seemed helpless to where they landed. Set against the rhythmic sound of the waves I couldn’t help but attach a wider metaphor to this. Sometimes your destination takes longer to reach than you expected, just keep on preserving out of your comfort zone and you’ll get there.
It would be another two days before we were on land again. We settled in, chance to absorb what we’d seen. The ocean was calmer on our return journey, which made for a more genial atmosphere in the ship’s lounge. But between chatter, I sat down to write a lot of this. We were a long way from phone reception, and while the ship did have satellite internet available, it was both expensive and slow. I didn’t use it. Undoubtedly it was the largest amount of disconnect I’d had in my adult life. With set mealtimes, the gentle rhythm of the boat’s motion, and always an ocean view, this was a perfect place to write. It was a little bit of a disappointment to find ourselves closing in on our destination.
That final afternoon, amongst the birds trailing the boat were Artic Terns. These are white bodied, with distinctive black on the top of its head and wing tips, and despite not being the largest birds, their ability and compulsion to travel is extraordinary. Their migratory patterns take them between the poles every year, always following the sun. They were now heading north, early in their journey towards the Arctic. While six months later, towards the end of the Northern Hemisphere summer, they would move south again. Every year this is a 30,000km round trip. I certainly like the idea of spending more time escaping European winters, but this is another level of permanent sun chasing.
For the final night the boat anchored back inside the shelter of the Beagle Channel. The tradition of the Captain’s dinner and finding whatever bottles of alcohol hadn’t yet been emptied by the Irish group.
Out on the deck, we watched gentle swirls of colour below. Shapes dancing in the water, causing the bioluminescent plankton to glow green with each movement. They were a group of dusky dolphins, swimming and diving playfully around us. I saw a larger shape too, slower – more stealth like – below the surface, but the plankton’s glow given away its position. It was a shark circling the boat.
Unfortunately I wasn’t able to capture this on video with my camera, but this YouTube clip gives you an idea of what this looks like:
Onboard we drank to keep the rocking feeling alive, postponing the end of this journey.
