50-Foot Waves, the South Shetland Islands and Antarctica

March 13, 2016

(How did the two of us come to travel to Antarctica on a Russian oceanographic ship? What did we experience in the first two wild weeks of this adventure? For all the exciting photos and past installments, scroll down to earlier posts.)

Our new friend and shipmate Ruediger Loechner of Germany captured the feel of the awe-inspiring 50-foot waves, which towered over the ship. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

"THEY'RE NOW CALLING IT A CYCLONE," One Ocean Expeditions leader Boris Wise told our group of Antarctic voyagers during dinner on the Akademik Sergey Vavilov on November 12. "The winds are over 50 knots. We're heading right for the eye of it."

That's a cape petrel, our most common traveling companion as we neared Antarctica. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

Almost two weeks into our multi-stop trip from the tip of South America to Antarctica organized by the great British zoologist, wildlife photographer, writer and conservationist Mark Carwardine, Pamelia and I were getting close to the vast white continent—and also close to a massive storm, the second big blow of our voyage. We were seeing the Southern Ocean at its classic best, meaning wildest, and none of the hearty souls on board the Sergey Vavilov was complaining. We all loved the adventure.

Let me pause to offer these words of reassurance to any of you who may be intrigued by the idea of going to Antarctica but are seasickness-prone: I am too. I learned during this voyage to preload on Bonine motion-sickness tablets, stick to my bunk as much as possible in high waves and endure jolts of electricity on the underside of my wrist from an anti-seasickness wristband that helped me immensely. I never got seasick—just a little queasy—throughout as rough a voyage as any you'll experience. So don't be deterred.

For three more days we rode turbulent seas—50-foot waves that dwarfed the 30-foot giants we'd gone through earlier—but thanks to deft navigating by our Russian captain, we avoided worse. At last we arrived at the South Shetland Islands, on Antarctica's doorstep. We now were in a world of icebergs. Pamelia was about to set foot on her seventh continent and I on my sixth.

From every angle the towers of blue ice looked different. Much of the ice was many thousands of years old, compressed to a density and hardness that were hard to imagine.

Because of continuing waves, winds and weather, we could not go ashore for a day, but took Zodiacs through the icy world near Turret Point on King George Island in the South Shetlands. I've put together two photo galleries below, one made up of Pamelia and my shots and one of photos taken by fellow voaygers Ruediger and Eva Loechner. (Thanks again, Ruediger and Eva.)

Icebergs

photos by Pamelia Markwood and Craig Neff

photo by Eva Loechner

photo by Ruediger Loechner

photo by Eva Loechner

photo by Ruediger Loechner

photo by Eva Loechner

photo by Ruediger Loechner

photo by Ruedger Loechner

photo by Ruediger Loechner

photo by Eva Loechner

During  two Zodiac expeditions, wind, cold and sudden snow squalls were part of the iceberg-watching experience. (photo by Ruediger Loechner) — During two Zodiac expeditions, wind, cold and sudden snow squalls were part of the iceberg-watching experience. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

Once back on board the Sergey Vavliov, we caught sight of another in a succession of whales that we had seen. I believe this one was a humpback. (photo by Ruediger Loechner) — Once back on board the *Sergey Vavliov*, we caught sight of another in a succession of whales that we had seen. I believe this one was a humpback. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

The next morning, November 14, we awoke to a 26-degree F air temperature, 30 mph winds and a 29-degree water temperature—the perfect Antarctic feeling for our expedition to Mikkelson Point, Antarctica. This would be the day Pamelia added her seventh continent. I'll let the photos below tell the story of yet another spectacular morning of exploration.

Pamelia was ready to go as we waited to board Zodiacs for the ride ashore at Mikkelsen Harbor. She had been hoping for decades for a chance to set foot on Antarctica.

The ride to Mikkelsen aboard Nate's Zodiac was bitterly cold, choppy...and spectacular.

A lone Weddell Seal served as our Antarctic welcoming party. Weddells (named for British sealing captain James Weddell, who first saw them in the 1820s in the Antarctic waters now known as the Weddell Sea) have the most southerly distribution of any… — A lone Weddell Seal served as our Antarctic welcoming party. Weddells (named for British sealing captain James Weddell, who first saw them in the 1820s in the Antarctic waters now known as the Weddell Sea) have the most southerly distribution of any mammal. They're found only around Antarctica, and their range extends much farther south than the tip of the Antarctic peninsula, which we had reached.

I've mentioned how quickly and dramatically the weather can change in the Antarctic. Here at Mikkelsen it never stopped changing, from blowing snow to wild clouds to sun and back. The beauty was overwhelming.

The rolling terrain at Mikkelsen is home to breeding and nesting gentoo penguins, which were clustered in several spots.

As I've written previously, the 30-inch-tall gentoos are the third-biggest species of penguin after emperors and kings. They're long-tailed penguins closely related two other species that we would unexpectedly see at Mikkelsen in the hours ahead—chi… — As I've written previously, the 30-inch-tall gentoos are the third-biggest species of penguin after emperors and kings. They're long-tailed penguins closely related two other species that we would unexpectedly see at Mikkelsen in the hours ahead—chinstraps and Adelies; in the course of evolution their genus broke off from those of other penguins 38 million years ago.

As mentioned, the gentoos were mating. Gentoos lay two eggs, and males and females take turn (one per day) roosting on them for 34 to 36 days.

Some of the gentoos already had laid eggs.

I saw only one, not two, in this nest. which may have been a sign that...

...a predatory skua might have stolen one. (photo by Ruedigger Loechner)

Pamelia later painted an ink study of this battle royal. Later I'll show you the time-lapse video she created while painting it.

This was an emergency hut—the first we'd seen on our trip through thousands of almost completely human-free miles. That is an Argentinian flag painted on the side, a reflection of the closest neighbor on the South American continent.

These are snowy sheathbills, scavengers that we had seen near several earlier penguin and seal breeding grounds. They'll eat anything from afterbirths to feces, which perhaps explains why they seem to spend so much time cleaning and grooming themsel… — These are snowy sheathbills, scavengers that we had seen near several earlier penguin and seal breeding grounds. They'll eat anything from afterbirths to feces, which perhaps explains why they seem to spend so much time cleaning and grooming themselves.

I love this shot Pamelia took of a swooping sheathbill.

Many of the sheathbills held one leg up to retain warmth in the frigid conditions. (photo by Ruediger Loechner) — Many of the sheathbills held one leg up to retain warmth in the frigid conditions. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

Note the stunning bill and sheath. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

Surprise! Suddenly a lone chinstrap penguin was wandering around.

Chinstraps are slightly smaller than gentoos and loaded with personalty.

The chinstrap and a gentoo passed each other without incident—or even acknowledgement.

And who's this? An Adelie penguin popped up next—also a loner. Adelies were first seen in 1840 by French Antarctic explorer Jules Dumont d'Urville, whose wife was named Adelie.

Adelies stand between 18 and 28 inches tall and have particularly long tails. Their numbers have been declining on the Antarctic peninsula (perhaps because of warming conditions and melting ice), but not (yet, anyway) in Antarctica as a whole. — Adelies stand between 18 and 28 inches tall and have particularly long tails. Their numbers have been declining on the Antarctic peninsula (perhaps because of warming conditions and melting ice), but not (yet, anyway) in Antarctica as a whole.

You may have seen the horrific news story in February 2016 that 150,000 Adelies on Cape Denison in Antarctica had starved as a result of a giant iceberg that had floated in and blocked their access to the sea. The penguins had to make a 75-mile roun… — You may have seen the horrific news story in February 2016 that 150,000 Adelies on Cape Denison in Antarctica had starved as a result of a giant iceberg that had floated in and blocked their access to the sea. The penguins had to make a 75-mile round trip on land to get food. The consequences of melting ice in the Antarctic could be dire for the planet as a whole, but sometimes they are localized, sudden and unforeseeable.

One of our new favorite birds became the blue-eyed shag, or cormorant. Pamelia took this amazing shot.

Our friend Ruediger matched that by capturing two of the blue-eyed shags in sync. Great shot. (photo by Ruediger Loechner)

As the morning began to wind down, we could see the Sergey Vavilov in the distance waiting for us. — As the morning began to wind down, we could see the *Sergey Vavilov* in the distance waiting for us.

We hiked back past the gentoo encampments.

As always, Charles Darwin was traveling with us and was exuberant about the naturalist discoveries he was making. He had become a regular on the ship and had even begun writing his own blog. Charles continues to explore the 21st century, and relive … — As always, Charles Darwin was traveling with us and was exuberant about the naturalist discoveries he was making. He had become a regular on the ship and had even begun writing his own blog. Charles continues to explore the 21st century, and relive his life and career, as part of The Naturalist's Notebook team.

Pamelia took a shot of me with some of my gentoo penguin buddies. Neither of us could fully absorb the fact that we were standing in Antarctica, the last wild continent left on Earth.

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT ANTARCTIC POST: We'll be taking you to Neko Harbor in Antarctica, our final stop on the continent before a voyage back to civilization through hurricane-force winds in the Drake Passage. Oh yeah. This story ain't over yet. —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Come Along On a One-Day, Three-Stop Antarctic Wildlife Adventure

February 5, 2016

Dessert first, anyone? Never before had I wolfed down freshly baked butterscotch-chip cookies and coffee for breakfast, but trust me, it's not an unpleasant way to begin a day in the Antarctic (or anywhere else, I suspect). It's also a rapid way to fuel up if it's 4 a.m. and you're in a hurry to pull on boots, gloves, a hat and four layers of warm clothing and climb into a Zodiac boat for the first of three—three!—expeditions in the same day at major bird and seal breeding grounds on the remote, remarkable wonder of the world that is South Georgia Island.

We arrived at Salisbury Plain on South Georgia Island in time to watch the Sun rise over a vast expanse of king penguins and elephant and fur seals.

Those of you who already have been following our three-week trip to Antarctica aboard the Russian oceanographic vessel the Akademik Sergey Vavilov (and if you haven't been following, please feel free to scroll down or look at the index on the right to find earlier posts) have seen amazing photos from Tierra del Fuego, the Falkland Islands, the open ocean and parts of South Georgia Island. Prepare for more.

On this day Pamelia and I and our shipmates would wander through the beautiful landscapes, wildly changing weather and extraordinary wildlife at Salisbury Plain, Prion Island and Elsehul, three of the gems of South Georgia Island. We would see a total of 25 animal species, including four types of albatrosses, three kinds of seals, and a trio of penguin varieties. It would be another day-of-a-lifetime, of which this trip had provided several already. I will let the pictures below tell the story.

The king penguins and their brown, fluffy chicks filled the plain around us in every direction on South Georgia Island's largest coastal plain.

Salisbury Plain is home to South Georgia's greatest king penguin colony. See our previous posts, below, for more on these regal, remarkable animals.

Waves of king penguins came ashore and joined the masses on the plain. The ocean is home to these penguins for most of their lives, during the months when they're not breeding or molting (as many of them were at this time). — Waves of king penguins came ashore and joined the masses on the plain. The ocean is home to these penguins for most of their lives, during the months when they're not breeding or molting (as many of them were at this time).

Fur seals popped up between the clumps of tussock grass. I had learned the hard way about the aggressiveness of these seals (see our post "Don't Mess With a Fur Seal") and would hear several weeks later about a bloody encounter: A passenger on anoth… — Fur seals popped up between the clumps of tussock grass. I had learned the hard way about the aggressiveness of these seals (see our post "Don't Mess With a Fur Seal") and would hear several weeks later about a bloody encounter: A passenger on another Antarctic voyage soon after ours suffered a severed artery when bitten here at Salisbury Plain by a fur seal. The injury required the ship to rendezvous with a British Navy vessel at sea and transfer the man for emergency surgery in the Falkland Islands.

Southern giant petrels scouted the plain for prey, specifically penguin chicks.

The eyes and bill of the Southern giant petrel are equally striking. Note the tube on the bill, part of a system that seabirds have evolved over millions of years for excreting salt from the sea water that they drink.

Pamelia spent one-on-one time with certain king penguins for ink studies that she would paint later. We'll soon share more of those studies and her time-lapse videos of herself painting them.

Once again we felt we were standing in one of the most breathtaking places on Earth.

As many of you know, we've brought the young Charles Darwin back to life at The Naturalist's Notebook and he was with us, enjoying his first voyage to the Antarctic. He's been writing his own blog about his trip.

The weather took a dramatic shift as we prepared to board the Zodiacs and return to the ship for a brief rest before heading to our next landing site, Prion Island. It was still just 7 a.m.

Soon we were on the rough seas in a Zodiac again, this time bound for Prion Island, home to wandering albatrosses on the nest and—at long last—rare South Georgia pipits for Pamelia and me to see.

A male Southern elephant seal stood sentry along the narrowing channel we had to negotiate to reach Prion Island.

We caught our first good glimpse of a leopard seal—a species that can grow to more than 11 feet long and is second only to killer whales among Antarctic predators. He was resting and presumably waiting for a chance to devour one of the gentoo pengui… — We caught our first good glimpse of a leopard seal—a species that can grow to more than 11 feet long and is second only to killer whales among Antarctic predators. He was resting and presumably waiting for a chance to devour one of the gentoo penguins that were nesting and swimming nearby.

We ascended an icy wooden observation walkway (the only such visitor trail we would encounter on our three-week Antarctic voyage) to get a look at the wandering albatrosses nesting in the tussock grass.

Wandering albatrosses are extraordinary birds. They have the largest wingspan of any avian species (up to 11-and-a-half feet) and can live for 50 years if not done in by getting snagged on baited longline fishing hooks, which kill about 100,000 alba… — Wandering albatrosses are extraordinary birds. They have the largest wingspan of any avian species (up to 11-and-a-half feet) and can live for 50 years if not done in by getting snagged on baited longline fishing hooks, which kill about 100,000 albatrosses of all kinds each year.

The wandering albatrosses that we saw on the nests were seven-month-old juveniles. Our ship ornithologist, Simon Boyes, affectionately called this one Albert. Young Albert had been waiting for days for his parents—amazing long-distance flyers, as al… — The wandering albatrosses that we saw on the nests were seven-month-old juveniles. Our ship ornithologist, Simon Boyes, affectionately called this one Albert. Young Albert had been waiting for days for his parents—amazing long-distance flyers, as all albatrosses are—to return from a 3,100-mile flight to the waters off Brazil to gather food that they would regurgitate to feed him.

Wandering albatrosses flying along with a ship have always been thought of by sailors as a good omen—a mythology made famous by Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 1798 poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," in which the mariner shoots an albatross that has … — Wandering albatrosses flying along with a ship have always been thought of by sailors as a good omen—a mythology made famous by Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 1798 poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," in which the mariner shoots an albatross that has just led his ship to safety from an Antarctic ice jam. The mariner and his ship suffer the consequences. We don't believe in omens, but seeing Albert certainly felt like a lifetime moment of good fortune.

Nearly as thrilling as standing a few yards from a wandering albatross was finding and photographing a South Georgia pipit, a species that had been endangered by the invasive brown rats in South Georgia. (See our previous Antarctic post for more on … — Nearly as thrilling as standing a few yards from a wandering albatross was finding and photographing a South Georgia pipit, a species that had been endangered by the invasive brown rats in South Georgia. (See our previous Antarctic post for more on the extreme efforts underway to eradicate the rats.) These pipits hover in the air before diving into the tussock grass to catch insects. I was able to watch this one wandering and hunting in the grass for several minutes.

After a few hours back on board the Akademik Sergey Vavilov, we embarked on our final expedition of the day, to Elsehul, home to breeding gentoo penguins, fur seals, gray-headed albatrosses and light-mantled albatrosses. And also a macaroni penguin … — After a few hours back on board the *Akademik Sergey Vavilov*, we embarked on our final expedition of the day, to Elsehul, home to breeding gentoo penguins, fur seals, gray-headed albatrosses and light-mantled albatrosses. And also a macaroni penguin colony—that grayish patch within the green on the mountainside.

Here's a (blurry) closeup of the colony. Macaroni penguins are closely related to rockhopper penguins and share the ability to climb up steep rocky hills to reach seemingly inaccessible spots like this.

Some of the macaroni penguins were swimming.

Pamelia and I were bundled up again the strong winds and pelting snow.

Fur seals were watching us. Often visitors are not allowed to go ashore at at Elsehul because the breeding male fur seals are too aggressive (or because the waves and weather make landings impossible). Throughout our time at Elsehul, we had to be ex… — Fur seals were watching us. Often visitors are not allowed to go ashore at at Elsehul because the breeding male fur seals are too aggressive (or because the waves and weather make landings impossible). Throughout our time at Elsehul, we had to be extremely careful not to intrude on the fur seals' space—and there were a lot of them around, often blending in with the rocks.

Seal (and skua and petrel and penguin?) bones littered the ground—so many of them that one of the expedition members, noted wildlife filmmaker Peter Bassett, later put together a comical mock horror film in which the nesting gentoo penguins were blo… — Seal (and skua and petrel and penguin?) bones littered the ground—so many of them that one of the expedition members, noted wildlife filmmaker Peter Bassett, later put together a comical mock horror film in which the nesting gentoo penguins were bloodthirsty killers responsible for turning Elsehul into a boneyard.

We were on our way through muck and tussock grass to see penguins and albatrosses.

We soon encountered more gentoo penguins stomping around with their webbed, peach-colored feet.

Gentoos are playful, long-tailed penguins and, at 30 inches, the third-tallest of all penguin species.

Yes, this gentoo's nest was made mostly of bones. Cue the horror music!

Most of the nests were made of mud and stones. Male and female gentoos take turns on the nests (which contain two eggs) for a month, trading places every one to three days.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that we were on one of the world's most remote and wildlife-rich islands watching these amazing animals.

The penguins and fur seals shared some of the same ground, though the penguins quickly moved aside if a fur seal charged through.

The albatrosses were nesting on the cliffside ahead of us.

Our first look at a gray-headed albatross, a threatened species whose numbers are continuing to decline.

A nesting gray-headed albatross like this one lays one egg in a year. If the chick survives, its parents will take a year off before breeding again. In that year, these remarkable flyers might circle the globe more than once.

I had seen a light-mantled albatross once before on the trip (see earlier post), but not this close.

As we started to make our way back through the nesting gentoos, the fur seals again watched us and sometimes rumbled threateningly in our direction.

This shot gives a feel for the density of gentoo nests we saw.

There's a glimpse of that long tail, a distinguishing trait of not just gentoos but also two other types of penguins (chinstraps and adelies).

On the Zodiac ride back to the ship, we again watched the swimming macaroni penguins and steered close to short to revisit their hillside colony.

By dinner time on this mid-November Monday at the bottom of the world, Pamelia and I were back on the Akademik Sergey Vavilov, once again energized and exhausted and exhilarated. We had been phenomenally fortunate over the previous few days, thanks in no small part to the efforts of the One Ocean Expedition team and the Russian captain and crew. Visitors to South Georgia Island—and there aren't that many of them—sometimes are able to go ashore only once or twice (or not at all) because of waves, weather and breeding-season restrictions. We had gone ashore at an unheard-of seven spots on the island. Seven. All of them unforgettable.

Let by Mark Carwardine, the renowned British wildlife photographer, zoologist, conservationist and writer who had set up this entire trip, we and our fellow adventurers raised glasses of champagne in a toast to all we had seen. And to the final, crowning destination ahead.

"Next stop, Antarctica," said Mark. . —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Weaned elephant seals (affectionally known as weaners) would be waiting for us on the beach at both Grytviken and, in the case of this one, Jason Harbor. — Weaned elephant seals (affectionally known as weaners) would be waiting for us on the beach at both Grytviken and, in the case of this one, Jason Harbor.

Antarctic Adventures (Cont.): Grytviken and Jason Harbor

January 26, 2016

Mornings in the Antarctic do not typically begin with rats, reindeer, whale slaughter and whiskey—but this was no ordinary day.

A week and a half into our voyage from South America to Antarctica, Pamelia and I were preparing to go ashore at two vastly different spots on remote and wildlife-rich South Georgia Island. The morning stop was Grytviken, site of a rusting, abandoned whaling station, a small history museum and the grave of famed explorer Ernest Shackleton. The afternoon would take us ashore at Jason Harbor, one of the most interesting and beautiful landscapes we would see on our three-week journey.

But first we learned about rats.

The kettle-pond bog landscape at Jason Harbor offered endless opportunities to explore.

A lecture on board the Akademik Sergei Vavilov laid out a tale of invasive species dating back at least a century. Brown rats arrived on South Georgia either on explorer James Cook's ship in 1775 or later on a whaling or sealing vessel and ever since then have wreaked havoc on ground-nesting birds, particularly the South Georgia pipit and the South Georgia pintail duck. Expanding herds of reindeer—brought in by Norwegian whalers in the early 1900s as a source of food—compounded the problem by eating tussock grass needed for bird nesting and otherwise damaging the environment.

Unlike most invasive-species stories, this one seems on track for a happy ending. The South Georgia Heritage Trust launched a multiyear project to rid the island of rats using poison pellets dropped by helicopter. That program has worked so well—with minimal impact on birds that eat rats—that other invasive-species-plagued islands around the world want to emulate it. Meanwhile, the reindeer were culled by more traditional hunting. The populations of South Georgia pipits and South Georgia pintail ducks are already increasing, and Pamelia and I hoped to see both.

We learned in the lecture that the pipit is one of South Georgia's two endemic bird species.

Because of South Georgia's tricky winds, top helicopter pilots from New Zealand came in to fly the choppers and drop the pellets on a carefully calculated grid.

We wouldn't have to wait long. A short Zodiac ride took us ashore at Grytviken for a morning that combined history and animals—some of them alive, some of them stuffed, some of them (the whales) shown in photos being harpooned, dragged onto the beach, carved up and boiled down. It served as an important reminder of what happened in those rusty buildings in the first half of the 20th century to more than 100,000 highly intelligent, sensitive, social mammals.

Between 1904 and 1965, the whaling complex at Grytviken killed and "processed" at least 30,000 (I've seen numbers closer to 60,000) whales, reducing them to commercial products such as oil, meat, food-additive powder and even glycerine for… — Between 1904 and 1965, the whaling complex at Grytviken killed and "processed" at least 30,000 (I've seen numbers closer to 60,000) whales, reducing them to commercial products such as oil, meat, food-additive powder and even glycerine for World War I and WWII explosives. The total slaughtered by whalers based at South Georgia's various stations totaled 175,000, according to zoologist Mark Carwardine, our trip organizer, who's a leading whale expert.

As soon as we landed, we saw a Southern giant petrel eating the ghoulish remains of a young seal.

A few elephant seals relaxed in patches of snow.

The graves of Ernest Shackleton and several others are fenced off but open to visitors.

In keeping with the tradition of toasting Shackleton at his grave, a member of our crew welcomed us with a bottle of whiskey.

We were given the option of sharing the whiskey with the late Shackleton rather than drinking it ourselves. I chose to share.

Our ship historian, Katie Murray, who earlier had given us a lecture on the astounding story of how Shackleton and his crew on the Endurance survived after their ship was locked in (and crushed by) Antarctic ice, added a few final words before we to… — Our ship historian, Katie Murray, who earlier had given us a lecture on the astounding story of how Shackleton and his crew on the *Endurance* survived after their ship was locked in (and crushed by) Antarctic ice, added a few final words before we toasted.

Pamelia took a panoramic shot of some of the Vavilov explorers by the grave. Clouds were rolling in, and cold rain was about to start falling. — Pamelia took a panoramic shot of some of the *Vavilov* explorers by the grave. Clouds were rolling in, and cold rain was about to start falling.

We saw our first group of South Georgia pintail ducks off to the side of Shackleton's grave. These pintails are small ducks which mate for life and nest in the tussock grass. Their numbers were decimated by hunting when the whalers arrived on South … — We saw our first group of South Georgia pintail ducks off to the side of Shackleton's grave. These pintails are small ducks which mate for life and nest in the tussock grass. Their numbers were decimated by hunting when the whalers arrived on South Georgia, but have climbed some since the whaling stations closed in the 1960s.

These are pressure cookers that were part of the station's "blubber cookery." Read the sign if you can for a further explanation of how a living being was turned into industrial products.

The Grytviken station had a church, dorms, a mess hall and even an athletic field on which teams from rival whaling station played soccer matches.

Less than a century ago, this hulk was a whaling vessel. Note the harpoon cannon on the bow. The harpoons had explosive tips designed to blow up inside the whale's head and kill the mammal, if the gunner's aim was good enough.

Whaling and whalers have often been glorified in literature and history, but from today's perspective there seems little glory in the slaughter of highly evolved animals—mammal cousins of ours, known to live as long or longer than we do and to remain close to their family members. Yes, the whalers were tough men (in some cases racist ones, to judge from the Grytviken museum's fascinating installation on the treatment of black Africans brought in to toil at the station). But their brutal work brought some whale species to the brink of extinction in the Southern Ocean and seriously affected world whale populations.

One member of our expedition said that her father had been based at Grytviken as a young engineer and that he was horrified by the wanton killing of whales that went on even after demand for whale products had virtually disappeared. The experience left such an impact on him that he went on to work on environmental projects such as research into declining albatross numbers and the link to long-line fishing.

(I should note that my 88-year-old father later told me that the factory he worked in used whale oil in honing machine tools; a bit of abrasive would be added to the top-quality oil for the last, finest honing. What happened when whale oil was no longer available, I asked him. "We used Crisco," he said.)

With the cold rain falling on us as we wandered among the rusted relics, a few in our group joked that the whaling station might better be called "Grim-viken." It would indeed be the most somber and sobering stop on our voyage, but one that we would never forget.

I took one last look around the station before heading inside.

Grytviken has the only post office on South Georgia, so we all stopped in to send postcards or buy unique stamps.

Pamelia checked out the albatross and other specimens in the museum.

We were glad to get back to the Sergey Vavilov to dry off and warm up. And as so often happened in our travels in the Antarctic, the weather soon changed dramatically. Our afternoon at Jason Harbor could not have been more beautiful—or a better antidote to the grim reality of Grytviken.

The clumps of tussock grass were a wild backdrop for the beachful of elephant seals.

After the hundreds of thousands of king penguins we had seen earlier on South Georgia, this lone one seemed dramatic in a different way.

The mossy landscape was dotted with kettle pools.

Pairs of South Georgia pintail ducks (which mate for life) fed in the boggy grass.

...and met up with a king penguin cousin.

Pamelia studied the gentoos as inspiration for a sumo ink study that she would soon do back on the ship as part of her time-lapse penguin series.

Pamelia roamed back to a snowy hillside on which a cluster of penguins were hanging out. On the way, she and I saw...

...stunningly beautiful, graceful Antarctic terns. They closely resemble Arctic terns but don't migrate as far. Arctic terns fly from Arctic to Antarctic and back each year, while their Antarctic cousins generally don't go farther north than th… — ...stunningly beautiful, graceful Antarctic terns. They closely resemble Arctic terns but don't migrate as far. Arctic terns fly from Arctic to Antarctic and back each year, while their Antarctic cousins generally don't go farther north than the coast of South America—still no small feat. We couldn't stop watching them.

The terns hovered momentarily before diving to feed by the kettle pools.

The young seals again studied us and eagerly approached us. In one case, when an expedition member lay on the ground, a young seal came over and laid on top of her as a pet dog or cat might.

By day's end Pamelia and I were tired but elated. We shared dinner with an expedition member from the Isle of Man, a self-governing entity located between England and Ireland—never a dull conversation on this ship!—and then learned that tomorrow's wakeup call would come at 4 a.m. No problem. We would visit three more amazing spots on South Georgia Island, including Salisbury Cove, a haven for seals and penguins; Prion Island, home to nesting wandering albatrosses and those rare South Georgia pipits that we had yet to see; and Elsehul, a place that would turn out to be as moody and memorable as its Lord of the Rings-sounding name might suggest.

Off to bed we went, eager for a new day in an extraordinary adventure that just kept getting better. —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Stuck at Sea In the Antarctic With A Rescued Bird, A Paintbrush and a Stowaway

December 22, 2015

At 6 a.m. we had a problem. Waves and 45-mph winds were swaying our Russian science-research ship, the Akademik Sergey Vavilov, as it cruised along the coast of South Georgia Island. Would our group of Antarctic expeditioners still go ashore by Zodiac at 7:30 a.m. as planned? Would we be able to explore yet another extraordinary part of South Georgia, the vast penguin and seal colony at Salisbury Plain?

Not on this day. The winds would soon top 50 knots (close to 60 mph), making Zodiac travel impossible. Instead, as the Vavliov searched without luck for a landing spot anywhere on South Georgia, we explored the Antarctic on board, through lectures, books, binoculars, conversations and, in Pamelia's case, art.

So close yet so far: On a day of wild waves and constantly changing weather—including sideways-blowing snow and brief explosions of sunshine—we couldn't reach the spectacular South Georgia shores in front of us. — So close yet so far: On a day of wild waves and constantly changing weather—including sideways-blowing snow and brief explosions of sunshine—we couldn't reach the spectacular South Georgia shores in front of us.

The ever-fun One Oceans Expeditions team and trip organizer/zoologist/wildlife photographer Mark Carwardine had prepared us for high-wind days with a slide show earlier in the voyage. This was one of my favorite slides.

Even in rough conditions, our cabin window afforded Pamelia a good view for photographing birds and other sights.

Having passed the Antarctic Convergence (where cold and warm ocean waters collide and the Antarctic climate and ecosystems begin) we were seeing icebergs more regularly. They glowed blue from the light hitting an exceptionally clear, dense, air… — Having passed the Antarctic Convergence (where cold and warm ocean waters collide and the Antarctic climate and ecosystems begin) we were seeing icebergs more regularly. They glowed blue from the light hitting an exceptionally clear, dense, air-bubble-less type of ice that absorbs every color of light except blue. It's air bubbles that make ice look white.

The ship brought us within sight of the abandoned Stromness whaling station. This is where the remarkable explorer Ernest Shackleton, desperate to find help for his stranded crew, arrived in May 1916 after surviving not only months with hi… — The ship brought us within sight of the abandoned Stromness whaling station. This is where the remarkable explorer Ernest Shackleton, desperate to find help for his stranded crew, arrived in May 1916 after surviving not only months with his ship locked in sea ice, but also a journey to desolate Elephant Island, an 800-mile open-water voyage to South Georgia in a lifeboat and finally a nonstop, last-ounce-of-energy crossing of the mountains shown here. We would be visiting Shackleton's grave soon.

A few hearty souls ventured onto the bow during lulls in the winds.

This stranded-at-sea day had another surprise twist: Two stowaways were on the ship. One was in a cardboard box in a gear room on a lower deck. The other was our cabin, soon to be seasick.

The stowaway in the box was a common diving petrel. The ship's ornithologist, Simon Boyes of One Ocean Expeditions, had found it during his daily check for any birds that had accidentally flown into or been blown into the Sergey Vavilov.

The petrel was not injured, just stunned. Whether he had been attracted by lights on the ship we couldn't know, but for days we had been required to darken all windows (and the ship had minimized its lights) to avoid just such an occurrence. Some of us gathered to watch as Simon released the fully revived bird—which would soon be back to its routine of diving up to 200 feet underwater to feed on crustaceans—early in the afternoon.

Simon Boyes held up the web-footed common diving petrel for all of us to see before releasing it from the side of the ship.

Just a handful of people on the Sergey Vavilov knew about the second stowaway. Pamelia and I had smuggled him on board in Ushuaia, Argentina, the day the trip began. Those who had seen him had reacted positively. "Good to know he's here," voyage organizer Mark Carwardine, the British zoologist and conservationist, had told us after meeting him. "We might call upon him if we need another after-dinner speaker one night."

The stowaway—whom One Ocean Expeditions trip leader Boris Wise referred to with a smile as "the ninety-ninth passenger"—was the fellow shown here:

Yes, Charles Darwin was on board.

Say what, you ask? History's greatest naturalist? The one who died in 1882? Well, nearly a year ago we brought Darwin back to life at The Naturalist's Notebook—see the Darwin Lives! header at the top of this page—and we have been traveling with him ever since. Taking him on this voyage made perfect sense because he had visited Tierra del Fuego and the Falkland Islands in the 1830s while aboard the Beagle and both stops had helped him gather evidence that culminated in his world-changing 1859 book, On the Origin of Species.

Charles was so excited about revisiting parts of his Beagle route that (with some coaxing from us) he even began writing Charles Darwin's Blog (click on bold letters to read) at the start of this trip.

Here's Charles Darwin with us in May 2015 at his home, Down House, in England. This is the famous Sand Walk on which he took his daily strolls with his beloved dogs back in the 1800s. Darwin called it his "thinking path." — Here's Charles Darwin with us in May 2015 at his home, Down House, in England. This is the famous Sand Walk on which he took his daily strolls with his beloved dogs back in the 1800s. Darwin called it his "thinking path."

You'll see more of Darwin before the voyage is over, but for now I'll leave you with one image that illustrates how the great but seasickness-prone adventurer was feeling on this day:

As we rested with Darwin in our cabin, Pamelia took out her paint brush and inks and began a series of time-lapse penguin paintings, which some of you have heard about. For those of you who missed it, Pamelia began sketching penguins in order to get to know and identify them better. She held her pink iPhone in her left hand and taped time-lapse movies of herself painting with her right hand, all on a swaying ship. It was amazing to watch.

She said that the phone sometimes blocked her view as she was painting.

Check out the short video above to see her king penguin time-lapse, the second in her penguin series. We'll be posting others soon. If you missed the first time-lapse (painting a chinstrap penguin), scroll down and you'll find it. Or click on this link: https://youtu.be/8_0xjyI4sr4

In our cabin, the gallery of Pamelia's penguin and Falkland Island bird studies was growing. That large study in the middle was her second time-lapse attempt at a king penguin—and still she felt that she did not get it right. But that's why you do m… — In our cabin, the gallery of Pamelia's penguin and Falkland Island bird studies was growing. That large study in the middle was her second time-lapse attempt at a king penguin—and still she felt that she did not get it right. But that's why you do multiple studies.

For fun, Pamelia and I also made a 22-second time-lapse of activity in our cabin on this day at sea, below. Darwin's even in it (sort of)!

By early evening, the weather was looking more promising. The revised expedition forecast called for at least two landings, a big dose of history and wildlife galore on South Georgia Island the next morning. We Antarctic adventurers were back on track, and even Charles Darwin was feeling better.—Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Sunset over South Georgia Island.Coming next: Whaling, rat patrols, rare ducks and 10 a.m. whiskey? — Sunset over South Georgia Island.
**Coming next**: Whaling, rat patrols, rare ducks and 10 a.m. whiskey?

The Antarctic fur seal startled me by charging out from behind a clump of tussock grass. He made clear that I had ventured into his territory.

Don't Mess With a Fur Seal

December 15, 2015

Pamelia and I heard the news when we climbed out of a Zodiac onto shore at Gold Harbor on South Georgia Island. "There's a light-mantled albatross nest at the top of the hill," said one of our Antarctic expedition leaders. "If you want to come along, we're going up to take a look."

Of course I wanted to come along. Never mind that the beach was alive with tens of thousands of king penguins, southern elephant seals and predatory sea birds in a spectacular setting with two glaciers as a backdrop. They could all wait for a moment. I had to look at the nest.

I had never seen a light-mantled albatross, described by some as the most beautiful member of the albatross family. Light-mantleds are smaller than most varieties—their wingspan is 7 to 8 feet compared to the world-record 8 to 11 feet of their more famous cousins, wandering albatrosses—and their distinct coloration has been compared to that of a Siamese cat. Their light-gray eye rings almost glow against the darker feathers on their heads.

We climbed slowly toward the nest on slick mud and patches of snow.

Little did I realize when I began the ascent that the tussock grass was loaded with Antarctic fur seals...

...or how handsome those those seals look...

...or how long and sharp their teeth are.

I began trudging in the muck between large clumps of tussock grass. I had taken only a dozen steps up the hill when I heard a bellow to my left. In a flash an Antarctic fur seal was charging at me from 15 feet away. He'd been hidden by the tussock grass. He was more than a little agitated to see an intruder in his territory in breeding season.

We expedition members had been warned about this. Earlier in this journey to the Antarctic, everyone on board our ship, the Russian oceanographic vessel the Sergey Vavilov, been shown a slide of a human hand that had been chomped by a male Antarctic fur seal. The hand was bloody and mutilated. Tendons were severed. Yikes. This was not your typical welcome-to-the-Antarctic! photo, but that was the point; none of us would ever forget it. We silently swore to give Antarctic fur seals—95% of whose world population breeds on South Georgia Island—abundant room and respect.

This utterly accidental meeting was my first encounter with one. I retreated as fast as I could, slipping and stumbling as another climber slammed her ski pole on the ground and hollered to distract the seal. He stopped, watched me and in a few moments returned to his original spot in the tussock grass. Victory was his. No blood had been shed. I was rattled but relieved.

Truth is, if I were a fur seal—Antarctic or otherwise—I wouldn't look upon humans so kindly either. Consider all that we have done to them even though they're fellow mammals which used to live on land (before they adapted to their changing environment and developed fins) and whose DNA is estimated to be 80 to 85 percent the same as ours. At the sight of these all-too-handsome animals, some humans have felt the urge to hug them (bad idea) but too many others have acted upon the urge to club them and wear them as coats or boots (worse idea).

Later I learned that I was not alone in my hillside experience. At least six other fur seals had chased away members of our expedition, even though we were trying to avoid them. I now understood why some landing sites on South Georgia are closed off to visitors when larger numbers of fur seals show up in breeding season and establish their territory.

I resumed my climb, slip-sliding every other step before taking a blooper-reel splat onto my backside. It was all worth it. I caught a glimpse of the nest and spent time watching and marveling at a light-mantled albatross in flight. My afternoon was already made—and I hadn't made it yet to the wildlife extravaganza on the beach below me.

The light-mantled albatross was even more beautiful than I expected. Look at that eye!

Here's an albatross arriving at the nest.

Like all albatrosses, light-mantleds are declining in number. As with many other types, these albatrosses often get caught on the baited hooks of commercial long-line fishing boats and drown. Happily, this wasn't the last we would see of light-mantl… — Like all albatrosses, light-mantleds are declining in number. As with many other types, these albatrosses often get caught on the baited hooks of commercial long-line fishing boats and drown. Happily, this wasn't the last we would see of light-mantleds on our trip—though our next encounter with them, at a different location on South Georgia, would be in crazier conditions.

Before going down the hill I looked out over Gold Harbor at a lovely rock shag gliding in the distance. On the Zodiac ride in we had seen other sea birds, including Antarctic terns and imperial shags.

I descended to the Gold Harbor beach. Would you like to imagine yourself there for a moment? A cold, sunny November afternoon (spring here in the Southern Hemisphere) is turning grayer and the wind is picking up. Mountains and those dramatic, spilling glaciers are in front of you. You are standing on a beach relatively few humans ever see, on one of the world's most remote and remarkable islands and breeding grounds, South Georgia, the Sergengeti of Antarctic wildlife.

Pause and look out at the expanse of seals, penguins and birds before you. Are you ready? Let's explore:

Multi-ton male southern elephant seals—known as "beachmasters," ruling large swaths of the shore and "harems" of up to 100 females (see our Dec. 9 post, below) —relaxed in the sand... — Multi-ton male southern elephant seals—known as "beachmasters," ruling large swaths of the shore and "harems" of up to 100 females (*see our Dec. 9 post, below*) —relaxed in the sand...

..with one of the two Gold Harbor glaciers behind them.

Here's a closer look at the awesome mass of ice and snow and its hint of glowing blue. The well-defined rock strata bespeak South Georgia Island's deep geologic history.

The snout that gives the elephant seal its name enables a bull like this one to trumpet his deep, lion-like roar across the entire beach. It also helps him conserve moisture when breathing, an important function when the bull is on land in breeding … — The snout that gives the elephant seal its name enables a bull like this one to trumpet his deep, lion-like roar across the entire beach. It also helps him conserve moisture when breathing, an important function when the bull is on land in breeding season and can't leave the beach to feed.

This jovial-looking male had been through some battles, as you could see from the scars on his neck. He had earned his status as a beachmaster.

Males typically grow to about 16 feet—so long that the front and rear of their bodies look like separate pieces in the water. This one was a so-called "sneaker," a male who tries to sneak onto the beach and mate with a female when the beachmaster is… — Males typically grow to about 16 feet—so long that the front and rear of their bodies look like separate pieces in the water. This one was a so-called "sneaker," a male who tries to sneak onto the beach and mate with a female when the beachmaster isn't looking.

Some young elephant seals turned eroded tussock clumps into pillows.

Beachmasters, mothers, pups and weaned youngsters—called weaners—crowded together along the water.

These fearless brown birds are skuas. We watched them suddenly fly in en masse to devour what we think was the placenta of a seal pup that had just been born.

Southern giant petrels also arrived to join the feast.

Wait—who was this? A species of penguin that Pamelia and I had not seen before on this trip? Indeed, it was a gentoo penguin, one of a handful of that variety that came ashore in front of us. Gentoos are the fastest-swimming penguins (up to 22 mph u… — Wait—who was this? A species of penguin that Pamelia and I had not seen before on this trip? Indeed, it was a gentoo penguin, one of a handful of that variety that came ashore in front of us. Gentoos are the fastest-swimming penguins (up to 22 mph underwater) and have the most prominent tails. I'll save the tale of penguin tails for later.

Gentoos are a near-threatened species, but recent evidence suggests that they may be less adversely affected by climate change than certain other penguin species because they are less dependent on sea ice to survive. That is, when feeding they don't… — Gentoos are a near-threatened species, but recent evidence suggests that they may be less adversely affected by climate change than certain other penguin species because they are less dependent on sea ice to survive. That is, when feeding they don't rely as heavily on the tiny shrimp-like creatures called krill that proliferate on the underside of sea ice and form a foundation of the food chain in the Antarctic's rich waters. In fact, as sea ice has declined around the Antarctic peninsula, causing sharp drops in populations of some other penguins, gentoo numbers on the peninsula have been increasing. More on that whole story later as well.

This one may look small (and, might I add, courageous) next to massive elephant seals, but gentoos, which stand 30 inches tall, are the third-largest penguin species after four-foot-tall emperors and three-foot-tall kings.

Speaking of which, king penguins—whom we had seen by the hundreds of thousands breeding and molting just a few hours earlier at St. Andrews Bay on South Georgia (see previous post, below)—were amassed on the beach at Gold Harbor. That's our wonderfu… — Speaking of which, king penguins—whom we had seen by the hundreds of thousands breeding and molting just a few hours earlier at St. Andrews Bay on South Georgia (*see previous post, below*)—were amassed on the beach at Gold Harbor. That's our wonderful floating home, the *Sergey Vavilov*, in the background.

...Gold Harbor had a LOT of king penguins.

This king chick seemed to be wearing an oversized coat. Note the reptile-like feet, a reminder that penguins and other birds evolved from dinosaurs. In a thrilling moment for me, a different chick and an adult later approached me as I sat on the gro… — This king chick seemed to be wearing an oversized coat. Note the reptile-like feet, a reminder that penguins and other birds evolved from dinosaurs. In a thrilling moment for me, a different chick and an adult later approached me as I sat on the ground. They sniffed and pecked at my boot. Pamelia and I were again finding that if we stayed in one spot for long enough, the animals would come to us.

Skuas are predators who will feed on penguin eggs or chicks, and they made frequent reconnaissance runs over the king colony.

One king penguin chick shooed away a skua that seemed to be ominously eyeing him for lunch.

This skua was attracted to Pamelia and nearly landed on her head—no small matter for either of them, given that skuas have a four- to five-foot wingspan and weigh about 17 pounds (more than a bowling ball). Instead he plunked down on the ground just… — This skua was attracted to Pamelia and nearly landed on her head—no small matter for either of them, given that skuas have a four- to five-foot wingspan and weigh about 17 pounds (more than a bowling ball). Instead he plunked down on the ground just a few inches from her feet and, in yet another unforgettable experience, stayed there for a long time staring up at her. (Pamelia was not photographing him, by the way; she was frozen in place watching him.)

Near the end of the afternoon, a weaner fell asleep on the tarp on which our crew members had carried gear; they resisted the temptation to wrap him up and take him back to the ship.

Before too long, dark was beginning to settle in and we needed to return to the Sergey Vavilov. Over a delicious dinner that night, One Ocean Expeditions team leader Boris Wise tantalized us with the news that early the next morning we would reboard the Zodiacs and go ashore at Salisbury Plain, yet another of South Georgia Island's seemingly endless variety of astounding sites, one that would be packed with more than 100,000 animals and possibly reveal to us a rare bird called the South Georgia pipit. We might explore two other breeding grounds later in the day.

Boris did add a caveat. The winds might be picking up a bit more overnight, to, um, gale force. Gale force? Sleep tight.—Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Coming next: Rough seas, icebergs, a bird rescue and the trail of Ernest Shackleton.

What an amazing afternoon in Gold Harbor!

The expanse of adult penguins and chicks at St. Andrews Bay on South Georgia Island was hard to fully absorb. It spread in every direction. (Please note that you can click on each photo in this blog and see it much larger.)

On a Beach With 200,000 King Penguins and Southern Elephant Seals

December 9, 2015

At 2 a.m., like a child on Christmas morning, Pamelia lay awake in her cabin bed, anticipating one of the most extraordinary days of our life.

Our Russian oceanographic ship, the Sergey Vavilov, had traveled 1,500 nautical miles from the bottom tip of South America to South Georgia Island, one of the most remote places and remarkable breeding grounds on Earth. Only 7,000 people set foot on this mountainous, 100-mile-long island each year. Landings must be made with inflatable Zodiacs. Tricky conditions (including gravity-pulled "katabatic" winds that roar down off South Georgia's glaciers at 60 mph) and bad timing (areas that are off-limits in key breeding months by international agreement) frequently block visitors from going ashore.

Not us. By the time a friendly 4 a.m. wakeup call came over our cabin's loudspeaker, dawn had broken on a crisp, beautiful morning: patches of blue sky, temperature 30 degrees F and the wind 17 miles per hour, a third of what it had been the previous day (scroll down for our earlier posts). We looked out and saw only a slight chop on the waters of St. Andrews Bay, the first of the day's two planned South Georgia landing sites. Game on!

The farther south we sailed, the longer the days were becoming in the Southern Hemisphere spring. At 4:30 a.m. the sun at St. Andrews Bay was already illuminating some of South Georgia's spectacular mountains. — The farther south we sailed, the longer the days were becoming in the Southern Hemisphere spring. At 4:30 a.m. the sun at St. Andrews Bay was already illuminating some of South Georgia's spectacular mountains.

As always, an early Zodiac tested the route to shore and picked a landing spot.

After a quick breakfast—not too much coffee, for we would be on shore for six hours with no bathroom options, as is nearly always the case on Antarctic and sub-Antarctic landings—Pamelia and I pulled on our many layers of winter clothing and grabbed our orange waterproof backpacks of camera gear. We headed off to take a 15-minute, wind-in-our-faces, cheek-burning Zodiac ride to the wildest shoreline we've ever seen.

Ten to 12 expeditioners climbed into each Zodiac...

...and off we zoomed toward a shore where we human adventurers would be outnumbered at least 2,000 to one—2,000 to one!—by king penguins and southern elephant seals.

Our new Swedish friend Eva Westerholm, a former pro soccer player and a cornerstone of the excellent and international One Oceans Expedition team, commanded the Zodiac and filled us in on what to do when we landed. — Our new Swedish friend Eva Westerholm, a former pro soccer player and a cornerstone of the excellent and international One Oceans Expedition team, commanded the Zodiac and filled us in on what to do when we landed.

Each of those tiny dots was a king penguin or a southern elephant seal. You can also see a few penguins swimming and dolphining in the foreground. We always think of penguins endearingly waddling on land, but these flightless birds spend three-… — Each of those tiny dots was a king penguin or a southern elephant seal. You can also see a few penguins swimming and dolphining in the foreground. We always think of penguins endearingly waddling on land, but these flightless birds spend three-quarters of their lives in their primary home, the water—their wings have effectively evolved into flippers—and they're agile, acrobatic swimmers. King penguins can dive 1,000 feet and stay submerged for five minutes while feeding on small fish and squid. They're amazing animals.

Hundreds of the king penguins seemed eager to welcome us at the landing site.

We saw more of them swimming, heard their loud chatter and whiffed the tangy smell of penguin guano as we neared shore.

"Don't panic. Stop for a few minutes to absorb the scene around you. Take your time. Then pick one animal or a small group. Concentrate on watching them for a while."

One of the trip leaders had offered those words of advice for our landing at St. Andrews. He knew how electrifying and overwhelming the up-close-and-personal sight of 200,000 penguins and seals can be, especially for nature lovers who have cameras in their hands and are eager to shoot photos, as nearly all of us were.

The words echoed in my head as I swung my legs over the side of the Zodiac, plunked into the shin-deep 34-degree water, waded ashore in my rubber boots and entered a world that was...electrifying and overwhelming.

For the next six hours, we were wide awake to life. In a spectacular setting ringed by snowy mountains and the rapidly retreating Ross glacier (hello, climate change), with a sparkling bay in front of us and the sky constantly changing, Pamelia, I and our 90-odd fellow expeditioners wandered among, photographed and studied these fascinating animals. We watched dramas unfold—predatory birds called skuas coming after penguin chicks, male elephant seals doing battle with each other, sometimes bloodily, penguin chicks pestering their mothers for food until the moms gave in and disgorged a mouthful into the chicks' bills.

March of the Penguins? This wasn't the same species as in that wonderful documentary, but the king penguins were marching everywhere we looked on the two-mile curve of beach.

The penguins mingled among us, unperturbed by our presence and often eager to approach us for a closer look

As their name suggests, king penguins are among the most regal-looking of the world's 18 penguin species. At three feet tall and about 40 pounds, they are second in size only to four-foot-tall, up-to-100-pound emperor penguins, which live on the Ant… — As their name suggests, king penguins are among the most regal-looking of the world's 18 penguin species. At three feet tall and about 40 pounds, they are second in size only to four-foot-tall, up-to-100-pound emperor penguins, which live on the Antarctic continent (and were the subject of *March of the Penguins*).

Eight-month-old chicks often followed their mothers around begging to be fed. Quite a few of the mothers were still out at sea gathering food.

The birds communicated in ways we couldn't always understand. Many of the chicks gathered in groups called creches that were overseen by a small number of adults.

The beach was carpeted with feathers—many of the adult penguins were molting—and adorned with white, yellow and green squirt-blotches of penguin guano. It also was littered with the remnants of dead penguin chicks and sea birds. Some of the chicks may have succumbed to the long Antarctic winter that had just ended; others might have fallen to one of the skuas that were gliding just overhead and wandering the grounds looking for feeding opportunities.

The chicks' fluffy brown coats gave them an adorably comical look but weren't waterproof, so the chicks couldn't go into the ocean. The coats will fall off through molting a few months from now and the young penguins will head to sea.

Many of the adult king penguins were already molting. With their feathers falling out they, like the chicks, weren't waterproof and couldn't go into the ocean to feed. Instead they remained on shore, staying as still as possible to avoid w… — Many of the adult king penguins were already molting. With their feathers falling out they, like the chicks, weren't waterproof and couldn't go into the ocean to feed. Instead they remained on shore, staying as still as possible to avoid wasting energy. Note the angled-up feet: King penguins (like the emperors in *March of the Penguins*) cradle their egg atop their feet to keep it warm and dry. They frequently stand in this tilted-back posture even without an egg, as was the case here.

The molting process wasn't always pretty.

The penguins' seemingly headless poses made for fun photos.

A resting chick showed us the underside of its leathery, ground-gripping feet, which didn't look so different from our winter gloves.

Some of the penguins went off to frolic on a snowy hillside at the back of the beach.

Many thousands of them gathered along, and swam in, a runoff stream from the retreating glacier. Yes, that's snow falling. Squalls moved in, typical of the constantly changing weather in this part of the world.

King penguins can live 15 to 20 years in the wild, or not make it past a few months as a chick at St. Andrews.

The skuas were a constant reminder of the threat to penguin chicks.

As were the southern giant petrels (wingspan up to seven feet), a species we would see often in the days ahead (sometimes pulling at a penguin or seal carcass). That tube atop the bill is for excreting salt from the ocean water it drinks, an evoluti… — As were the southern giant petrels (wingspan up to seven feet), a species we would see often in the days ahead (sometimes pulling at a penguin or seal carcass). That tube atop the bill is for excreting salt from the ocean water it drinks, an evolutionary feature that other seabirds share, though not always so prominently.

This curious elephant seal pup stared, sniffed and grunted at a dead giant petrel for several minutes.. — This curious elephant seal pup stared, sniffed and grunted at a dead giant petrel for several minutes..

Because the beach was so large, we all were all able to explore different scenes and animals that caught our interest. As was evident from photos we saw later, each of us experienced St. Andrews slightly differently. Pamelia plunked herself down in a few spots and had long stretches with individual penguins and elephant seal pups. I roamed more widely.

Many of us followed the photographic advice given to us a couple of days earlier by trip organizer Mark Carwardine, the great wildlife photographer and zoologist. He said to drop to the ground for shots and see the animals at their level. Having a dirty jacket and pants from doing that became a badge of honor throughout the Antarctic trip.

Pamelia was one of the many ground-based shooters.

This chick became particularly fond of her—or at least her boot.

This elephant seal pup wiggled his way more than 20 feet to get within an arm's length of Pamelia as she sat on the ground. The two stared into each other's eyes for several minutes—a pair of mammal cousins from different species and parts of the pl… — This elephant seal pup wiggled his way more than 20 feet to get within an arm's length of Pamelia as she sat on the ground. The two stared into each other's eyes for several minutes—a pair of mammal cousins from different species and parts of the planet connecting in a way Pamelia will never forget. I should note that at this time in the pups' lives, their mothers have left them to fend for themselves. The pups haven't realized yet that their mothers aren't returning, and seem to crave companionship.

Among those taking in the action in our group of expeditioners was award-winning wildlife filmmaker Peter Bassett (far left), one of David Attenborough's former BBC producers, who was shooting footage throughout the trip.

The penguins and seals coexisted comfortably...

...though the undisputed bosses of the beach were the roaring "beachmaster" male elephant seals. Each weighed between 5,000 and 9,000 pounds—southern elephant seal bulls are easily the heaviest carnivorous mammals on the planet—and ruled a "harem" o… — ...though the undisputed bosses of the beach were the roaring "beachmaster" male elephant seals. Each weighed between 5,000 and 9,000 pounds—southern elephant seal bulls are easily the heaviest carnivorous mammals on the planet—and ruled a "harem" of up to 100 far smaller females, which weighed one-fifth as much. The beachmasters fiercely defended their turf against other males who tried to sneak in and mate with harem members. Check out all the fight scars on this guy's neck and chest.

This was a typical example of mouth-to-mouth combat. The beachmaster always won.

By contrast, the weaned seal pups—called weaners—were playful...

Some pups were still nursing. They would be doubling and tripling and quadrupling in size in a matter of days on milk that is more than 50 percent milk fat, compared to four percent for human mothers' milk. (The mothers can end up losing hundreds of… — Some pups were still nursing. They would be doubling and tripling and quadrupling in size in a matter of days on milk that is more than 50 percent milk fat, compared to four percent for human mothers' milk. (The mothers can end up losing hundreds of pounds during nursing.)

Nearly all of the seals seemed content to lounge around in the 30-degree sunshine.

Though it was easy to chuckle at the southern elephant seals' loud and frequent vocalizations—most of which sounded like embarrassing human bodily functions—it was sobering to recall that humans hunted them to near-extinction in the 19th century. Th… — Though it was easy to chuckle at the southern elephant seals' loud and frequent vocalizations—most of which sounded like embarrassing human bodily functions—it was sobering to recall that humans hunted them to near-extinction in the 19th century. Their numbers are starting to fall again, for reasons that aren't entirely clear. These majestic animals regularly dive more than half a mile underwater (sometimes more than a mile) and stay submerged for more than 20 minutes when hunting for fish and squid. We looked forward to seeing and studying more of them in the days ahead.

As we neared the six-hour mark, we wended our way carefully around resting beachmaster seals and back to the Zodiacs. The Sergey Vavilov had to move on to our afternoon landing spot on South Georgia, a seal, penguin and albatross breeding site called Gold Harbor. The photos here scarcely do justice to what we had just experienced. We left feeling awed and humbled by the extraordinary animals and the dramatic landscape, which only one in a million humans will ever get to see.

And we weren't even halfway through this astounding day. —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

It was hail and farewell to this colony of kings, but our penguin experiences were only beginning to unfold.

Coming next: Glaciers, Gold and why you shouldn't get too close to a male fur seal...

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