A voyage to the Ross Sea Antarctica, part 11
A return to Possession Island and a champagne toast.
When I wake up in the morning we’re at 73°15.25' S, 170°26.31' E near Coulman Island. We’re sailing towards Cape Halette and Cape Adare to the north. The skies are blue but clouds have begun to spread. By 10:00 it’ll be overcast.
In the morning Lachie gives a lecture on where the animals go after we leave. He tells us after one voyage he was curious and so he got to researching. His lecture contains the answers he sought.
In the afternoon we’re back at Possession Island. I notice the familiar rock outcropping like a person on the hill, another jutting out of the sea like a sharkfin. It’s where we did our first zodiac cruise in the ice pack.
The seas swell and we’re unable to do a landing. A zodiac cruise is proposed and we’re called once again by our groups. We file into Lachie’s zodiac and a box is loaded in afterwards. I ask him what it is. He tells us it’s safety equipment.
We head away from the ship, away from the island towards the ice. Under the dark skies the waves appear ominous. A lone penguin floats on the edge of the ice, looking forlorn.
We cruise along the ice, spotting a leopard seal laying further in the pack. A whale surfaces close by a zodiac near us but I don’t see it. Only a few happen to catch a glimpse. We wait to see if it will resurface but in vain.
Lachie points the zodiac towards the island and drives us across the sea towards its volcanic form. Zodiacs dot the sea; red coats providing a splash of color in the otherwise monochromatic landscape.
Approaching the island we can see the basalt rock that forms the island, twisted columns and ice falls.
It’s a beautiful place, if harsh. A few hundred meters from the island Lachie leaves the helm and reaches for the box. He asks us to keep an eye out for our drift, to let him know if we start to come too close to the cliffs.
He reaches in the box and pulls out a bottle of champagne! He opens the bottle and we toast to our adventures. The Champagne Supanovas expand to encompass the entire zodiac.
Oscar drives by in his zodiac and Inge calls out to us, raising a glass. We toast her in return.
I pack away the empty bottle and glasses and Lachie continues our navigation around the island. It’s beautiful, the columns reaching towards the bluegreen sea. They remind of me baleen and I imagine the island as a great petrified whale that’s been pushed up from the depths.
As we continue along the coast the cliffs give way to a rocky shore. Penguins huddle on the shore, baby penguins needing to head to sea. Lachie tells us he saw a petrel eating a penguin chick earlier in the day and maneuvers the zodiac to see if he can find it again. He does and we see two petrels feasting. The chicks are raised surrounded by death.
In his presentation on where the animals go he had shown us a photo of Cape Bird filled with penguins. In season there are 30,000 breeding pairs. A month later, the beach would be empty. In the post-summer photo he photoshopped some dead penguins into it to reflect the harsh reality of their lives.
We head back to the ship, welcomed as always by the crew on the marina and June, who checks us back into the boat.
Tonight will be the first time we’ll see the sun set in almost a week. The thick cloud cover will preclude us from a clear view, but they bring their own atmosphere with it, and I am thrilled to see the sun setting in the clouds behind a tabular iceberg.
We continue north, sailing past Cape Adare. It’s snowing slightly when I head up to the deck six observatory. It’s much less cold than it has been and as I stand outside I see a a bunch of whales cross our path, their blows dotting the sea like dandelion blooms that dissipate in the wind.
I watch them in the distance as they breathe and dive, watching for tail fins. Finally I spot one dive, its fins in the air. It’s as if they’re waving goodbye.
Snow petrels have returned and I spot one or two flying around the ship. Now that the sun is to set once again I have to pull the blinds so that birds won’t be drawn to the light. It’s an effort to prevent bird strikes, but it’s not always successful. Though the bridge switches to night lighting, while navigating the ice, spotlights are necessary and one night a bird will end up striking the glass, and Aude, sadly, will have to be summoned to take care of it. 🇦🇶
— 7 February 2025
