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

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!

Pamelia took this photo of a king penguin chick and adult at South Georgia in the Antarctic.

A Thanksgiving Wish

November 26, 2015

While traveling home last week from the pristine, wildlife-rich Antarctic (where less than a century ago some whales were hunted to near-extinction, and climate change now threatens a delicate web of ice and life), Pamelia and I unexpectedly found printed in our U.S. passports this timely quotation from the Mohawk version of the Thanksgiving Address: "We send thanks to all the Animal life in the world. They have many things to teach us as people. We are glad they are still here and we hope it will always be so."

A positive thought to consider this Thanksgiving Day: We humans (species name Homo sapiens, meaning—no irony intended—"wise person") have unlimited potential to learn more from and about our fellow animals (each of which has an extraordinary story and life, but no voice in human decision-making) and to work together to protect their future and habitat as well as ours.

Happy Thanksgiving to all! —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

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