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-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...
..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 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 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 weaners came three to a pack.
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 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 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 wonderful floating home, the Sergey Vavilov, in the background.
As I was saying...
...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 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 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!