By Ted Scull
1.The end is nigh. After too many hours in the air on multiple legs to reach the southern extremities of South America, my heart starts pounding, when minutes before landing, I see my ship down below.
2. Drifting into the expedition mode soon after settling in, we meet the team and hear a fascinating introductory account from a former sled dog driver, a profession has completely disappeared in Antarctica.
3. Two days later, sitting on a cliff edge in the Falkland Islands, my brother and I watch rock hopper penguins living up to their name as they return from the sea and start the steep climb up to their lairs. The leader stops for a scratch and a look around, and the long line of hoppers behind pauses. All seem ever so patient and none try passing the boss or each other. Then the movement upward continues.
Rockhopper in the Falkland Islands. * Photo: Ted Scull
4. Standing on the back deck, a Wandering Albatross, largest seabird in the world, effortlessly follows us for the next two sea days to our first Antarctica landing. Every time I come back to the deck, the giant bird is there gliding so gracefully.
5. Just off the White Continent, I am enchanted by the fantastic shapes and range of colors the floating ice takes on, large tabular icebergs broken off the mainland, some immense enough to create their own winds.
6. I now see my brother enjoying himself, as after other mal de mer remedies failed, The Shot triumphed, and its calming effects last for a week.
7. We stay ashore until the last boat beckons, watching Gentoo penguins suddenly pop out of the water, land on their feet, some with a fish cradled in its mouth, wobble across the sand to feed their young.
8. High drama enfolds when my brother and I stray from the group. I see a low-flying skua coming directly at me. I duck at the last moment only to see it make a wide circle and head my way again. I pick up a piece of driftwood to protect my head, and he slams into it when I thrust it upward. I do not wait for another attack and high tail it out of there. My brother says I had inadvertently gotten too close to the skua’s ground nest, one that I never saw. I tell the expedition leader who replies that I was darn lucky not to be injured or worse as the skua aims straight for the eyes and forehead. I do not mention the incident to any of the other passengers.
9. While returning north, and after passing through a major storm, the sea in the matter of an hour quiets down, and we can land at Cape Horn. The hilly setting on terra firma is fields of wildflowers, tufted grass, lichen clinging to the rocks and grazing sheep. The walk up to a viewpoint is so peaceful compared to the wild Drake Passage that had lived up to its storybook reputation.
Ashore at Cape Horn. * Photo: Ted Scull
10. My brother leaves his camera in an overhead rack on the first of three flights home to San Francisco. It is returned to him in 48 hours, a distance of over 11,000 miles.
Posted In:
1 Comment
I love this article!