Booth Island, Peterman Island February 2
During the upsurge of interest and exploration of the polar regions in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, Jean-Baptiste Charcot, a French medical doctor and scientist decided to represent France in such endeavors. He invested his personal fortune in a small, but well-made ship. Although he originally intended to head to the Arctic, he realized there was a better chance of discovery and fame in the unknown south. It was Charcot who gave Port Lockroy its name.
In his 1904 expedition, the ship and crew overwintered on what is now Booth Island. Charcot realized the importance of maintaining the mental and physical health of his crew. He set up scientific observations and programs. Each bunk on the ship had sliding doors to maintain some degree of privacy. There was a daily ration of wine and rum. There were lectures, chess games and various celebrations to break up the monotony of winter. I’ve seen a photo of two of the crew sitting in comfy chairs on the ice beside the ship, with a table and newspapers beside them, enjoying a glass of champagne on Bastille Day. There was a menu every day and the food went far beyond the standard seal and penguin. Once in May, Charcot arranged a picnic on a nearby island. Before cooking, they had to break up the meat and butter with axes, but the picnic was a success. Charcot set the standard of how to be a gentleman explorer.
We followed Charcot to Booth Island. As we entered the bay, the biting winds were high. Rafts of penguins were porpoising offshore. A pack of 30 or more crabeater seals were circling a small iceberg. They seemed to be trying to decide if they wanted to climb onto it. I think if all had tried to get on, they would have sunk it. After about 15 minutes of circling, they seemed to come to a group decision, and moved past the ice berg and made their way along the shore. It was a leisurely exploration. They occasionally stuck their heads up to look around for anything of interest, but eventually worked their way toward the entrance of the bay. Just out for a Sunday drive.
A sailboat was tucked into the lee of island. We never saw the occupants. Either they had decided to stay in their bunks or they were off somewhere having a picnic.
Our landing spot was right at the edge of a long up-sloping snow field. At the top were several rocky outcroppings that provided nesting areas for all three types of penguins we had become familiar with. Our landing spot on the shore was the same as the penguins. The cost of being built to streamline through the water is an undeniable awkwardness on land. Stubby little legs and short wings create a characteristic waddle and lack of balance. As they made their way down the slick rocks and into the water, they provided entertainment that was hard to turn away from. While some managed to make it to the water’s edge and to dive with their dignity intact, most put on a show. Nevertheless, whether by slipping, sliding, falling backward or an out of control flop, they all managed to enter the water.
Exiting is another matter. Through building speed and hurling themselves vertically out of the water, they would suddenly pop out of the water and land cleanly on their feet. This was their last act of grace and style until they left land again. Now the awkwardness returned for their long trek uphill to the nesting areas. It was a very long and busy penguin highway. The birds took little notice of the human traffic and kept to their routines. A couple of humans, perhaps inspired by the penguins’ willingness to look foolish, decided to put on their own show. Within minutes of each other, a passenger and a photographer each slipped on the ice and landed in the soupy mixture of snow, ice algae and guano. Not just down on one knee, where they might have salvaged a little dignity. No, these were the fully prone splats. Coming back up, they were both a very different color and a totally different scent. Apparently, the ship’s laundry is fully equipped to deal with such events, so other than being the butt of some persistent jokes, neither of the two suffered any lasting effects. They both hightailed it back to the ship.
After taking in the views of the landscape and several bays, we moved on to Peterman Island in the afternoon. Dense ice choked the landing site, but zodiacs are highly maneuverable and durable. Our zodiac pilot for this trip was one of the divers, and maybe one of the least experienced pilots. He seemed to like to see just how much ice the little boat could handle. And the largest chunks he could run over. This was all great fun, and while nearby zodiacs would skirt around some of the more challenging sections, we barreled right through. The price for these adventures would be to occasionally high center ourselves on some larger pieces and completely stall our momentum. Other pilots would come by and offer to pull us off, but our guy would wave them off, throw the engine in reverse and stick his boot into the water and kick the offending ice aside.
On the way to the landing, we took an extended trip away from the ship and among the icebergs. The wind was blowing and the conditions were a bit rough. I think this was the first and only time on the trip that I felt a bit cold, wishing for an extra layer or two. But penguins were porpoising all around us, and this time at eye level. Seals were lying on little bergs so close to us we could almost touch them. We moved among some massive bergs, some with arches carved into them by wind and waves and some with ribbed patterns. Cold was a minor inconvenience.
The landing was like many others. A number of nesting sites. A variety of birds, but this time mostly adélies. But this never became routine. On all of the landings, there was always something new to see, a new behavior to observe or a new comic way the penguins found to entertain us. Chicks frantically chasing after adults trying to score a meal was always a winner. One particular rookery on this island was quite rocky, steep and slick. Watching these awkward birds hurl themselves near cliff edges with abandon and without any sense of balance, made me wonder how any survive to adulthood. In between these Keystone Kops chases, the penguins would become still, almost contemplative. Then one would raise its beak skyward and call out. Sometimes others would join in. Sometimes it was a solo performance.
Snow began to fall, this time heavier than other days. It was time to make our way down to the boats, through the ice-choked bay, and back to the warmth of the ship.
