Antarctica: Whaler’s Bay and Deception Island (part 5)

Somewhere at the edge of the world, right where the globe dips down towards Antarctica, two-days by ship from South America, lie the South Shetland Islands. They’re an improbable find on a map. The Ocean Endeavour is sailing toward one particular landmass in this archipelago. The island is called Deception. It’s not really an island, it’s a massive sunken volcano; and we’re sailing into it’s drowned caldera. I’ve never sailed into an active volcano before.

Through a gap in the rocky outer ring that surrounds it, we enter the center of doughnut-shaped Deception. Dark-omened Ravn Rock flies up in the middle of this treacherously narrow passage, making it a tight squeeze. You can barely see the rock breaking the surface of the water. To our left, the rusted memory of an iron hull from some long sunken-ship lies like a doorstop at the portal. There’s a 12 foot long elephant seal lounging like Jabba The Hutt next to it, bidding welcome to the menagerie within.

Small Zodiac boats launch from the Endeavour, carrying us to the interior shore. All around are low hills, marking the lip of this gaping geological mouth. Everyone is silently imitating gaping mouths. Nature always has the last laugh.

We disembark on the black sand beach of Whaler’s Bay. This sheltered cove was used by the sealing industry in the 1820s, abandoned, then resurrected as a whaling port in the 1900s. Rust-orange silos rise empty from the cocoa-crumble soil. They would have held whale oil at some point. Close by, there are collapsed wooden buildings from scientific missions, deserted since the ‘60s, when volcanic activity triggered fresh lava flows. The whole place feels unreal, like a movie set on an alien planet.

Oil Silos

All along the beach, young fur seals hold their territory, barking at rivals. It’s a comedic ruckus. They flop gamely along on flippers, playing tough, chasing off anyone who gets too close. One of them has captured an old wooden boat and is king of his particular corner of the world.

King Of His Castle

I find a strange, spidery brittlestar in the dark sand – it looks like a starfish from a scientific drawing, from a time when explorers roamed the globe, discovering new species. We find less and less new species every year. We also find less and less old species every year.

Brittlestar / Alien

I tend to daydream - I’m looking down at the circular ring-shaped island, the ship entering it’s center; a darkening basin below sinks fathoms deep; all around the ship are hundreds of ghostly pelagic skeletons – whales of every kind, swimming peacefully, fading out of reality as the world spins on. High above, seagulls and skua sing their songs - whether wistful, outraged, or simply providing a soundscape to the dream is a question of mood. It’s hard to pin a feeling on this spectacular setting.

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We end the day trekking up the low snowy slopes of a nearby island called Halfmoon. There’s a big colony of Chinstrap Penguins here. A celebrity Macaroni Penguin hides in their midst - his bright yellow comb barely visible. It’s like playing Where’s Waldo with a particularly tricky natural picture.

The last group of paddleboarders had it rough on the choppy sea today - not a dry one to be found; they’re wishing they were with us at Cierva Cove. A leopard seal stalked a kayaker – she had a lucky escape! This is human excitement added to on an otherwise spectacularly normal day in the Southern Ocean.

Our trip to Antarctica is winding down. A few of us gather in the Endeavour’s lounge after evening drinks. A piece of glacier ice, aptly melted, arrives in a glass bottle and is passed around. Our fearless leader spells out a pledge to spread awareness about this fabulous continent and it’s importance to the planet. The movement is christened #AntarcticaMatters.

Outside on the horizon, a nuclear sun sets over craggy mountains and a flaming orange sea. Thickly scattered clouds are illuminated from below with neon fire and the first stars winkle through patches of darkening lavender sky. The most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen- it’s Antarctica throwing me one last vision – a ‘remember me’ for years to come.