Our raft bumps along her floe, but the seal scarcely gives us a glance. This will be typical. Antarctic creatures demonstrate a striking fearlessness of people. The first man known to have set foot on the continent, American sealer John Davis, did so only in 1821—too recently, and with too few subsequent humans in his footsteps, for Antarctic fauna to have developed an instinctive fear of Homo sapiens. I wonder if it’s only a matter of time before wariness evolves from increased animal-human encounters.
As we drift along, chinstrap penguins surface to spy-hop for a look around. Groups of black-winged kelp gulls stand fast on floes. The naturalist in me finds the scene utterly absorbing, but Explorer’s scientists are more excited by the life below the sea surface—including krill that right now are swarming the cove. The tiny shrimp-like crustaceans are schooling as deep as we can see, silhouetted against the submerged nine-tenths of an iceberg as they swirl around it in a living current. Never, our guys testify, have they observed so many krill by the Antarctic Peninsula. We watch the scrambling of tiny legs as the krill push off from the ice, then pump their crustacean tails for propulsion. Now and again, as our Zodiac crosses their space, a squadron of krill goes airborne, porpoising away from us like a handful of coins flung hard at the surface.
Krill remain the staff of life in Antarctica. Today’s swarm in Lindblad Cove has convened birds and seals. Though krill are tiny, the creatures here have adapted to catch them, from the multilobed teeth of crabeater seals to the tooth-like serrations on penguin beaks. Even the leopard seal, behind its fearsome canines, has a set of interlocking molars for seining out krill.
But krill have been thinning. Juvenile krill depend on sea ice as nurseries; over the past 50 years, waters around the peninsula have been warming at nearly five times the average worldwide rate, and nearby sea ice is melting fast. Some of this is attributed to altered circulation patterns in the atmosphere, which may be causing more mixing of ocean layers. This in turn may be contributing to a reduction of phytoplankton, the microscopic plants upon which krill graze. As go the phytoplankton, so go the krill—and so goes the Antarctic ecosystem. The retreat and redistribution of krill is predicted to be a prime force in shaping the Antarctica of tomorrow.
Back on the ship, we’re soon steaming through Lemaire Channel, a fjord-like strait that runs between the Antarctic Peninsula and Booth Island, a chunk of land off the peninsula’s western side. As we glide along, peaks and glacier walls tower over us, port and starboard. I feel as if we are running an icebound version of the Grand Canyon—the canyon walls black rock instead of sandstone, punctuated by icefalls.
Emerging from the strait, we cruise over to granite-rock Petermann Island, where we put ashore and meet the first Adélie penguins of our voyage, symbols of another recent wrinkle in the story of Antarctica. Clustered with a rookery of blue-eyed cormorants, the smallish, black-hooded Adélies have been ceding ground to gentoos.
I learn this from the expedition’s penguinologist, Rosi Dagit, who is a researcher for Oceanites, a non-profit foundation dedicated to Antarctic science and education. One of its initiatives is tallying wildlife for the Antarctic Site Inventory, so Dagit always brings a mechanical counter. As we reach the Adélies, she starts clicking the counter. Adélies are the southernmost of penguins. Petermann Island, for now at least, marks the northern end of their range. The island also marks—or did until recently—the southern limit of gentoo penguins.
“We made a field camp on Petermann Island,” Dagit says, “because it’s a great place to observe the gentoos taking over Adélie territory. In 1909, 56 pairs of gentoos were here. Now there are well over 3,000. Unfortunately, Adélie pairs are down to about 300.”
One possible explanation is that the warming around the Antarctic Peninsula is causing the realm of the Adélie penguin to shrink and the realm of the gentoo penguin to expand southward. If true, I may be witnessing the creation of a fresh natural order based on which creatures successfully adapt to climate change—a new order that could lead to a re-engineered Antarctic ecosystem.
Now, in late January, Adélie chicks are moulting. As with other penguin species, Adélie chicks lose volume when they shed the soft grey down of chickhood to reveal the sleek, black-and-white juvenile plumage underneath. One bird wears a Mohawk strip of grey down. Another has moulted halfway, its left side chick, its right side juvenile. It hits me that they may be among the last to moult on warming Petermann Island.
Our cruise is circling back toward South America. As I stand at the rail, I consider all I’ve seen—and its implications for the future. Last century, when we almost expunged the blue whale, Antarctica filled the gap with penguins and seals. This century, the warming effects of greenhouse gases are melting sea ice and driving Adélie penguins south; gentoos are filling in. Though the Great White Continent’s vital ice sheet is shrinking, the Antarctic ecosystem will work its transformation—rearranging nesting sites, pairing once separate species—for as long as it possibly can.
It took British explorer Ernest Shackleton years to prepare for his expedition to Antarctica. Modern-day travellers will need to plan in advance as well. Most cruises run Nov-Mar for about two weeks, though tours can range from eight days to a month. January is a great time to see whales and penguin chicks. Departure points include Ushuaia, Argentina, and Punta Arenas, Chile.
The National Geographic Explorer or National Geographic Orion departs from southern Argentina and travels to the Antarctic Peninsula, the icy continent’s northernmost region. It sails around the western side of the peninsula touring the surrounding islands and waterways where visitors disembark to explore the frozen islands and giant icebergs on inflatable Zodiac rafts (ngexpeditions.com/antarctica; 14-days; from $13,360/₹8,89,715 per person).
Lisa Kelley spends most of the year aboard the National Geographic Explorer as a trip leader and naturalist. Her gear tips:
1. Calf-high muck boots: Almost all landings require you to step in ankle-deep water. You may also be walking on soft snow, ice, and guano. Try on your boots (make sure they have good tread) with socks to ensure a proper fit.
2. Waterproof/windproof trousers: A must, these can be ski pants or trouser shells. Think of them as your ticket to be at eye level with the animals in the snow or mud. You’ll stay dry, and dirty trousers are easily hosed down.
3. Waterproof bag for your camera: It does not have to be expensive custom underwater housing—a Ziploc bag does a great job. Bring extra memory, especially if an external storage device is not available. You’ll take more pictures than you can imagine.
4. Combo walking stick/monopod: There are no trails in Antarctica, and surfaces are uneven. A walking stick can be helpful even for the most agile. Choose one with a removable top, which can be used as a monopod.
5. Long underwear of differing weights: Jackets provided by expedition companies are waterproof and windproof, so on a nice day you may need only one layer of long underwear.
The Worst Journey in the World, by Apsley Cherry-Garrard (1922). This riveting adventure tale recounts Robert Scott’s doomed race to be the first to reach the South Pole. Scott did get there on January 17, 1912—34 days after Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. Cherry was one of the youngest members of Scott’s expedition, and his story remains an Antarctic classic.
Terra Antarctica: Looking Into the Emptiest Continent, by William L. Fox (2007). Chronicling his three-month journey, Fox paints portraits of the hardy souls who live and work at places like McMurdo Station, on the southern tip of Antarctica’s Ross Island, as well as the landscapes and weather conditions that make Antarctica “the windiest, coldest, highest, and driest continent on Earth.”
Appeared in the November 2016 issue as “The Great White Hope”.
“Don’t change your lenses outdoors,” said photographer Cotton Coulson. “You never want to get moisture or condensation inside the camera body. Put your cameras and lenses into a plastic bag and seal them up before you bring them indoors. Once inside, place them in the coldest area you can find so they slowly warm up to the new temperature.”