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Antarctica: The Living End

by Zegrahm Expeditions, July 1995

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Our clients to Antarctica rival penguins as The Great White Continent's most ardent ambassadors. The following is from B.J. Galvan, who visited Antarctica with us in January, 1995. Beams from the setting sun stream through the clouds, dancing upon silent peaks in a colorful festival of light as the little red ship Explorer quietly cuts through the Beagle Channel towards the infamous Drake Passage. I know this adventure to Antarctica will be a journey unlike anything I have ever known.

The sea temperature drops when we sail over the Antarctic Convergence but the excitement level surges as the ship nears the Great White Continent. The sun shines brightly on glistening icebergs - the only disturbance to the stillness is sporadic splashing from porpoising penguins doing what other birds only dream of. A pair of humpback whales welcome us, fluking and diving beneath the icy waters, leaving their smooth round footprints on the lustrous surface for us to ponder while they feed on tiny crustaceans deep below the keel. The rugged, inhospitably-icy mountain peaks and glaciers of Antarctica are the owners of an alien beauty found in no other place on earth. I am immediately aware of a sublime magic and a gentle spell begins its work.

Penguins greet us with raucous hellos. Every little hill is topped with the flightless birds, flapping flippers and crowing to the heavens. Rookeries are the life of the Antarctic party and the commotion of wall to wall penguins is unforgettable. Groveling around in guano for the perfect photo, I marvel at the example of survival of the fittest in the truest of forms. Careless penguin parents instinctively grieve the loss of their precious chicks to opportunistic skuas hovering above, waiting for an instant of neglect. Across the horizon as far as my eyes can see are sparkling slabs, chunks, and gargantuan bergs drifting around like jewels on a vanity mirror. Hitchhiking penguins and an occasional seal dot the wandering ice while skuas, petrels and blue-eyed shags glide through the sunlit southern sky.

Contrary to popular belief, color does exist in Antarctica, at least on the Peninsula. A red and charcoal-colored cinder cone protrudes 180 meters above a deep blue sea filled with white and turquoise icebergs. Kelly-green moss and orange lichens eke out a fragile existence on the rocks beside a southern giant petrel colony. Even the frigid sea possesses brilliantly colored nudibranchs, iridescent snails and - the basis of all Antarctic life - pinkish krill. The calving glaciers cause color and sound to collide and the faint echoes of blue thunder rumble over the chattering of penguins.

A chilling breeze kicks up as I walk along a dark volcanic beach littered with gigantic bleached bones - monumental remnants which sadly testify to whaling days gone by. Unaware of past atrocities sixty or more elephant seals wallow in a roaring orgy of blubber and belches. Bursts of breath and noise blast from gaping mouths as they dare each other in territorial duels of masculine domination. Leaving the group, I scan the desolate landscape, imprinting the image on my soul.

At home, my memory is flooded with images of Antarctica. The Continent arouses an enduring love and appreciation for life on island earth while it reveals the secret to earth's survival: we are all creatures in a complex symbiotic relationship, and must stop unwittingly sabotaging our future with suicidal offenses to the environment. Life as we know it will exist only by the salvation of Antarctica, earth's last wilderness. Antarctica truly is the living end.