Ushuaia & The Falkland Islands

29 December 2008, the day I boarded the Polar Star in Ushuaia at the southern tip of the South American continent, bound for Antarctica. After stopping briefly in Buenos Aires, we took a day tour of Tierra del Fuego National Park, where we were introduced to some South American wildlife and some of our soon-to-be shipmates. We anxiously returned to Ushuaia to board the Polar Star. Our little ship, roomy enough for about 100 passengers and 40 or so crew, looked small compared to the two cruise ships behind her. Our mission was different: to spend the maximum time on land with penguins, albatross seals and maybe even break some ice with our reinforced icebreaker hull. There was some anxiety in seeing how small the Polar Star looked, knowing the seas are prone to be rough down here, but the smaller number of passengers is key to having the ability to spend more time on land. Many landings are limited to 100 or fewer visitors.

Our first day at sea on our way to the Falkland Islands was spent listening to lectures by the various “-ists” as I call them—the naturalist, the geologist, the botanist, the ornithologist, the biologist and even an artist. Then there’s the photographer, the photo- computer wizard, and the historian. We were being seeped in information about the area we were to encounter over the next four weeks and the best way to capture it on camera. It was sometimes difficult to hear the presentations as the rows of chairs would slide from one side to another, the lecturers hanging on to the podium as the boat rocked to and fro. Yet the information was so rich we kept at it, plus we wanted to be able to identify all the new species of birds (yes, penguins are birds), seals and whales we were going to observe in their pristine, natural habitat. Only 30,000 or so tourists visit the Antarctic Peninsula annually, and the code of ethics is quite high, even as far as not being able to bring snacks ashore for our hikes, scrubbing our boots after every landing, and vacuuming our clothes before entering South Georgia (signing a pledge we’ve done so).

The Falkland Islands

The first of our early wakeup calls found us at an overcast, misty New Island in the Falkland Islands, some 800 miles east of Ushuaia. There we saw our first colony of Rockhopper Penguins, funny little birds no more than ten pounds that nest in and around tussock grass and hop on rocks (which other penguins also do) to get to and from the sea. These are distinctive penguins that have thick yellow eyebrow and chin feathers. It’s amazing how far up they climb/hop up rocks/cliff from the sea to reach their home, making me think of some of the climbs around the north shore of Lake Superior. After lunch ashore, we weaved our way for 4.5 miles through waving fields of grasses, seeing burrows of the much bigger Megallanic penguins (up to 17 pounds), the only penguins that have stripes—a few across their chest, and one across their back. It was like seeing prairie dogs peeking out from the holes to see the passersby. What’s so nice here is that the wildlife are not afraid of humans, but when we reached the beach to watch the Megallanic Penguins, we did see fear. A leopard seal was lurking in the shallow waters, waiting to stalk out a penguin for dinner. Penguins swim faster than leopard seals, so the seals are not a threat to them in the water, but they are a threat on land. The penguins move in mass on land farther up the beach. Harm comes to the one that doesn’t move with the crowd. A second’s delay is all it takes. While both are awkward on shore, leopard seals do move faster than penguins.

Devil’s Nose at Westpoint the next day was to be our only dry landing of the trip, dry as far as dry feet, but our rain gear protected us from the mist. We hiked several kilometers to the other side of the island to observe another colony of Rockhoppers playing along a small stream. The mist let up enough for us to sit along the tussock grasses to draw, hoping the Rockhoppers would stay still long enough to record them in a rough pencil sketch, but that didn’t seem to be their desire. We hitched a ride back to the landing with one of the locals (hired to do this) where we had tea in a lovely garden before getting back to the boat. After lunch we visited Carcass Island to see Gentoo and Rockhopper penguin colonies, learning how gentle the Gentoos were, their curiosity getting the best of them, coming up to you, then running away. The Rockhoppers weren’t that inquisitive. I hiked to the other side to see a second colony of Gentoos on a vast flat beach. I was doing this solo, having lingered with the first colony of penguins, so was the only human on this side of the island. Taking a picture of a low flying Johnny Rook, I realized he wanted to dive-bomb me. After following me for a while, he must have realized I was no threat. It was odd behavior because I hadn’t come near a nest to he might have been protecting. Having seen a movie about the Johnny Rooks the previous night, I knew they could do harm if provoked, so was glad to be left alone.

Steeple Jason was spectacular. It’s a small Island with several high hills to hike around—up one side and down the other, with the largest colony of nesting Brownbrowed Albatross. These are among the largest Albatrosses, having a wingspan of up to eight feet. They build their two foot high pedestal nests of mud with a few pieces of grass in the center. While the Johnny Rooks had become my least favorite bird, the Blackbrowed Albatross quickly became my favorite. The mothers are exceptionally caring and gentle with their recently hatched chicks, caressing them with their finely chiseled, magnificent orange beaks. My concentration was so focused on the Brownbrowed Albatross that it was quite a while before I realized Rockhopper Penguins were pitter-pattering between the nests. We humans had to tunnel our way through the dense sea of tussock grasses that surrounded the albatross colony, much like one would tunnel his way through a corn maze at Halloween. We spent hours watching these huge yet elegant white and black birds, with their swan-like necks bending so that their beautifully curved orange beaks could ever so tenderly caress their young.