A hideous trio of scarecrows

United Kingdom – South Georgia | Anno 2025

 

Thursday 2 October | Salisbury Plain – Fortuna Bay

Friday 3 October | Stromness – Grytviken

 

 

Thursday 2 October | Salisbury Plain – Fortuna Bay

The deck outside is treacherously slippery. Even the snowy sheathbills perched on the railings seem to be struggling with the thin layer of ice. And although salt has been spread, caution remains essential. Yet we barely notice. The surroundings in which we have found ourselves are simply too breathtaking.

To the east, the jagged peaks of a mountain range are veiled by a delicate morning mist, while behind them the promising glow of dawn gradually intensifies

Bay of Isles

To the east, the jagged peaks of a mountain range are veiled by a delicate morning mist, while behind them the promising glow of dawn gradually intensifies. Of the mountains surrounding us, only the snow-covered summits are visible. Their lower slopes remain hidden behind a dense blanket of fog, as though we are gazing at a painting that the artist has yet to complete.

This is the Bay of Isles. It has taken us just over two days and fifteen hours to sail here from Stanley in the Falkland Islands and arrive off the coast of South Georgia. It is six o’clock in the morning. The thermometer reads –2°C (28°F), while the biting wind lowers the perceived temperature to around –8°C (18°F).

 

Giant petrel

Snowy sheathbill

As the sun sweeps away the mist, the barren, snow-covered mountains emerge in all their splendour. Here and there, a small iceberg drifts on the water. In the distance, we can make out a vast expanse of snow. That is Salisbury Plain, where we will soon make our first landing on South Georgia. In fact, it is a sandur, or outwash plain, formed by the meltwater of the Grace Glacier. In the far background, we can just discern the tip of its glacier tongue.

No fewer than sixty thousand breeding pairs are gathered here. Salisbury Plain is home to one of the four major king penguin colonies on South Georgia

Salisbury Plain with thousands of king penguins

It is the tiny black specks on the snow, however, that cause the excitement. A glance through the binoculars confirms it – these are our first king penguins. It looks as though there are thousands of them, but appearances are deceptive. In reality, no fewer than sixty thousand breeding pairs are gathered here. Salisbury Plain is home to one of the four major king penguin colonies on South Georgia. Along the beach in the foreground, we notice what appear to be a few rounded grey boulders. That impression, too, is misleading. They are elephant seals lying there, dozing.

It is no easy task for the zodiac driver to bring the boat as close as possible to the pebble beach in the shallow water

 

A quarter to eight. The scouts set off in a zodiac to look for a suitable landing site. It is far from straightforward. Not only must it be a safe location with few rocks and no heavy surf, but there must also be no animals nearby, as we are expected not to disturb them.

Half an hour later, it is our turn. From the mudroom, we step onto a gangway alongside which the zodiac bobs gently up and down. With a firm sailor’s grip, two crew members help us make the transfer. Then we head towards the shore.

These king penguins are not dangerous, David adds, except when they are moulting. That is when they become irritable

The local reception committee

It is no easy task for the zodiac driver to bring the boat as close as possible to the pebble beach in the shallow water. He has to tilt the outboard motor clear of the water, after which only the surf propels the inflatable towards land. Four members of the expedition staff are waiting there to receive the zodiac and, at precisely the right moment, rotate it through 180 degrees. That way, it is immediately ready for departure again, with its bow facing seawards.

Swinging our legs over the side, we wade through the shallow water to the shore. There, expedition leader David is waiting to give us a final briefing. Kneeling, sitting, lying down, crawling, or placing anything on the ground – none of this is permitted because of the risk of spreading avian influenza. Using red flags, the scouts have marked out two excellent routes: one leading eastward to the large king penguin colony, and another heading westward, where it is mainly the elephant seals that will command our attention.

 

 

These king penguins are not dangerous, David adds, except when they are moulting. That is when they become irritable. The process lasts about four weeks, and throughout that time they cannot go to sea because they have lost the waterproof plumage that protects them from the cold. That means four weeks without food – enough to make anyone bad-tempered. It is also wise to keep a close eye on the fur seals and the male elephant seals, as they may become aggressive if they feel we are getting too close.

Inevitably, we think of Shackleton and his men, who, at temperatures of –30°C (–22°F), sank into the snow up to their knees

 

It is the penguin colony to the east that immediately draws us in. A biting wind is blowing, but the temperature is actually quite bearable. We make our way towards it through a layer of snow some ten centimetres deep. Inevitably, we think of Shackleton and his men, who, at temperatures of –30°C (–22°F), sank into the snow up to their knees while hauling a sledge weighing many tens of kilograms behind them.

Whenever penguins show signs of crossing the corridor, we are expected to wait patiently until they have passed. It is as if they are waddling across an invisible zebra crossing

King penguins with a ‘nursery’ for chicks

There is apparently a broad corridor between the penguins gathered on the pebble beach and those farther inland. The scouts have taken advantage of this to mark out a path between the two groups. That does not mean, however, that we have unrestricted passage. Whenever penguins show signs of crossing the corridor, we are expected to wait patiently until they have passed. It is as if they are waddling across an invisible zebra crossing. From time to time, wisps of mist drift across the landscape, reducing visibility to twenty or thirty metres before clearing away again.

One of the chicks will suddenly pop up and allow itself to be pushed over the heads of the other chicks towards the edge of the crèche in a form of penguin crowd-surfing

 

In this way, we reach a slightly elevated part of the terrain. From among the tall tussac grass, we now survey the vast surroundings. As far as the eye can see, there are king penguins, not only down on the plain but also higher up on the mountain slopes. Why they go to the trouble of climbing so high remains a mystery. Apparently, they care little where exactly their chosen spot is, provided they can stand with their feet in the snow. And far enough apart from one another. In other words, just beyond pecking distance.

 

They do not build nests; instead, the parents take turns carrying the egg on their feet. Emperor penguins, incidentally, do exactly the same

 

King penguins typically stand between 70 and 100 cm (28 and 39 inch) tall and weigh between 9 and 18 kg (20 and 40 pounds). In the wild, they can live for up to 25 years. There is scarcely any visible difference between males and females, as both possess a brood pouch for incubation. They do not build nests; instead, the parents take turns carrying the egg on their feet. Emperor penguins, incidentally, do exactly the same.

 

Track left by a tobogganing king penguin

What immediately catches the eye are the nurseries – gatherings of hundreds of brown fluffy chicks, just under a year old, standing almost motionless together. Usually, a handful of adult penguins keep watch over them. By huddling together in this way, the defenceless chicks are, of course, much better protected against predators. The arrangement also offers greater comfort during the harsh winter conditions, as standing so close together helps conserve warmth.

Or perhaps not entirely. In the middle of the group, temperatures can rise considerably to the point where the chicks become uncomfortably warm. To escape the heat, they employ a remarkably original technique. One of them will suddenly pop up and allow itself to be pushed over the heads of the others towards the edge of the crèche in a form of penguin crowd-surfing.

 

With this graceful display of colour, they rival even the slightly larger emperor penguins in beauty

 

At first glance, these ungainly brown balls of fluff on legs are hardly attractive. It is difficult to imagine that, within five months or so, they will transform into such magnificent king penguins. For splendid birds they certainly are once fully grown, with their vivid orange ear patches and matching lower mandible standing out sharply against their black faces and elegant silver-grey backs. Along the neck, the orange gradually blends into yellow before fading gently across the white breast. With this graceful display of colour, they rival even the slightly larger emperor penguins in beauty.

 

 

What is equally impossible to miss is the deafening noise. On the one hand, there is the resonant humming of the adult birds, a sound reminiscent of the whirring rotors of a drone. On the other, there is the high-pitched whistling and peeping of the chicks. For penguins, such calls are vital, as they are the only means by which parents can locate their chick when returning from the sea with food.

The guano perfume of a penguin colony can be extremely pungent and anything but pleas-ant

 

We had also been prepared for a penetrating smell. The guano perfume of a penguin colony can be extremely pungent and anything but pleasant. To our surprise, however, it proves far less noticeable than expected. We are standing upwind, with the cold air flowing down from the glacier behind us, carrying any odours away.

 

Snowy sheathbill

Fur seals

Here and there, snowy sheathbills wander about. With their rather chicken-like appearance, they seem harmless enough. The king penguins know better. Not only are these birds scavengers, but they are also formidable predators and even kleptoparasites. They do not hesitate to steal food that penguins have gathered for their chicks. Given the opportunity, they will also take an egg, or even prey upon a defenceless chick when its parents are momentarily distracted.

 

Elephant seal, king penguins, snow petrels

In search of elephant seals, we now head westward along the coast. A few young fur seals are playfully wrestling in the snow. Like elephant seals, they are pinnipeds, meaning that their limbs have evolved into flippers, making them highly adapted for swimming.

 

Fur seals

Fur seals, however, can fold their hind flippers beneath their bodies, allowing them to move about on land with surprising agility. Elephant seals cannot do this. Out of the water, they progress by wriggling and heaving themselves forward, rather like caterpillars. Even so, David had warned us not to underestimate them. Over uneven ground and across short distances, elephant seals can sometimes be faster than we are despite their cumbersome appearance.

Out of the water, they progress by wriggling and heaving themselves forward, rather like caterpillars

Elephant seal (m)

A few small icebergs drift offshore. On the beach, a male elephant seal lies dozing. A group of king penguins wanders around him, giving us a good sense of the immense size of this marine mammal. A mature bull can grow up to six metres long and weigh between three and four tonnes. Its nose has developed into a distinctive proboscis that hangs down in front of its mouth. Rather inconvenient, one might think. Apart from this trunk-like feature and its enormous size, however, it has little in common with terrestrial elephants. Nevertheless, these seals owe their name to that resemblance.

Not only are these birds scavengers, but they are also formidable predators and even klepto-parasites

Elephant seal (m) with snowy sheathbill

Fur seal

It is hardly surprising that this particular bull appears destined to lead a solitary existence. It is estimated that as many as nine out of ten males never get the opportunity to mate with a female. This is a consequence of the species’ social structure: females gather in harems, each dominated by a single male.

It is estimated that as many as nine out of ten males never get the opportunity to mate with a female

Beachmaster (right) with his harem

Further along, we come across one such harem. Around twenty females are resting under the watchful eye of a male, the so-called beachmaster. Mating with these females is his exclusive privilege; no other male is permitted to do so. Every so often, he bellows loudly to remind all concerned of this fact, hoping to discourage potential rivals before they even approach. Should a challenger nevertheless appear, the result is almost inevitably a fierce battle, often bordering on a fight to the death, as evidenced by the many deep scars males carry from such encounters. The females have no say in these affairs. They submit passively to the established order.

The male has evidently never heard of MeToo and forces his enormous body over hers against her will

The male attempts to mate with one of the females

The male attempts to mate with one of the females, but she is clearly not interested at the moment. The male has evidently never heard of MeToo and forces his enormous body over hers against her will. One might think the matter settled there and then, for a female weighs barely 650 kilograms (1 433 pounds), whereas he weighs six times as much. Yet she repeatedly manages to break free. It is not without danger. If the female struggles too much, the male may bite her with considerable force. Sometimes this results in her death, leaving behind a pup that cannot survive on its own.

 

Elephant seals (f) with pups

This is the beginning of spring, and many of the elephant seal females lying here dozing are on the verge of giving birth. The subantarctic giant petrels know this as well. These birds of prey normally feed on marine animals, eggs, chicks, and carrion. Experience, however, has taught them that there will soon be an abundance of delicacies here in the form of afterbirths. In anticipation of this feast, a handful have already gathered, accompanied by several gulls.

Experience has taught them that there will soon be an abundance of delicacies here in the form of afterbirths

Subantarctic giant petrels

 

At times, these birds venture alarmingly close to one of the two newborn pups. The mothers do not take kindly to this. With growls and threatening snaps, they try to drive the giant petrels away. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they do not. In any case, the pups can expect no assistance from their father. As beachmaster, he has more important matters occupying his attention. He will not lift a flipper to protect them.

Cleaning our boots in the mudroom, scrubbing Velcro straps with stiff brushes, and rinsing our waterproof trousers in the shower

It is no easy task to manoeuvre the zodiac into position against the brute force of the powerful surf. Eventually, however, the effort succeeds, and we can begin our return to the Magellan Explorer. There, the familiar biosecurity routine awaits us: cleaning our boots in the mudroom, scrubbing Velcro straps with stiff brushes, and rinsing our waterproof trousers in the shower. Even that proves insufficient. The trousers are so filthy that they require a vigorous scrubbing with brushes before they can be considered clean.

 

 

Shortly after twelve o’clock, we continue our voyage along the northern coast of South Georgia. The resemblance to the coastline of Svalbard is striking. High, jagged peaks draped with patches of snow succeed one another in an ever-changing panorama.

 

 

After lunch, the weather improves steadily. The clouds disperse, the sun shines brightly in a blue sky, and the sea takes on an azure hue as though we were sailing through subtropical waters. In the distance, black beaches of volcanic sand slip by. At the foot of the steep cliffs, elephant seals and king penguins can be seen in great numbers.

Two helicopters crashed, and only with great difficulty were their occupants rescued

The sea takes on an azure hue as though we were sailing through subtropical waters. In the distance, black beaches of volcanic sand slip by

Fortuna Glacier

Then the immense Fortuna Glacier gradually emerges from behind the mountains. It is a dazzling spectacle. Brilliant white snow and pale blue ice sparkle in the sunlight. When Shackleton made his heroic crossing of the mountains to Stromness in the spring of 1916, this glacier was one of the major obstacles he had to overcome.

 

Fortuna Bay

Nothing in the tranquil scene hints at the tragic events that unfolded here in 1982 during the Falklands War. This was the place where British SAS troops carried out a daring helicopter landing as part of the secret Operation Paraquet. So daring, in fact, that those familiar with the terrain strongly advised against it. Their concerns proved well founded, for the helicopters encountered gusts approaching 100 knots, or around 180 km/h (112 miles/h). Two helicopters crashed, and only with great difficulty were their occupants rescued. The wrecks of those aircraft still lie there today.

 

Kønig Glacier

We drop anchor in Fortuna Bay. A huge iceberg has run aground deep within the bay. Around us rise snow-covered mountain peaks between four and six hundred metres high. In the distance, we can make out the König Glacier, a tributary of the Fortuna Glacier that carved out this valley.

 

Snowy sheathbill

South Georgia pintail

Our second landing on South Georgia is now approaching. The scouts have to search for a while, as the water in the bay is quite rough, but eventually they find a suitable landing site where a number of large rocks provide sufficient shelter from the swell.

Whereas this morning we sank into the snow with our boots, there is scarcely any snow to be seen here

 

Shortly before four o’clock, we go ashore. This, too, is an outwash plain, much like Salisbury Plain. Yet the contrast could hardly be greater. Whereas this morning we sank into the snow with our boots, there is scarcely any snow to be seen here. The König Glacier has retreated a considerable distance inland. Before us stretches a vast green plain of moss and grass, dotted here and there with clumps of tussac grass.

 

 

The king penguins seem largely untroubled by this. Their colony lies somewhat higher up, closer to the remaining snowfields. Whenever they linger down here on the plain, they tend to gather beside one of the streams carrying the glacier’s icy meltwater. Others make their way towards one of the few patches of snow that still survive in the shade of Breakwind Ridge.

Some fur seals watch us curiously, their heads just visible above the tall tussac grass

Fur seals

The young fur seals, full of energy and playfulness, seem entirely unconcerned. They frolic happily through the short grass, while some watch us curiously, their heads just visible above the tall tussac grass. They appear to get along perfectly well with the king penguins, neither species paying the slightest attention to the other's presence.

 

Fur seal

Somewhere within that dense tussac grass, a giant petrel is incubating its egg. We know this only because the scouts have told us so; we cannot see the bird ourselves. To ensure that it is not disturbed in any way, the scouts have established a wide exclusion zone around the nesting site.

Were humans to develop at the same rate, a baby weighing 3.5 kilograms would reach 350 kilograms by the age of ten

Elephant seal that recently gave birth with her newborn calf.

There is no sign of any elephant seals. Or so it seems. On a small beach, a solitary female lies resting, her belly stained with patches of fresh blood. Beside her lies a newborn pup, probably less than twenty-four hours old. It can scarcely weigh more than forty kilograms. Yet if this youngster is a male, it will grow into a giant weighing four tonnes within the next ten years. Were humans to develop at the same rate, a baby weighing 3.5 kilograms would reach 350 kilograms by the age of ten.

 

 

The absence of elephant seals at this time of year is simply a matter of timing, marine biologist John explains from experience. In a few weeks’ time, one would be tripping over them here. The beaches will be crowded with pregnant females. Another month later, the fur seals will begin coming ashore in vast numbers.

 

 

This was once one of the favourite grazing areas of the reindeer introduced by Norwegian whalers. Given the abundance of grass and moss, that is hardly surprising. Today, however, we know that the island has been free of reindeer since 2014.

Gradually, we approach the king penguin colony. We can see it, hear it, and smell it

 

Gradually, we approach the king penguin colony. We can see it, hear it, and smell it. This time, we are downwind, and the katabatic wind descending from the glacier carries every sound and scent directly towards us. Even so, it is not nearly as overwhelming as one might expect. Compared with the spectacle we witnessed this morning, this is a relatively small colony, numbering only around ten thousand breeding pairs.

When all the downy feathers fit neatly together, the layer of air trapped between them provides excellent insulation

 

These penguins have space in abundance. There is no need to quarrel with the neighbours; they can devote themselves entirely to their own affairs and those of their family. Often they stand bent forwards for long periods, giving the impression of a body without a head. At such moments, they are meticulously grooming their plumage. It has to be kept in perfect condition. When all the downy feathers fit neatly together, the layer of air trapped between them provides excellent insulation. In that state, the plumage is virtually impervious to both water and wind.

 

 

Their favourite food consists of lanternfish, squid, and krill. In search of this prey, they dive to depths of one hundred to three hundred metres and can easily remain underwater for eight to ten minutes. Sometimes they stay away for weeks at a time while foraging.

 

 

But they do not forage for themselves alone. The chick also receives part of the catch. Once the parent has returned to the colony, it seeks out its offspring. Apparently, the calls both make are sufficient for them to find one another. The parent then places its beak crosswise over that of the chick and regurgitates partially digested food directly into the chick’s mouth.

 

Patience is not the chicks' strongest trait. They want a lot of food, and a bit fast, please

Begging for food

One of them gets lucky

That is the theory. In practice, we can observe the process with amusement. Patience is not the strongest trait of the chicks. They want a lot of food, and a bit fast, please. Starving, they harass their parent with their pointed beaks raised in the air. But digesting and regurgitating food is not something that can be rushed. It takes time, and so the parent tries to evade the chick. Which, of course, doesn't work. Eventually, the exchange is completed to everyone’s satisfaction.

 

Where is…?

The toilet is over there

We remain at anchor in Fortuna Bay throughout the night.

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Friday 3 October | Stromness – Grytviken

Fog has the Magellan Explorer completely in its grip as we continue eastward along the northern coast of South Georgia. Barely fifteen minutes later, the mist has lifted and the fascinating coastal mountains are once again revealed in all their splendour. That is how things are here. It is six o’clock in the morning, and we are enjoying it to the full.

By the end of the nineteenth century, it had become increasingly clear that opening up new hunting grounds was the only way forward for the whaling industry

Cape Saunders

Shortly before seven, we drop anchor in Stromness Bay, the whaling station where Shackleton in 1916 suddenly appeared like a jack-in-the-box from over the mountains. It is raining lightly, with a brief spell of melting snow.

Today it will not be penguins, albatrosses or elephant seals that hold our attention, nor dramatic mountain ranges or vast glaciers. Today’s activities are entirely focused on the historical events of South Georgia. Dull, then? On the contrary. On the one hand, there are the gripping stories of the whalers; on the other, of course, Shackleton, whose shadow still hangs over the island.

 

Stromness

By the end of the nineteenth century, it had become increasingly clear that opening up new hunting grounds was the only way forward for the whaling industry. Overexploitation had left whale populations in the northern Atlantic almost depleted, making further profit there impossible. Meanwhile, waters off the American coast had been closed to the British since the United States gained independence.

Had Captain Cook not already reported in 1775 on the abundance of wildlife in Antarctic waters? American sealers were the first to exploit the southern hunting grounds. Fur seal hats were highly fashionable at the time, thanks to the animals’ exceptionally dense fur – second only to that of beavers. The result was an uncontrolled hunt that brought the species to the brink of extinction. Of the 2.5 million fur seals, only an estimated six to eight thousand remained worldwide by 1900. Today, their numbers are estimated at around five million.

In 1904, Carl Anton Larsen founded a whaling station at the site we now know as Grytviken

Stromness – Whaling station

Whales, by contrast, had until then been largely left undisturbed in the southern oceans. That was soon to change. As early as 1892, the first British whaling expedition headed south. It was, however, a Norwegian – Carl Anton Larsen – who would decisively alter the course of history. In 1904, he founded a whaling station at the site we now know as Grytviken.

South Georgia quickly became the epicentre of this whaling industry

With that, Larsen ushered in an unprecedented hunt for whales in Antarctic waters. South Georgia quickly became the epicentre of this whaling industry. In the years that followed, five additional whaling stations were established on the island alongside Grytviken and Stromness: Prince Olav, Leith Harbour, Husvik, Godthul, and Ocean Harbour. The largest of these, Leith Harbour, remained operational until 1965 and was equipped with a hospital, a library, a cinema, and a narrow-gauge railway.

 

Fur seal

South Georgia pintail

Of all the whale species, humpback whales were among the first to be hunted by whalers. They were abundant, relatively easy to locate and capture, and not particularly fast swimmers. The same applied to the southern right whale. Its English name says it all: this was the “right” whale – simply because it was so obliging as to float rather than sink once killed.

That natural evolution has nevertheless found an answer to unrestrained whaling – however modest – is surprising.

But technological progress was relentless. Faster vessels were introduced, powered first by steam and later by diesel. There was no longer any need to limit hunting to the slowest of the baleen whales. Once a particular species had been depleted, whalers could quite literally shift their focus to the next. In succession, blue whales – the largest living creatures ever to have existed on Earth – were targeted, followed by fin whales, sei whales, and finally minke whales, the smallest of them all.

 

Stromness – Whaling station

That fin whales suffered heavily under whaling is an understatement. Yet nature has still found a response to this pressure – modest though it may be – which is surprising. The hunted species now reach sexual maturity much earlier. Before 1930, fin whales only became sexually mature at around ten years of age. Today, this happens at around six. Scientists believe this is due to reduced competition for food, as fewer whales mean more available resources. As a result, the animals grow faster and reach reproductive size sooner.

There the famous waterfall awaits us – the one down which Shackleton, Crean, and Worsley descended on 20 May 1916

 

Half past eight. The zodiac drops us on the beach. A gently rising walk of about two kilometres lies ahead. It will take us inland through the broad Shackleton Valley to the foot of the mountains, where the famous waterfall awaits – the one down which Shackleton, Crean, and Worsley descended on 20 May 1916.

 

Shackleton Valley

On the left in the distance, we can see the ruins of the Stromness whaling station. Stay at least two hundred metres away, David had stressed to us the evening before. In winds of Beaufort force 7, it is really not a good idea to wander among the unstable structures and scattered debris. Moreover, the buildings are full of asbestos.

 

 

Broadly speaking, we now follow a fast-flowing stream upstream. The terrain is muddy in places, and at times we wade through one of the stream’s branches. It is drizzling; occasionally the rain turns to melting snow. The biting headwind drives tiny ice crystals into our faces. This is how it should be. After all, where Shackleton and his two companions suffered so much, it would not feel right to stroll along in cheerful sunshine.

 

 

On a hill to our left, about thirty metres high, there is a colony of gentoo penguins. It cannot be easy to climb so high. Moreover, the cold wind sweeps unhindered across the hilltop. What are those penguins doing up there in rain and snow? Is it perhaps too warm down below for them?

So, they decided to descend beside the waterfall on a rope – about ten metres down

Shackleton’s waterfall

After a walk of just over half an hour, we reach the base of the waterfall. Sir Ernest Shackleton himself, alias historian Tennessee Blackmore, welcomes us. For the occasion, Tennessee has dressed in exactly the same clothing Shackleton wore at the time.

With a fitting sense of drama, he reads from South, Shackleton’s own account of the expedition: We had pierced the veneer of outside things. We had seen God in His splendours, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man. With these words, Shackleton expressed that they had been stripped of everything after their long, exhausting journey – nothing remained but their humanity and their will to survive.

 

 

Shackleton and his companions could have turned back when they reached the top of this waterfall. They could have searched for an easier route. But that would have meant retracing their steps, which, in their exhausted state, was psychologically unthinkable. So, they decided to descend beside the waterfall on a rope – about ten metres down.

Shackleton and Crean were to abseil down first across the slippery rocks, while Worsley held the rope from above. That was Worsley’s own suggestion. He would come down last, as he was the lightest of the three. If the rope came loose, it would be easier for the others to catch him.

So it was done. One by one, they descended, soaked but safe. Worsley too. The rope did not even come loose, no matter how hard they later tugged at it together.

There are estimated to be around a thousand South Georgia pintails left. That may sound alarmingly few, but it is not. There is simply no room on South Georgia for a larger population

South Georgia pintails

Still, it was not over. The only thing left for them to do was to walk across relatively flat ground to the Stromness whaling station – exactly the same route we are about to take now. But even that was no easy matter. The marshy plain was covered with a thin layer of ice. The tread on their boot soles had been completely worn away, and on this treacherously slippery terrain they had no grip at all. They frequently fell painfully. Yet they eventually made it to the whaling station, resembling, in Worsley’s words, a hideous trio of scarecrows – after three months without washing and six months in the same clothes.

It is drizzling; occasionally the rain turns to melting snow. The biting headwind drives tiny ice crystals into our faces. This is how it should be

That is how it goes here—one moment melting snow is swirling around your head, the next the sea takes on a subtropical hue

 

For us, the return will not be quite so difficult. Although it has now started to snow more heavily. Melting snow is being driven continuously across the plain by the fierce wind, while the mountain peaks have disappeared into mist. Fortunately, we now have the wind at our backs. But we will still get wet.

 

 

A few ducks with striking yellow bills are foraging in the grass. These are South Georgia pintails; a species found only on this island. There are estimated to be around a thousand left. That may sound alarmingly few, but it is not. There is simply no room on South Georgia for a larger population. The species is doing well, however, now that rats have been eradicated and the whalers have gone. In the past, these ducks sometimes ended up in cooking pots. Reportedly, yellow-billed pintail was one of Captain James Cook’s favourite dishes.

 

 

There is otherwise little sign of life in this valley. On the beach, two fur seals are playing, a solitary gentoo penguin waddles into the water in search of food, and in the distance a few elephant seals lie dozing.

 

 

No sooner has the Magellan Explorer weighed anchor than the sun breaks through the clouds. It shines in a blue sky and will not relinquish that privileged position for the rest of the day. To starboard, the sunlit coastal mountains slide slowly past, with their impressive geological formations, sharp snow-covered peaks, deep valleys, bare green slopes, and azure coastal waters. That is how it goes here—one moment melting snow is swirling around your head, the next the sea takes on a subtropical hue.

 

 

Then King Edward Point comes into view, the permanent research station that also serves as the administrative capital of South Georgia. The Pharos, the vessel responsible for enforcing fisheries regulations on behalf of the local government, is moored there.

The permanent research station King Edward Point also serves as the administrative capital of South Georgia

King Edward Point with Pharos

But it is the former whaling station of Grytviken, barely nine hundred metres further on, that is our destination. There is plenty to see there: a church, a museum, a post office, a cemetery, and the only whaling station where visitors are allowed to wander among the old industrial installations.

Wearing headlamps, they get to work on a final preventive check, meticulously searching for the smallest illegal speck

Grytviken

Shortly before two o’clock, things turn serious. Over the PA system, David announces that the officers responsible for biosecurity control have come on board. First they will inspect the ship’s facilities, but later – before we go ashore – they will be waiting for us in the mudroom, ready to subject us to their scrutinising gaze.

Looking presentable is the order of the day. And today that is done with more than usual care. In our cabins, we take particular care that when putting on our waterproof trousers, the ends of the trouser legs do not drag across the carpet. Any stray particles could otherwise attach themselves to a strip of Velcro. Lying backwards on the bed with our legs in the air, we slide the trousers on. We then tuck the cuffs upwards so they cannot touch the floor as we make our way through the corridors and stairwells to the mudroom. Jackets, hats, gloves and the like are also subjected to a final visual inspection, just to be safe.

 

King Edward Cove

On the way to the zodiacs, we are intercepted in the corridor by John and Sandra from the expedition staff. Wearing headlamps, they get to work on a final preventive check, meticulously searching for the smallest illegal speck. We pass this inspection with flying colours as well.

Yet the bustle seems to get under his skin, and he briefly lumbers after us in a rather threatening manner

Elephant seal (m) with fight scars

Elephant seal (f)

Reassured, we descend to the mudroom. There we put on our boots and life jackets before facing Tracy, a local official responsible for biosecurity control. She turns out not to be the proverbial stern matron, but a friendly young woman who greets us with a smile. She casts a critical eye over every strip of Velcro, inspects the soles of our boots, and then declares us fit to go ashore.

 

Fur seals in tussac grass

The zodiac drops us near the cemetery. A little further on, a male elephant seal lies dozing in the shallow water, seemingly at a safe distance. Yet the bustle seems to get under his skin, and he briefly lumbers after us in a rather threatening manner. But the display of force is short-lived; he soon settles down again.

All the graves lie neatly parallel to the coastline. Only Shackleton’s stands perpendicular to it, so that he eternally looks in the direction of ‘his’ Antarctica

Grytviken – Cemetery

Grave of Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874 – 1922)

At the cemetery, Tennessee and Brent from the expedition staff are waiting for us. Brent has brought paper cups and a bottle of Jameson – an Irish whiskey, of course – to raise a toast to Shackleton together. Tennessee has brought the text of Prospice, a poem by Robert Browning, Shackleton’s favourite nineteenth-century poet. As the title suggests, the poem is about looking forward – specifically, looking ahead to death. Not in fear, but to face it with head held high. That is entirely in keeping with Shackleton. For, as it reads on the reverse of his gravestone, a man must go to the very limits in order to fulfil the life for which he is destined.

Some graves in this cemetery are empty, commemorating whalers and sealers who were lost at sea. Others contain the victims of the typhus epidemic that broke out here in the winter of 1912 after the arrival of an infected ship from Buenos Aires.

A striking feature of the cemetery is the orientation of the graves—neatly parallel to the coastline. Only Shackleton’s stands perpendicular to it, so that he eternally looks in the direction of ‘his’ Antarctica.

We are forced to make a small detour on our way to the local church, as a female elephant seal has settled herself across the path and a gentoo penguin is standing there quite contentedly, as if in deep thought. This is their domain; we must adjust to their wishes.

The wooden church was prefabricated in Strømmen, Norway, and then shipped to South Georgia

Whaling station

Norwegian Church of Grytviken (Hvalfangerkirken)

It is a typically Norwegian church, built in 1913 on the orders of Carl Anton Larsen. His son-in-law, Adalbert Kielland, drew up the design. The wooden church was prefabricated in Strømmen, Norway, and then shipped to South Georgia. It was consecrated here on Christmas Day 1913. At midnight, the two church bells – cast in Tønsberg – rang out for the first time. Visitors are still allowed to ring them today.

Since 1931, the position of chaplain in Grytviken has remained vacant

Four marriages have been solemnised in this church, the last in 1999, according to the records. That will have to be corrected. For today, two members of our expedition staff are in fact getting married here. The ceremony booklets for the guests are already laid out on the chairs in the small church. They met here seven years ago for the first time—John as a scientist working at King Edward Point, Laura as a staff member of the South Georgia Heritage Trust in the Grytviken museum. They now live in the Orkney Islands, when they are not working on expedition ships or on some subantarctic island.

The first chaplain here was Kristen Loren. But already in 1914 he gave up, remarking that the religious life among the whalers left much to be desired. Three more chaplains after him also failed to make much headway with the rough clientele. Since 1931, the position of chaplain in Grytviken has remained vacant.

Very different was the fate of Basil Biggs. In 1954 he was appointed to a dual role in Grytviken – as handyman and police officer. His equipment included a uniform, a wooden truncheon, a whistle, and a set of handcuffs. As a policeman he had little to do; most of his time was spent on handyman duties, such as raising the Union Jack each morning in front of the government building.

When he retired after fifteen years, he had never once had occasion to use his truncheon, whistle, or handcuffs

Norwegian Church of Grytviken (Hvalfangerkirken)

Basil Biggs (Photo Historic Dockyard Museum, Stanley)

If a ship appeared on the horizon, Basil would put on his police uniform and go aboard in search of puro, a very strong alcoholic drink. Officially, South Georgia was alcohol-free, but in practice many sailors made a lucrative side business of smuggling liquor ashore and selling it to thirsty whalers. Basil’s task was to confiscate and destroy any illegal puro, and, if possible, to punish the smugglers. When he retired after fifteen years, he had never once had occasion to use his truncheon, whistle, or handcuffs.

In fact, the church in Grytviken is the only building that has retained its original function. The Manager’s Villa has been turned into the South Georgia Museum, while another building houses the post office and a small souvenir shop. In summer, some four hundred men lived and worked here, all engaged in processing whale carcasses or in supporting roles.

At the time, London alone had some five thousand public oil lamps, creating a substantial demand for oil

The whaling station of Grytviken in full operation. Five whalers are moored alongside the piers. The Conquistador, the large supply vessel, has already unloaded its cargo. In the lower left, barrels of whale oil are waiting to be loaded. (Photo South Georgia Museum, Grytviken)

Tennessee knows in detail how whaling actually worked. Whales were hunted for a wide range of products. From blubber – the thick layer of fat just beneath the skin – whale oil was produced. This was used as lamp oil and lubricating oil, as well as for the production of margarine and various other purposes. At the time, London alone had some five thousand public oil lamps, creating a substantial demand for oil.

 

Whaling station

From the baleen plates with which baleen whales filter plankton from the water, a variety of items were made: baskets, coach whips, umbrella ribs, and more. Whale meat and bones were ground up into fertiliser.

 

Boiling whale oil

Sperm whales were particularly sought after because they yielded ambergris, a substance used in perfumery, and spermaceti, a waxy material used in the production of candles, soap, cosmetics, and machine oil.

The invention of the explosive harpoon in 1870 by the Norwegian Svend Foyn brought whaling into a new era of industrial expansion

Crow’s nest

Harpoon cannon of the whaler Petrel

The invention of the explosive harpoon in 1870 by the Norwegian Svend Foyn brought whaling into a new era of industrial expansion. On the grounds in front of the museum, Tennessee shows us a cannon used to fire such harpoons. Barbs prevented the harpoon from detaching once it had embedded itself in the whale’s skin. An explosive charge in the harpoon head would detonate, killing the whale. The carcass could then be hauled alongside the ship with a winch, inflated with air to keep it afloat, and brought ashore.

 

Flensing platform

Among the ruins of the whaling station, Tennessee points out the platform on which whales were stripped of their blubber – known as flensing. From the 1930s onwards, a massive whale claw was used to haul the carcass onto the flensing platform. It was attached to the whale’s tail, after which powerful steam winches pulled the body upwards.

It took barely twenty minutes to cut up a whale carcass. Between 1904 and 1965 alone, 175,250 whales were processed in South Georgia

It took barely twenty minutes to cut up a whale carcass. Between 1904 and 1965 alone, 175,250 whales were processed in South Georgia. That averages out to around eight whales per day, for more than sixty years. And that does not even include the factory ships, which could process whales at sea and are estimated to have handled around a million whale carcasses during the same period.

 

Try-pot

Whale claw used to haul a whale by its tail onto the flensing platform

On shore, the thick layer of blubber was first cut from the carcass in long strips and then reduced into smaller, more manageable pieces. These were placed in the try-pot, a huge boiling cauldron used to render oil from the blubber over an open fire. The oil floated to the surface and was transferred into a second pot, where impurities were allowed to settle.

Still visible on Petrel’s bow is the harpoon cannon, and high up on the mast one can make out the crow’s nest

The whaler Petrel

As if it were offering its own contribution to the museum, the Petrel, a whaling ship from 1928, ran aground near the whaling station. Still visible on its bow is the harpoon cannon, and high up on the mast one can make out the crow’s nest from which the horizon was scanned for the spouts of whales.

 

Antarctic tern

Shortly before six o’clock, we are back on board the Magellan Explorer, and an hour later we set course for the open sea. The rolling and pitching of the ship can begin again.

The local officials who inspected our clothing hygiene earlier are very satisfied, David proudly reports during the daily recap. The target was 95%, and the minimum acceptable level 85%, as we recall from his explanation last Tuesday – though we never quite understood what he meant by that. Our score turns out to be 100%. Extremely well, as David puts it. He does not hesitate to call us the best group he has ever had. So much praise; we should probably take it with a pinch of salt.

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Jaak Palmans
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