Our first introduction to king penguins was on Macquarie Island, five days after leaving New Zealand. These three were having an animated discussion about something that eluded us.

We were instructed to limit our viewing of the penguin rookery by staying on our side of the rope that was laid on the ground. These two birds apparently decided to do the same.

Among the tortured forms of colliding ice floes, amidst blowing snow and salt spray of the Ross Sea off the coast of Cape Hallett sits a lone Adélie penguin. She is grooming the feathers on her white breast, picking out loose down, smoothing the fibers of her soft insulating coat. Our Zodiac raft, carrying eleven expeditioners with cameras cocked inches forward as our driver positions the craft for the best angle to the penguin. She pays no heed. She has probably never seen people before and has no reason to fear us. The Zodiac bumps into the iceberg, a cap of crusty snow on top of a deep blue-green mass of translucent ice the size of a rock concert stage. The Adélie spreads her flippers and shakes her tail. Rat-a-tat exposures burst from rapid fire cameras. The paparazzi have nosed their raft up onto the berg to within a few meters of the grooming bird. She remains completely unfazed, concentrating intently on primping herself. Another day on a beach further south in the Ross Sea, a family of Weddell seals bask in the sunshine. They have sated themselves on penguins and fish in the fecund waters and now they rest on the sand, digesting their meals. Most lie still with their eyes closed. From time to time one has an urge to lift a flipper and scratch its belly. Periodically their somnolence is interrupted by a snort, a sneeze or a yawn. Then they roll over and continue their snooze. These animals are comfortable and their yawns are contagious.

To be this close to wild creatures in their own habitat is a remarkable experience. Their most striking quality is a lack of fear. They are completely at home and have no memory of the wholesale slaughter suffered by their species in decades past. A century ago, sealers set up “processing” stations on these beaches where they clubbed seals to death nearly to extinction, skinned them for pelts, carved up their fatty flesh for meat and boiled their blubber for oil. Penguins too were killed by the thousands. Steel “digesters” were installed on the beaches to cook their bodies and release the oil.  Live penguins were dumped into the digesters dozens at a time. Steam powered ships were even converted to use penguin carcasses in place of coal for fuel. Now this is all history. The whalers, sealers and penguin harvesters have all left after their target resource became too depleted to be economical. Some species were driven to extinction while others survived in numbers large enough to allow gradual recovery in the following decades. Now we are blessed with the opportunity to be with these marvelous creatures in their natural habitat where they are thriving once again.

Unfortunately, the future of their well-being is unclear. Adélie penguins build nests on rocky ground by collecting small stones and making little piles that keep their eggs off the wet ground. As sea levels rise and melting ice turns their rookeries into mud, will these birds be able to adapt? Their breeding behaviors have evolved over millions of years, but now they are facing changes in their habitat that are occurring in a few decades. Other animals, such as the polar bears of the north are critically dependent upon pack ice for hunting seals. Females must put on enough body fat to be able to suckle their cubs for months at a time without eating. As global temperatures rise, larger and larger regions of the ocean become free of ice. The impact on animals living in polar climes could be devastating, possibly even more profound than their exploitation for pelts and oils a hundred years ago. 

Each time I return to the ship, I am aware of feeling intensely alive as well as amazingly fortunate to be here in this place at this time with this small group of individuals. The staff members have rich backgrounds in varied aspects of the area. Joan, who turned 70 at the beginning of the voyage, has been intrigued by Antarctica her entire life. After a career in business management and organization, she has become one of the world’s leading experts in Antarctic exploration and history. She has given many delightfully detailed lectures, complete with pictures, on the history, replete with personal details that breathe life into the sites and huts when we make landings. Many huts have been so well restored and preserved even down to the original wood brought in on ship. The aroma of the seal blubber that comes from slabs stacked in the corner often provided light, fuel for cooking as well as food for marooned explorers. The smell has permeated everything and has lasted for more than a century.

“Chilean Sea Bass” is a term created by marketers in the fishing industry. It is a name they chose to give to the Antarctic toothfish which is found in the Southern Ocean surrounding Antarctica. As a large predator, the Antarctic toothfish is at the top of the food chain, along with Orcas. It feeds on smaller fish which in turn feed on krill. Very little is known about the Antarctic Toothfish: where it spawns, where the juvenile fish grow, how long it lives. The fish is large and its flesh is firm; it makes excellent tasty meals. A single specimen, weighing 30kg will sell for over $600 wholesale.

The Ross Sea in Antarctica is an unparalled ecosystem that so far has not been spoiled by humans. However, as fishing resources in other parts of the world have diminished, there has been pressure to move southward to tap into previously untapped regions of the ocean. Now there is pressure to move into the Ross Sea as well, sometimes referred to as the “Last Ocean” on Earth. If commercial fishing becomes established here, it will inevitably result in degradation of this unique marine environment.

The Ross Sea has the largest population of toothfish in the world. Fishing vessels from New Zealand, China, South Korea, Spain and the USA have begun to ply the waters in search for this premium gourmet fish. The number of vessels coming to fish in the Ross Sea has increased dramatically over the past two decades. Thousands of tons of toothfish are harvested each year. Already the average size of fish being caught is rapidly diminishing, evidence of excessive exploitation. No one knows how long before the population will be no longer able to sustain itself.

Each fishing vessel that comes to the Ross Sea brings with it the potential for environmental damage. An oil spill could be devastating to the pristine ocean waters. The water here is crystal clear and the wildlife is abundant, but it wouldn’t take much to destroy it forever.

n organization known by the acronym CCAMLR (Commission for Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources) is comprised of representatives from 23 countries who are trying to establish regulations for fisheries around Antarctica.  Based in Hobart, Tasmania (Australia), it is responsible for defining the fishing policies for the Ross Sea and the Southern Ocean. By emphasizing the interdependence of species rather than just the specific interests of commercial fisheries, CCAMLR hopes to establish policies that conserve entire ecosystems.

In September, 2011 CCAMLR submitted The Case for a Ross Sea Marine Reserve, a proposal to ban fishing and designate the Ross Sea as a marine protected area (MPA). The proposal argues that the Ross Sea possesses a high level of biodiversity due to its habitat diversity and that its least impacted status relative to other marine regions makes it unmatched as a refuge of plants and animals and as a site for scientific research.

The most important reason to ban fishing and exploitation of the sea for economic gain is that it represents one of the last places on Earth where a complex, healthy marine ecosystem remains intact. Once the Ross Sea is disturbed, we will never again see an ocean that has been free of human exploitation.

You can help to preserve this special place by avoiding “Chilean Sea Bass,” another name for Antarctic toothfish.

Krill are shrimp-like ocean creatures that grow to 2-3” long. They are one of the most abundant animals in the world, representing 500,000,000 tons of biomass worldwide (about half that of humans). They are a critically important food source for fish, squid, seabirds (including penguins) and whales. About half of the world’s krill end up as food for other creatures.

In the past two decades, commercial harvesting of krill has grown dramatically. Krill are harvested for use in food supplements and as feed for farmed fish. Efforts are underway to develop food products for human consumption using krill as a base.

It takes 2-3 years for a newly hatched egg to develop into a sexually mature adult. In one species of krill endemic to Antarctica, Euphausis superba, the female can lay clutches of a thousand eggs several times a year. The eggs are fertilized externally by the male and then fall to the bottom of the ocean. After the eggs hatch the young go through a several-step process of transformation and eventually return to the surface of the ocean.  At the surface, they feed upon algae growing on the underside of sea ice. The amount of sea ice is diminishing around the world and as a consequence, krill are having greater difficulty finding food. It is expected that sea ice in the north polar region will practically disappear in years to come and when it does the remaining ice in Antarctica will become the sole remaining feeding area for krill. 

Some efforts are underway to bring together marine regulatory agencies in countries that have interests in harvesting krill to coordinate efforts to preserve krill populations. There is a need for research to better understand the role of krill in marine ecosystems and to establish guidelines for harvesting to insure the long term sustainability of these unique organisms.

The pest eradication program on Macquarie Island over the past couple of decades provides an informative story about human’s attempts of manage animal species. The story goes back to the early 1800s when Macquarie Island, in the Southern Ocean south of Australia was discovered by men hunting seals and whales. The first sailors who came ashore encountered thousands of fur seals, elephant seals (a large species of sea lion) and penguins. Some ships came to drop off gangs to establish whaling and sealing stations. Occasionally ships were wrecked on the rocks and shoals of the island and survivors sought refuge while waiting for help. Finding food on Macquarie Island was often challenging. Over the years, men arriving on Macquarie brought with them rabbits and weka (a bird similar to a small bantem chicken) to provide themselves a source of food. Some escaped into the wild. Some ships harbored rats and mice which came ashore and soon began to multiply. Domestic cats were introduced, presumably as pets as well as to catch mice.

Large Norway rats and smaller mice reproduced quite quickly, having found a ready source of food in the eggs of ground-nesting endemic birds (petrels and albatrosses). Wekas, which thrived in the wild, ate the eggs of other birds, such as ground-burrowing petrels. Rats clamored over the nests of albatrosses, poking for eggs under the adult birds, even as the female incubated her clutch. The population of rabbits exploded, with a practically unlimited supply of tussock grass. Feral cats multiplied, feeding upon baby rabbits. Before long, the impact of vast numbers of introduced species began to decimate populations of endemic species (resulting in the extinction of several, such as the Macquarie Island parakeet and a rail). The island landscape itself began to change. The number of rabbits grew so high that entire hills were denuded of grass, precipitating soil erosion and landslides. The ecosystem of Macquarie Island, which had developed gradually over 700,000 years (when the first rocky outcropping emerged at the surface from the ocean floor) had now been completely transformed in a geological blink of an eye.

People began to realize the sad consequences of introducing foreign species to the island and pondered what could be done. But Macquarie Island is a mountainous rocky piece of land twenty miles long and two miles wide. How could the population of rats, mice, rabbits, cats and wekas be controlled? Research teams in New Zealand and Australia began to work together to assess the situation more accurately and come up with a proposal for dealing with the pests. It was soon realized that simply trying to control the populations would never work in the long run. Rather, eradication, followed by strict policies to prevent further infestation would be necessary. Further, it became clear that a single eradication program targeting all the pest species together would be more cost effective and more likely of success than targeting individual species one at a time.

One early strategy to target the rabbit population was to use a naturally occurring virus (myxoma) that infected rabbits and caused blindness and weakening, eventually resulting in starvation (if predators did not prey on the rabbits first). Spreading the virus required a vector and the most natural was a flea that infected rabbits’ ears. The virus had the potential of reducing the rabbit population substantially but not eliminating it altogether.

Also it would have no effect on the rats or mice. A poison was available (Brodificoum) that was effective for killing rabbits, rats and mice, an anticoagulant that caused internal bleeding and resulted in death of the animal within 4-5 days. The first attempt to spread poison was hampered by inclement weather, and only about 10% of the island area was covered. A second virus, calisi was employed to suppress the rabbit population and thereby reduce the secondary effects on non-target species such as skuas, giant petrels, kelp gulls and ducks. The following winter the entire island was baited with approximately 300 tons of poison.

Biologists realized that the use of poison would inevitably have harmful secondary effects on non-target species such as the birds that preyed on poisoned animals and inevitably ingested the contents of the stomach. To minimize these unintended consequences, plans were formulated to collect and bury the carcasses of the poisoned animals. Also, the secondary effects would be reduced by scheduling the eradication to avoid times when migrating birds were on the island.

Wekas were eradicated by a combination of intensive shooting and predation pressure from feral cats. The cats faced a shortage of rabbits due to the effectiveness of the myxoma virus.

After several years of assessment and planning, an eradication program was developed. It involved injecting a virus into the blood of a few rabbits and infecting them with the fleas that would spread the virus from one animal to the next. These rabbits were then released at key points around the island. A large quantity of poison (the anticoagulant mixed into an oatmeal base and formed into small pellets) was amassed on the island and set up at loading stations that were accessible by helicopter. It was important to distribute the poison uniformly across the island, so helicopter pilots, using GPS sensors and computer systems, flew along carefully devised grid lines and released the bait uniformly from large buckets hanging from cables beneath the helicopter. On the first attempt, foul weather prevented the distribution of any more than 10% of the bait and the effort was postponed a year. The following year, the bait distribution went smoothly. It was followed up a few days later by individuals on the ground who collected carcasses. Then a second distribution took place to make sure that all pest infestation areans were reached.

Following the distribution of poison from helicopters, a team of hunters with rifles covered the entire island on foot, looking for evidence of live rabbits, rats or mice. They used traps, poison and rifles to eliminate any surviving pests they found.

The poisoning program on Macquarie Island was completed in 2012. As early as late 2012 the last rabbit was hunted and no sign of either rats or mice could be found. Even so, the island will not be officially declared rabbit and rodent free until late 2014 or 2015. At this time it looks like the program has been a complete success. The tussock grass, Poa foliosa and the megaherbs such as Stilbocarpa Polaris and Plurophylum hookerii have begun to grow back and cover the hillsides. Burrowing petrels and other native birds have been increasing in numbers. Macquarie Island seems to be returning to the condition it was in before men first introduced foreign species.

There are many places on Earth where people have been responsible for introducing new species into places where they reproduced so rapidly that they marginalized native species or forced them into extinction. Often once this has taken place, it is nearly impossible to restore the ecosystem to its original condition. Macquarie Island is one example of a place where it was possible to do so, but only at considerable expense.

Jan 18-19

The weather forecast for Saturday the 18th of January called for moderately strong westerlies south of Invercargill, our departure point from New Zealand. Our expedition leader Nathan explained there had been a “slight change” in our itinerary—instead of heading first toward The Snares islands, we would sail directly to the Auckland Islands and hope to visit The Snares on our return. Visiting The Snares requires fairly calm seas as we are not allowed to go ashore and must negotiate a course close to the coastline. It was too windy to try that at this time, so we set sail for the Aucklands.

Our ship the Akademik Shokalskiy left around 4:00 pm. We were told to stow away our gear in the drawers and cabinets provided in our cabins. We stowed our clothing and camera equipment but didn’t bother with folders of papers, my water bottle, and a couple of souvenir coffee mugs. We sailed along the east coast of Stewart Island and then entered the open seas, where the wind started to pick up. Heading south, we experienced a crosswind and the ship began to roll. Initially it rolled only 10 degrees or so and the gentle rocking motion felt soothing.

Gradually, the wind from the west grew stronger and the ship began rolling side to side with gradually increasing amplitude. My water bottle bounced onto the floor and the stainless steel coffee mugs clattered about. A bag of snacks we purchased in Invercargill fell to the floor and burst open. Cashews, peanuts and wasabi peas scattered to all corners of the cabin.

It was a challenge to keep from rolling out of bed. There weren’t any grab bars and the guard rails only extended a foot or so from the ends of the bed. Before long it was dark and it was harder to gauge how far away the walls and doorway to the bathroom were. Cynthia and I found ourselves preoccupied with staying secure in our respective bunk beds. Our beds were aligned parallel to the ship’s axis so as the rolling increased, it took considerable effort to avoid falling out.

The ship rolled 20-40 degrees from vertical. I speculated that perhaps a hammock would work better than cabin bunks. At one point I did fall out of bed, bruising my hip and lacerating my arm on the carpet. I started thinking about how I might improvise a grab bar. I got out my belt and wrapped it through the eye of bolt on the window. I held on to the belt without letting go. Anything in the cabin not secured fell, rolled or bounced across the floor from one side of the cabin to the other. Suddenly a big wooden drawer beneath the bed went flying across the room. The rolling motion went on for a couple of hours and neither of us could fall asleep. I had to constantly brace for the next wave. I realized I would need a way to strap my body in bed if I were going to get any sleep.

After a few hours, I dreamed up a system that might work. Using a strap that we had used around our big duffel bag, I wrapped it around my torso and looped it through the other belt. The system worked; I could begin to relax, allowing my weight to be supported by the belt. I finally began to feel comfortable.

Then suddenly the ship lurched over to about 45 degrees. Before I knew it, I was practically dangling; my body weight strained against the strap. A few seconds later the strap broke and in a moment of terror, I went flying hard onto the floor. I landed flat on my back in the dark and had the wind knocked out of me. The impact was like the time I fell off a horse, but harder. I stayed down on the floor for a few minutes, trying to assess the damage and catch my breath. It was extremely painful. I could hardly get up. When I got back into bed, I could only lie flat on my back. Turning on my side was too painful. I had several bruises on my shoulders and back. I gripped the edge of the bed and held that position until dawn.

In daylight, our room looked like the aftermath of a really rowdy party. A privacy curtain around the bed had torn down, the nails ripped from the ceiling. An open drawer was in the middle of the floor, which was covered with cashews and wasabi peas. Papers and file folders were scattered all about.

I discovered that my bloody arm had left several stains on the sheets and comforter. I decided I should probably visit the onboard doctor, just to have him check to see if I had any broken ribs. I went to the clinic but didn’t see the doctor in. Apparently, he had suffered from seasickness most of the night. After a few minutes, he got up and checked me over. Any tingling sensations or numbness? No. Could I raise my arms over my head? Yes. Could I walk? Yes. Did I feel any sharp pain along my spine as he pressed against my ribs? No. I had some large bruises on my waist, my back and my shoulders, but it didn’t look like I had any serious injuries. I took a couple of ibuprofen tablets, got dressed and went to breakfast.

At breakfast, we shared our experiences with other passengers: one man’s head and face had several lacerations; a woman described crawling on the floor and banging her head against the wall. Another took a fall resulting in the privacy curtains being ripped down in his cabin as well. Many passengers told of getting seasick. One man even suffered a dislocated shoulder. Pure mayhem.

The rolling of the ship continued throughout the day and we tried to find refuge in our beds. The ocean didn’t calm until we sailed into Ross Bay on the north end of the Auckland Islands. Finally, we were able to get a good night’s sleep. My injuries were relatively minor, but I was glad that Cynthia had remembered to bring along bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. One woman had to be evacuated by helicopter. I don’t know the details, but I wouldn’t be surprised if her condition had been related to the night of stormy seas.

We have now been aboard the ship for a week. We have not seen seas as rough as that first night. People’s injuries have been healing and everyone is developing sea legs. The man with the dislocated shoulder is keeping his arm in a sling. People seem to be adjusting to the motion and have overcome their initial seasickness. The pain in my back and shoulders diminishes with each day that passes. It’s very interesting to watch the process of the human body accommodating to these circumstances.

Our encounter with wildlife in the Auckland Islands and on Macquarie Island has been phenomenal. We have seen hundreds of seabirds from the ship, including petrels, shearwaters, prions, penguins and albatrosses. We have gone ashore many times where we have spent long leisurely moments with sea lions, elephant seals and four different species of penguins. “The Galapagos of the Southern Ocean” is a perfect description of the subantarctic islands. They are teeming with animals and birds that have no fear. If you simply sit on the beach, it’s not uncommon for a king penguin to walk up within a few feet and investigate you and your camera gear. At times, it’s hard to focus your camera, as the bird is too close. I’ve taken several hundred photographs already and now I’m winnowing them to select a few to share. But I won’t be able to post any photos on the blog until we return to New Zealand in about three weeks.

On board ship are some of the world’s most experienced and knowledgeable people about the southern ocean. When we are not on shore amongst the penguins, seals and sea lions, we have a full schedule of lectures by biologists, geologists and historians. So memories of our first night are fading fast. Now we are on course to the Ross Sea in Antarctica, where we are expected to arrive on January 28.

[I am not sure that this blog post will actually make it, but I will give it a try anyway. Future posts will be infrequent while we are at sea.]

David

I don’t expect to post anything to this blog while on board the ship due to limited connectivity. Hope to have plenty of photos to share then.

Cheers!

David