The Weddell Sea & Brown Bluff
The Weddell Sea is notorious for the variability of its summer-season ice cover. In 1823 the British sailing master James Weddell, on a sealing voyage with two small ships, sailed almost unimpeded to 74 degrees South. His “farthest south,” 214 miles beyond the record achieved by James Cook, stood unbroken until 1911. Ernest Shackleton learned more than he wanted to know about ice in the Weddell Sea when the Endurance was caught on January 18, 1915. It drifted northward with the ice until November 21, when it sank.
Last season the National Geographic Endeavour was barely able to enter into the Weddell Sea. But that was then. This year favorable conditions have allowed us to explore this ice-laden sea. During the night – such night as there is in the far south around the summer solstice – we pushed farther south, the bridge officers navigating around immense straight-sided, flat-topped tabular icebergs. These originate as snowfall on the Antarctic Continent. As snow accumulates it is compressed into ice and flows downhill as a glacier. Where a glacier reaches the sea in a protected area it may float out over the seawater still connected to the land to form a flat ice shelf. Large pieces of the ice shelf then break off as tabular icebergs. We were doubly fortunate today because smooth water, unruffled by wind, gave us magnificent reflections of the ice. All around these tabular icebergs was sea ice that formed when the ocean surface froze in winter. The sea ice provided a platform for large numbers of resting Weddell seals, and for our main quarry of the morning: emperor penguins.
There is a breeding colony of emperors on shorefast ice near the south end of Snow Hill Island. By now the ice upon which they breed has broken up into ice floes that carry the young penguins away from the breeding site. We found them, scattered about singly and in small groups. Many had traces of their distinctive juvenile pattern in down still evident around their faces. The young birds seemed quite oblivious to our approach, as our ship delicately maneuvered between ice floes for great views of the bird that we so much wanted to see.
Reluctantly, we departed for our afternoon destination – a landing at Brown Bluff on the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, thus on the continent itself. Glaciers slide into the sea on either side of the exposed headland and pieces of ice broken from the glaciers nearly blocked the beach, but we prevailed. Some walked up the glacier for a stunning view over Antarctic Sound (aka “Iceberg Alley”). Others chose to simply sit and commune with the penguins – 20,000 or so pairs of Adelie penguins and 600+ pairs of gentoos.
Most of the Adelie penguin nests had two small, dark chicks. The gentoos were more advanced; the chicks no longer fit under the attending parent and some were beginning to wander in the vicinity of the nest. For reasons known only to themselves the Adelies do their coming and going at some distance from the colony area, requiring a parade up the beach to the mutually-agreed-upon departure area. There they gather and, after considerable conversation, head out to feed. By going as part of a group, each bird reduces its odds of falling prey to a lurking leopard seal. We sat quietly, absorbing the scene until, yet again, we departed with reluctance but content in the richness of our day in Antarctica.
The Weddell Sea is notorious for the variability of its summer-season ice cover. In 1823 the British sailing master James Weddell, on a sealing voyage with two small ships, sailed almost unimpeded to 74 degrees South. His “farthest south,” 214 miles beyond the record achieved by James Cook, stood unbroken until 1911. Ernest Shackleton learned more than he wanted to know about ice in the Weddell Sea when the Endurance was caught on January 18, 1915. It drifted northward with the ice until November 21, when it sank.
Last season the National Geographic Endeavour was barely able to enter into the Weddell Sea. But that was then. This year favorable conditions have allowed us to explore this ice-laden sea. During the night – such night as there is in the far south around the summer solstice – we pushed farther south, the bridge officers navigating around immense straight-sided, flat-topped tabular icebergs. These originate as snowfall on the Antarctic Continent. As snow accumulates it is compressed into ice and flows downhill as a glacier. Where a glacier reaches the sea in a protected area it may float out over the seawater still connected to the land to form a flat ice shelf. Large pieces of the ice shelf then break off as tabular icebergs. We were doubly fortunate today because smooth water, unruffled by wind, gave us magnificent reflections of the ice. All around these tabular icebergs was sea ice that formed when the ocean surface froze in winter. The sea ice provided a platform for large numbers of resting Weddell seals, and for our main quarry of the morning: emperor penguins.
There is a breeding colony of emperors on shorefast ice near the south end of Snow Hill Island. By now the ice upon which they breed has broken up into ice floes that carry the young penguins away from the breeding site. We found them, scattered about singly and in small groups. Many had traces of their distinctive juvenile pattern in down still evident around their faces. The young birds seemed quite oblivious to our approach, as our ship delicately maneuvered between ice floes for great views of the bird that we so much wanted to see.
Reluctantly, we departed for our afternoon destination – a landing at Brown Bluff on the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, thus on the continent itself. Glaciers slide into the sea on either side of the exposed headland and pieces of ice broken from the glaciers nearly blocked the beach, but we prevailed. Some walked up the glacier for a stunning view over Antarctic Sound (aka “Iceberg Alley”). Others chose to simply sit and commune with the penguins – 20,000 or so pairs of Adelie penguins and 600+ pairs of gentoos.
Most of the Adelie penguin nests had two small, dark chicks. The gentoos were more advanced; the chicks no longer fit under the attending parent and some were beginning to wander in the vicinity of the nest. For reasons known only to themselves the Adelies do their coming and going at some distance from the colony area, requiring a parade up the beach to the mutually-agreed-upon departure area. There they gather and, after considerable conversation, head out to feed. By going as part of a group, each bird reduces its odds of falling prey to a lurking leopard seal. We sat quietly, absorbing the scene until, yet again, we departed with reluctance but content in the richness of our day in Antarctica.
