Taking advantage of an afternoon of sunshine, I went hiking with two women who are staying in Antarctica through the winter. We scrambled out to a trailhead and ascended to a ridgeline overlooking the remnants of the moving sea water. Still seeing one small patch of moving water we hoped a whale would come up to smell a smell, sniff a sniff and take a breath. Hundreds of feet below, seals slept on the ice sheet until their appetites called them back to their hunting grounds. Crepuscular rays broke through the clouds as wind gusts blasted through our clothing layers. Then piercing the solitude, we were interupted by loud honking as a group of four lost looking penguins came into our view.

It seemed like they saw our hiking party and wanted to join forces. I wanted to smuggle one home for baby niece Biggie, to play with. We stopped to see what they would do as they waddled directly for us. Soon they stopped too. At first I thought maybe we frightened them, but then noticed a pressure ridge blocking their path. They continued calling out into the crisp air but made no effort to cross the abrasion or find a way around it. They simply stood there not knowing what to do.

We resumed our ascent until a few paces later I spotted a group of about a dozen other penguins nestled patiently on our trail about fifty feet ahead. We couldn’t believe they had climbed up so high with their tiny little legs. They sat motionless, except for a few molting feathers getting blown by a sudden wind burst. The poor ones below kept crying out to the larger group, to no response. We snapped a couple of pictures and continued around them. The rule is you are not allowed to get close enough to wildlife that it moves. There goes my kidnapping plans. Sorry Biggie, I'll buy you some Cuban cigars instead. When we reached a bend where the mountain obscures the view, we looked back and saw the little pocket of four in the same spot as when we had first seen them.

As we continued, we linked up with the road that goes to Scott Base. One of the women departed back to McMurdo, while the other and I took a right turn and trekked the two miles to New Zealand’s base. We walked into the bar to the astonishment of others because it was already time for the final shuttle van to arrive. We passed on the ride to McMurdo and decided to walk back when we wanted. With all the Americans gone, the only patrons remaining were six winter-overs at that base, and the two of us. One drink led to another as the minutes drifted by. The differences in customs between various countries are always quite interesting to me. Closing time in the American bar leads to the bartender yelling last call and then promptly and sometimes forcefully ushering everyone out the door as soon as possible.

Here though, the bartender simply disappeared one moment without saying a word. I thought she had left to use the bathroom or something, only she never came back. At this point, four of us conversed in the dull grey light slumping through the windows. One of the Kiwis grabbed the same beer can to take a sip before realizing it was empty about a half dozen times. Each time he did it, I smiled watching him want that next sip so bad and then looking disappointed it wasn't there. If I would have known him better I would have burst out laughing. Finally, to my surprise, he simply walked behind the bar and asked if anyone else wanted a drink and then proceeded to ring up the booze himself.

What a great concept, I thought; a self-serve bar. One guy hanging out with us was the same I had met last week who showed me the map of the South Island. The other had his head shaved bald, sported a fu-manchu moustache, and wore a Harley Davidson shirt. His appearance was in stark contrast to his voice, vocabulary, and diction which sounded like an Oxford University professor. I think I may raise my children in a country that speaks the Queen’s English, so they’ll sound intelligent no matter what. Strangers always think I smoke a lot of dope and eat Chipwiches and Cheetos, just because I talk a little slow.

We stayed until after 2:00 in the morning before deciding to leave. Outside, the air was silent and frigid, our footsteps creating the only sound. We walked to the edge of land, where the volcanic dirt meets the sea ice, closer to a group of seals. Suddenly, a deep low groaning accompanied by heavy breathing pierced the quiet calm. We approached a pressure ridge that had a few icy formations resembling giant mushrooms or hoodoos in Goblin Valley. The noises grew louder and more intense and soon I began thinking a seal laid near our feet, hidden by one of the structures. I realized it was just an echo reflecting off the ice as additional sounds in the distance erupted from the tens of other seals littered throughout the area.

The clamor conjured up images that I was not in fact in Antarctica, but in some tropical jungle, for some sounds resembled giant insects, monkeys or birds. I felt like I was in such a wild and remote area of the Earth and it was such a privilege to be here. The seal closest to us, arched his back several times while grunting, before flipping over to reveal his spotted underside. His flipper rubbed his belly and I could relate to needing a good scratch.

Soaking in the moment for a moment we decided to start our walk back to McMurdo having already hiked nearly 5 miles that evening. The air had shifted and the wind began to blow hard as small snowflakes peppered the dirt road. Giant wind turbines spun swiftly on top of an adjacent peak, producing half of the stations energy supply. I zipped my coat up and put my hood up for the walk home. I had a rough morning trying to get out of bed and to the power plant for work on time but made it, although, I did miss breakfast and dinner for the next two days to catch up on sleep. Now, I enter the final week of my season here. I only have three more work days and Friday I’ll be in New Zealand for my next adventures. While I will bypass the Cheetos, I may be seeking that elusive back scratch.

written by  JCinTheSouthPole on February 28, 2010 from Escalante, United States
from the travel blog: South Pole
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Island would have really like a pet penguin. I bet that she'll like the Cuban cigar even more. Make sure that you bring another cigar back for Tamisha so that she won't get jealous that Island has one and she doesn't.

written by  emiline carling on March 2, 2010

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