Enter the Ice

15th and 16th November

We hit the ice on 15th November. There were a few large 'bergs around the previous evening so many of us were up on deck early, excited at the increasing number and variety of sizes and shapes. Huge, flat-topped blocks, smaller amorphous chunks and the most dramatic ones with spires and turrets rising like something from a gothic fairy tale, evidence of where they'd been eroded by the waves and then rolled over. Dotted amongst these were the first bits of land we'd seen in three days. Bleak, dark islands. Just rocks in the ocean, perilously steep and ice-covered with emotive names like Inaccessible Island.

On the horizon what looked at first like a silvery line, possibly a reflection of the distant sun, resolved itself as the edge of the brash sea ice. It was a very definite line, before which there was open ocean carrying ice fragments and after which was compacted ice fragments with the occasional stretch of open water. There was tremendous excitement on deck as we all crowded round either the bow or the top deck viewing platform to enjoy the moment, around 11am, when we heard the first crunch of ice being pushed against ice as we edged our way into this new domain.

Irregularly shaped blocks of ice measuring ten to thirty meters across, standing just fifty centimetres clear of the water, dominated the surface. The gaps where they don't tessellate being filled in with the broken fragments that have been sheared off when they grind against each other. It's the gaps we want to aim for, slipping between the big blocks rather than trying to break them apart. As we got further in the gaps got smaller and the big blocks closer together. Progress slowed and by the afternoon it wasn't unusual for us to be stopping, reversing slightly and altering direction by a few degrees before pushing forward again. In our wake the open water marking the route we'd taken quickly closed up as the ice spread itself out again, possibly in smaller fragments carrying a little red paint.

An unanticipated but pleasing aspect to being in the ice is how smooth the journey feels. Gone are the nausea-inducing rolling seas, replaced by a smooth, slow glide interrupted by jolts that rock the ship like airplane turbulence. We made a maximum three knots through this, compared to the twelve we can do in open water.

The last hour in open water gave us our first views of whales on this trip. Distant spouts of, we think, minkes. Leaping clear alongside the ship, travelling in small groups were a few penguins; gentoos, chinstraps and, once we got into the ice, adelies. We saw more of them standing in small groups on the larger bergs or moving through the ice field like trains of ants crossing a particularly broken up patio. Dotted around too were crabeater seals, sleeping peacefully or putting their heads up to see this big red monster carving through their domain.

Twenty four hours later we broke free, back into open water. The way the ice has these very definite boundaries, controlled by wind and ocean currents, seems bizarre. There's no gradual change, it's an instant jump from one world to another.

The cloud-covered peaks of Coronation Island had been visible for some time but as we drew closer to Signy, our first port of call, the mountains seemed to get bigger as the cloud got heavier. Eventually we pulled up within reach of our destination, surrounded by spectacular steep slopes and glaciers plunging into the sea.

One of the first really spectacular icebergs.

A line of white on the horizon slowly resolving itself into the edge of the ice.

Eerie towers rising through the broken surface.

Pushing its way slowly through the ice, the RRS James Clark Ross.

Crabeater Seal.

Adelie penguins, pushing themselves along on their bellies.

Snow, reducing the visibility until it was nearly complete white.

Meanwhile... inside the ship.

While the cracks are useful for us to push our way through on the ship for some of the residents they provide more of an obstacle to a smooth journey.

The mountains of the South Orkneys near Signy. Spot the crabeater seal on the nearest ice.

Some of the 'bergs were large enough to have little lumps and valleys to hide in.

Looking over the pointy end of the ship to where it was breaking through the ice.

Adelie penguins, up to no good.

Love those little white rings around the eyes.

Snow petrels accompanied us the whole time we were in the ice, whizzing round and round the ship, looking for marine crustaceans near the surface where we'd disturbed it.

At times it looked like you could have got out and walked across the ice. I think if we were here at the end of autumn, rather than spring, I'd have been concerned (and secretly excited) at the prospect of getting stuck.

Amazing colours of the icebergs (mostly white and blue).

This is a long exposure photo of us edging through the pack at night. When traveling through the ice at night these two huge spotlights move around as the skipper picks out the smoothest route. This is a long exposure photo of us edging 

Nearer the edge of the pack the gaps between ice get bigger and the channels open up.

Groups of chinstrap penguins accompanied the ship heading through the narrow channels of open water.

One cheeky adelie hanging out with the chinstrap penguins.

Absolute mirror-calm seas gave the place a somewhat spooky air. I spent a long time thinking about Scott, Shackleton and the others, but also people like James Cook and James Clark Ross himself, after whom our ship is named. They were amongst the first people to sail these seas, back when whatever was over the horizon was truly unknown.

It's difficult to get into pictures just how it feels to be in this environment, with ice as far as you can see, Even in a big, modern comfy ship you feel a sense of vulnerability. Like, if the weather turned against you there is nothing you could do to prevent it.

Jerry

Wanderer chick ringing

The Wandering Albatross chicks that hatched around the start of March have been sitting tight all winter, protected from the blizzards by huge amounts of fluffy down. Showing through that down now are good numbers of adult feathers, particularly on the wings, head and chest. Although they're still a few months off fledging many of them are able to stand up properly and will soon start walking, exploring the area around their nests.  

Wandering Albatross chick overlooking Bird Sound.

So this is the time for ringing them all. I've been out helping Steph as she covers the whole island, seeing to every one of the 500 chicks. The information we get back from these rings will provide information on survival rates, distribution, migration and breeding success of these huge, magnificent but endangered birds.

A sign of things to come...

I'd been out doing this and checking on the chick at the far end of the island on August 31^st. I'd been told not to be back too late and when I returned I was allowed a quick cup of tea and shower before Hannah suggested we go for a walk up the hill. We headed up and over to the hut at Fairy Point from where I do the majority of my Macaroni Penguin work. There, Craig and Steph had decorated and warmed up some food and carried over a few beers – it was my surprise birthday meal! We had a good laugh and fought off the cold with tilley lamps and numerous cups of tea.  

Crammed together around the table awaiting dinner.

Over night it snowed heavily, so once we'd wiped the condensation from the window we could see white all around us. The skies had cleared for the journey back so we got some great views of the snow-covered island.

Cabin in the snow. Behind the 'Love Shack' is Big Mac, where about 40,000 pairs of Macaroni Penguins will soon return to breed. In front of it is Little Mac, where about 500 will.

Chating to the Geeps on the way back.

I returned for some beautifully made presents (framed picture, photo-book, knitted penguin) before we had a hot-tub and huge pizza. Brilliant.

Here's a few more photos of what's happening:

Antarctic Tern fishing in the bay. There's been quite a lot of terns about recently and with some low tides they're regularly seen fishing just off the beach, going for the tiny crustaceans and fish.

Average day of a Gentoo penguin; jump up on a rock, eat some snow, get confused how to get down from the rock.

Chinstrap penguin; an occasional visitor from a bit further south.

Pair of adult Wandering Albatrosses taking advantage of the rare opportunity when they both return to feed their chick at the same time to indulge in a bit of mutual preening and pair-bonding.

Leopard Seal hauled out on the brash ice for a rest.

Taking advantage of the super-low tide to do a bit of rockpooling.

Amongst the seaweed, sponges and anemones are lots of tiny crustaceans, hanging on among the swirling waves.

Always a pleasure to see - a nudibranch!

Jerry.

Please support our work by visiting Hannah and Steph's blogs too.

Counting and camping

Penguins

It's been a busy week for us penguinologists. We've been out several days this week carrying out counts of Gentoo chicks in every colony on the island. It is 100 days after 75% of marked nests had eggs laid in them and some of the chicks are large and fully moulted, although not yet independent. It seems to have been a good year, with over 4,500 – just over one chick per nest.

Everyone on base got involved with different bits of the work; the more eyes counting groups of between 12 and 250 penguin chicks the better. We aim to get within 5% of each other, which can be difficult when there's lots of chicks moving round, never mind the different eyesight and vantage points of the observers, but with several people counting we can pretty sure our average counts are accurate. It is important counting techniques are repeated each year to ensure the data is comparable.

Two days after counting all the chicks on Johnson Beach we were back there catching and weighing 100 of them. This was a messy job for the whole team. The average chick weight is just over 5kgs, although a couple of particularly large individuals were over 7kgs. Comparing fledging weights between years allows us to compare how good the feeding is and assess the likely survival chances of a particular generation.

Away from the penguins other work continues, with the albatrologists still marking new Wanderer nests and regularly checking on the Black-browed, Grey-headed and Sooty-mantled Albatrosses. The seal team have completed their work on the Special Study Beach (and enjoyed a lie-in after being up early every morning since early November) and are now tracking the movement of puppies around base and further up the streams.

A bright, sunny day. Ideal for counting penguins at Natural Arch. Looking east through Bird Sound with South Georgia on the right and icebergs in the distance.

 Hannah, armed only with clicker, counting Gentoo chicks.

Chinstrap Penguin. An occasional visitor, breeding further south. This one, the first I've seen, was hanging around on Johnson Beach while we were counting Gentoo chicks.

Bird Island by Night

As well as the penguins, Ruth and I also work a bit with the petrels, not just the Giant ones but some of the estimated 700,000 burrowing pairs. Recently we've been collecting feather samples from some of these and deploying tiny GPS devices onto others. These will track where the birds are feeding – an important step in understanding their lifestyle and hopefully contributory step in helping protect them when away from their breeding grounds.

Although most of our petrel work can be done during the day some does have to be done at night, so last week Jon and Jen joined us to go camping on Molly Meadows. We were looking for specific Blue Petrels returning to their burrows and, although we didn't get as many as we'd hoped, we had a great night, working from about midnight until 5am with enough time in between checking burrows to sit round a small stove and have cups of coffee and a good laugh.

Then later in the week we went out after dinner up Gazella, the hill behind base, to catch a few South Georgian Diving Petrels. These are tiny and squat, a little like Little Auks, with beautiful blue legs and are very rarely seen during the day. It was another good night, although very cold up there and we were glad to be back by 3am.

 South-Georgian Diving Petrel.

Ruth and Jen working by torchlight.

Domestic

When not out working I've still been busy. Possibly the most stressful part of the week was my first Saturday cook, for Saturday means a full three course meal (spicy pumpkin soup, risotto and chocolate bread & butter pudding for those interested), but I took my time about it and was still able to have a little time outside appreciating the wildlife.

 Pleased looking puppy taking a break from testing the water. It's great seeing them splashing around in the shallows, properly beginning to use their flippers.

 Wilson's Storm Petrel. Plenty breeding further up the slopes but they're not often seen during the day. Apart from the occasional day when there's a small group feeding near the jetty.

 Giant Petrels disposing of a dead seal puppy.

 Antarctic Tern, a regular visitor.

The first seal to climb on to our close iceberg was reluctant to give up it's spot, growling aggressively at the second one.

Jerry.