Half an hour later, I am waving off Antarctica’s answer to a ptero-
dactyl, a dive-bombing skua. Somewhere along the line these birds
failed to get the word that they are not at the top of the food chain. They
will go after you if you get too close to their nests, startle them, or just
look at them the wrong way.
Meanwhile, Fraser is conferring with Rick Sanchez of the U.S.
Geological Survey. Sanchez is carrying a portable Global Positioning
System (GPS), along with a satellite antenna sticking out of his backpack
and a magnesium-shelled laptop strapped to an elaborate fold-down rig
hanging from his waist and shoulders. He is trying to walk off the perime-
ter (he calls it the polygon) of an extinct colony of adelies in order to con-
firm Fraser’s observations, but a burbling pile of elephant seals is block-
ing his mapping venture. If he tries to move them, they might stampede
and crush still-living penguin chicks or perhaps a curious scientist. Such
are the quandaries of high-tech research projects in Antarctica.
PETRELS INPERIL
I climb up to the island’s higher crags and ridges to join Donna
Patterson who is checking on her favorite birds. Giant petrels are large
scavengers, about the size of bald eagle, that feed on dead seals,
whales, penguins, squid, or just about any other creature that dies on
Antarctica’s Southern Ocean. This is why nineteenth-century sailors
called them “bone shakers.” They also called them “stinkers” because,
if challenged, they can spit a vile fishy stomach oil up to 6 feet.
Patterson has another view of giant petrels or “GPs” (pronounced
“Jeeps”). “I think giant petrels rule the earth, they’re fantastic,” she
tells me. Patterson is 5 feet 1 with a bright but determined attitude and
sun-reddened face (except for a raccoon-like band of white around her
eyes from wearing sunglasses and a bill cap in the field). She has spent
the last 7 years in the company of giant petrels.
We approach the first of twenty-eight birds she will examine today.
It is sitting on a nest of stones, weighing in at about 12 pounds with a
long tube bill hooking to a sharp down turned point tough enough to
puncture seal skin. Patterson crouches down by the bird, talking qui-
etly as the gray-and-white feathered creature begins cawing and clack-
Antarctica 165