pressure joints along its edges. Outside, we hike the loose granite,
feldspar, and glacial sand until we encounter a fur seal hauled up, sev-
eral hundred yards from the water on the sharp broken rocks. He barks
and whines a warning at us. Nearby ponds and 100-year-old moss beds
have attracted colonies of brown skuas who soon begin dive-bombing
us. I get whacked from behind by one of the 5-pound thugs. It feels like
getting slapped hard in the back of the head by a large man. We quickly
move away, climbing back over the exposed glacier rock, past middens
of limpet shells, and down a rock chimney to where our boat is tied up.
The leopard seal is awake now, checking us out as we take off. I notice
bloodstains on the ice where he has been resting.
We next drop by Christine, a big bouldery island where we walk
past a large congregation of elephant seals hanging out opposite a
colony of squawking adelies. Crossing the heights, we find mossy
green swales with ponds full of brine shrimp. We then lay out on a
rocky beach at the end of a narrow blue channel, sharing the space with
two elephant seals of about 500 and 900 pounds.
The Southern Ocean is crystal clear; the sun has come out and
turned the sky cobalt blue. It feels almost tropical, lounging to the
sound of the waves rolling and retreating across smooth fist-sized
stones. Further out are several flat islands with big breakers crashing
over them, sending spray 50 feet into the air. The elephant seals are
blowing snot and blinking their huge red eyes, their black pupils the
size of teaspoons for gathering light in deep-diving forays after squid.
A fur seal comes corkscrewing through the channel’s water before pad-
dle-walking ashore and scratching itself with a hind flipper, a blissful
expression on his wolfy face. And there we are, just five lazy mammals
enjoying a bit of sun.
Driving the Zodiac back to station, we are accompanied by a flight of
blue-eyed shags and squads of porpoiseing penguins in the water. Doc
steers while I keep an eye out for whales, like the minke that bumped the
boat I was riding in a few days earlier. (It was a real Melville moment,
watching its huge brown back roll out from under our raft.) The sky has
again quilted over with clouds, turning the water the color of hammered
tin; and with the buck and slap of the boat and the icy cold saltwater spray
in our faces, it feels as if all is right with the wild.
170 David Helvarg