Afterimages of water, whales, and seal feces
Even as far as oceans go, the Southern Ocean is very salty. There are a lot of reasons: the freezing of the ice sucks the freshwater out from the ocean; it does not rain very much on account of the whole Antarctica being a desert thing; there is strong evaporation due to frequent intense winds; and the Antarctic Circumpolar Current – which mixes its deep salty upward creating high salinity at the surface.
All of that is to say it is fucking awful getting that horribly salty water in your nose and eyes. The temperature of the water in a polar plunge is not the issue, especially given the water is often warmer than the air. But keeping your eyes and nose open before jumping into salt is another one of life’s greatest lessons where forgetting foresight is bound to bring on suffering.
Blaise, decked out in tropical gear, excitedly tells me there were penguins in the water with me when I jumped in – which would have been cool to see had I not blinded myself. The ships doctor, stationed and keeping watch in the mud room, encourages a “Doctor Approved” shot of whiskey which I giddily accept.
Aside from the salt in my eyes, I would have welcomed swimming in the water longer. I acknowledge that I am a terrible swimmer but I enjoy flailing my body and feeling like I’m really accomplishing something when I manage to wriggle my way towards the general direction of where I’d like to go – something like a baby that hasn’t figured out crawling yet but can manage to roll towards an area of interest and is happy to do so.
When I close my eyes at night, my thoughts are quiet and the afterimages of the sea lulling me to sleep remind me of Jep’s water visions on the ceiling in La Grand Bellezza.
In the morning at Yalour Islands, twenty of us set out in our kayaks and we learn how penguins smell. Apparently, there is so much guano (bird poop) at penguin colonies that the red stains from their heavy krill diet can be observed from space.
We were introduced to Adelie penguins here, which may look more elegant than other penguins, but smell no better. They are undeniably adorable and silly creatures. One continues to observe us, peaking over the top of the iceberg he is on, and I wonder if he’s ever seen a kayak before that day. Most of us had never seen penguins before either so it was an exciting day for all of us – humans and penguins alike.
To reach Port Charcot, we made our way through the Lemaire Channel with the breathtaking mountains of Antarctica on either side of us, looking down at tiny creatures. I remember when I would search for fossils by a small ravine near my grandmother’s house, and my uncle would speculate on what major events may have occurred based on the changes in the rock layers seen on the ravine walls. I wish I had geological literacy to read the faces now.
The feeling itself on deck is wholesome. Helen and Malani recreate the Titanic pose while the rest of us watch giggling and amused. Most of the ship is outside and indifferent to the cold, only having known each other for a couple days, sharing in this experience together in an appreciation for nature. We are happy together cut off from the rest of mankind.
I hold my tongue and don’t want to ruin this wholesome moment by pointing out there is an iceberg that looks remarkably similar to a closeup of a woman spreading her legs – very reminiscent of the NSFW painting L’Origine du Monde. Weeks later, I will share the photo with others on board who either look away in discomfort or laugh at the spitting image. I have mixed feelings on becoming known enough for my ability to recognize suggestive icebergs and I would later be called over on deck when one with a phallic protrusion is spotted.
Port Charcot is where I decide chinstrap penguins are my favorite. In an attempt to be a polite visitor, I suggest to Kathleen, my roommate and now kayak partner, that we navigate out of its way. Instead, the penguin continued to follow us peering curiously at us. In an attempt to make peace with a stranger, I smile and say “Hi!” “Wah!” he cheerily responds. Encouraged, I repeat myself. “Hi!” “Wah!” “Hi!” “Wah!” “Hi!” “Wah!”
I decide that chinstrap penguins are the friendly Midwesterners of Antarctic penguins and are promoters of hospitality and socialization.
For the rest of the trip, amongst a homogenous colony of countless Gentoo or Adelie penguins, a Chinstrap or two can often be spotted that apparently dropped in just to say hello. They’re the type of penguin that would bring their hosts a fish based casserole or a salad that is at least 50% mayonnaise. Their friendliness can be so disarming it is almost off-putting at times. Clearly, they are the best penguins.
We venture into a place popular amongst various species of penguins and several humpback whales. Humpbacks operate with a considerate restraint and thoughtfulness that less intelligent animals don’t seem to possess. I would include many humans in the latter group.
It is an undeniably vulnerable position floating along in our kayaks. We had casually drifted our way into a space with these giants 8 to 10x the size of us and 440x our weight 🔗. We are essentially the equivalent of confident domestic cats strolling into a human neighborhood, certain of an implied truce between one another – even if that truce may not exist between our species elsewhere.
These whales honor the truce. They swim beneath our kayaks, gently rising between us in close quarters but with caution to not bump into us. The vibe is easygoing. Despite the immense size difference, none of us feel threatened, and we feel lucky.
One of the whales slaps its fluke against the water – “lobtails” – impressively. A group experiencing the whale encounter from a zodiac asked the ship’s whale expert, Sarah, why. Apparently, there’s not really a definitive answer, but it’s probably some form of communication that could include breeding (unlikely for the timing and situation in this particular case) or expressing something exciting that other whales should be aware of – like “hell yeah! FOOD!”
It’s difficult to leave, but us campers head to Rallier Island to set up our tents and try to manage sleeping after a very exciting day.
An Adelie penguin strolls into our camp, probably very confused by the sudden invasion of orange tents and strange long-legged creatures in red coats that seem to struggle with not sinking in the snow. This distracts nearly all of us and most of us miss instructions on how to use the toilet.
A halo opens in the clouds above us. The ship’s musician, Steve, entertains us with his guitar, harmonica, and bad jokes. I overhear him ask “How do you find Will Smith in the snow? Fresh prints!” He later goes on to cover the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song.
The group of penguins dozing off nearby have no idea what the hell is going on. The sun never fully sets.
During the night, I wake up to what sounds like a seal by my head on the other side of the tent. I don’t know what the close quarter protocol is with seals passing by in your sleep, but I’ve had this happen with a bear and ignoring the situation to go back to sleep worked before so I decide to do that again. In the morning, I see it has left a gift of feces near the tent entrance. I sit there for a while, overlooking the water from the open tent flap, as whales enjoy their early morning breakfast. I find the sound of their blows calming as I wonder what else a new day will bring.
In reference to Jan 14 – 15 2026
I was ready to read more!! Fresh Prints, was oddly hilarious 😂
This was a great and engaging read!
Omg I burst out laughing when I heard that Fresh Prints joke. I was just setting up our tent and heard that come out of nowhere.
And thanks Sheriss! This was only the first day off the ship, so there is plenty more for me to process & write about 😅