journey to the southern ocean
After driving along a bumpy dirt track across the coast of the Falklands I step out of the car, covered in a layer of thick dust, and step onto the RRS Ernest Shackleton to begin my crossing to South Georgia. The narrow corridors are quiet but the ship is a hive of activity. The Shakleton carries tonnes of cargo to supply the British Antarctic Survey bases with food and fuel for the coming year and on each deck, the crew beaver away to keep things afloat. In the depths of the hot, heart of the ship, engineers navigate a maze of pipes and gangways that tangle their way around cylinders, storage tanks and generators whilst the thunderous engines drive the powerful propeller. In the galley, the cooks prepare meals throughout the day, whilst guys out on deck load cargo off and onto the tender boat. In the meantime, at the very top of the ship are those patiently on watch in the quiet, calm of the bridge.
A few days into my journey from the Falklands to South Georgia the air suddenly becomes bitingly cold. On the ship’s radar are the shapes of icebergs in our path. I wait on deck, staring into the horizon until their shadowy silhouettes begin to appear. In awe, I watch the icebergs slowly pass us as they hang, heavy on the surface of the wild ocean and imagine the mysterious azure mass that lies beneath the surface. They are a million shades of white stained with the most beautiful turquoise. Their geometric lines and shapes were carved as they split from glaciers, and smoothed by the perpetual movements of the sea.
As we travel further South, the density of wildlife noticeably increases. From the top of the ship I stare down into the inky water of the ocean as it glides past the hull. Small groups of magellanic penguins appear out of nowhere and race along the surface before disappearing into the unknown. In the distance, the towering blows of fin whales reflect the last light of the day before slowly dissipating into the horizon. My fingers begin to freeze and the sightings die down. I clamber back down the ladder and into the warmth of the wheelhouse leaving behind the seabirds — the ocean wanderers — swooping and gliding with the ship.
After several days at sea, a dense fog surrounds us as we approach the first islands of South Georgia. The ship has slowed and we begin to creep through the channel past the shadowy silhouettes of Willis and Bird Island that can just about be made out through the thick frozen mist. We continue up and over the North of the mainland towards King Edward Point when the sky suddenly clears. As we silently sail past the snow dusted mountains of South Georgia, the dazzling Antarctic sun begins to slowly fade away. I have arrived in a truly beautiful place and will never forget my journey to the Southern Ocean.
Two days later we arrive back at Bird Island where the water is teaming with playful fur seals porpoising among the kelp. After spending the last two years studying these animals I am glad to finally be here.
