Killer whales!! There seems to be a single big pod of about 18
individuals that roam the vicinity around Ross Island. We haven’t seen
them for a week or so, but yesterday they were back and putting on a
good show. They were nearly a mile offshore, so binoculars were needed
to see what was going on. The females and calves seemed to be quite
frisky; much splashing and whitewater was seen, and occasionally a
tail would flop through the air. One of them even jumped all the way
out of the water! Others were seen laying on their sides, with big
round side flippers sticking into the air and white undersides
showing. The 2 males in the group were less playful, and seemed to be
just swimming around. It was quite a show, especially seeing the jump
in a setting other then SeaWorld.
What the fauna here lacks in diversity it makes up for in drama. With
no vegetation to hide behind, the daily lives and interactions of the
animals here is out in the open to watch. The relationship between the
Adelies and Skuas is particularly interesting. The Skua chicks have
begun hatching and parents are on constant patrol to find a penguin
egg or chick that isn’t being guarded closely enough. When one is
located, a gruesome spectacle takes place, which I will not detail
here.
It is no safer for the Adelies in the water. The resident Leopard seal
has been making regular appearances along the shore, and many bloodied
but live penguins are seen laying around the colony. The most
interesting thing about Leopard seals is that most of them feed on
krill; relatively few individuals have developed the specialized
behavior of penguin-hunting. It is only at the colony, with its heavy
confused traffic around floating ice blocks and beach, that the seals
are able to catch penguins. In open ocean the birds are far more fast
and agile.
Weddell Seals are seen lounging on the ice as if it is a warm sunny
beach. They specialize in living where the sea ice is thickest, I
suppose in order to rear their pups away from most predators. Their
front teeth project forward for chewing holes in the ice for
breathing.
We have seen one live and one deal crabeater seal on the beach here.
Despite their name, they too feed primarily on krill, and their teeth
are comprised of three squiggly projections which form a strainer when
the jaw is closed. These are the most amazing teeth I have ever seen.
Small groups of Minke Whales are regularly seen foraging along the
edge of the Ross Ice Shelf a little to the east of the colony.
In the non-animal world there is mainly lichen. The most common is an
orange variety which covers the rocky ground where snow drifts then
melts away. There are also patches of green, yellow, green, and black
lichens, and all of these add a special treat to those willing to get
down on hands and knees and have a close look. Like lichens
everywhere, the structure of these is fascinating to look at closely.
If you haven’t done so recently, you should go get personal with some
lichen, as I will never be able to describe its structure well enough
here.
Finally there is a slimy green growth that I believe is moss, which
grows in the smelly melted runoff from the colony.
Thus concludes a tour of the life we see here.
Have a good day.
Scott
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!!
Well, we celebrated last night with a big Christmas Eve dinner, in the
French tradition. Rest assured that the American tradition of eating
more then you can handle then complaining about it for the next
several hours, all while snacking on left-overs, did not fall by the
wayside. Our pile of leftovers is bigger than our normal meals here,
and takes up half a bunk in the hut.
We started with savory pies, then moved on to pork tenderloin, mashed
potatoes, and two kinds of gravy. Desert was a raspberry and a
chocolate tart.
The day itself was fairly normal. I woke around 8 and had the first of
two main meals of the day, pancakes then some cereal (lunch is
generally a bit of jerky, granola bars, and some chocolate eaten on
the go). While eating I re-read some of the NSF grant for the
continuation of the project, then began getting ready to head out into
the field. It takes some time to gather all the things I need (food
and water, a thermos of coffee or tea, extra clothes, GPS, notebook,
nest markers, hammer, crampons, and a variety of other smallish but
important things), then get into all the clothes I wear down to the
colony (1 or 2 pair long underwear and bib wind pants on bottom, 2
light wool shirts, a light fleece, a soft shell, then a hard shell on
top[often this last layer doesn’t go on until I get down to the
colony], finally socks and boots, hat and sunglasses).
It was my day to do the AM sea watch, so I hiked up to the top of
Pat’s Peak (about 10 minutes) and sat for an hour scanning the ocean
for whales or other exciting action. I didn’t see any whales this day,
but we often see Minke’s and occasionally see Killers.
After the hour was up I headed down to the colony, and just as I was
getting there I heard over the radio that a Leopard Seal was eating a
penguin just off the beach. I rushed there, thinking the spectacle
would be over any moment, then stood for an hour or so as the seal
caught and ate two more penguins. Over two hours it caught 7 total and
ate 4, the other three got a way. It was a gruesome show, played out
literally 10 feet from the beach where we stood.
After the seal disappeared it was time to do some actual work. I went
to the weighbridge subcolony to download data from that device. While
this took place I checked the nests in that subcolony that belong to
tagged and banded individuals, and used a hand reader (imagine a
clothes iron) to try and find more nests with tagged birds. The tags
are 14 or 18 mm long and about 2 or 3 mm wide, and are injected under
the skin on the back of the penguins’ necks. To use the hand reader, I
crawl toward the nest (they don’t too stressed by things shorter than
them), then keep it’s snapping bill busy with one hand while running
the reader over its back with the other. If the bird is tagged a
9-digit number appears on a little screen, and I crawl away happy. One
of the birds I scanned was back to feeding its chicks less than a
minute after I finished, a sign I take to mean I didn’t cause too much
stress.
Once I was done at the weighbridge I spent a few hours searching a
section of the colony for banded birds. This area is not very close to
where the chicks are banded, and birds generally return to nest very
close to where they hatched, so I only had a few lines of data to show
for shivering in the cold wind.
Speaking of shivering, the weather is quite interesting here. My
clothing system has to be immediately adjustable, due to the fickle
meteorology. When I was doing the sea watch in the morning it was
sunny with a light breeze. My jacket hood was down and I was happy to
have un-gloved hands out and taking pictures. However, as I walked
down to the colony a dark cloud layer approached from the ocean and
soon snow blew across the colony on a chill wind. Band-searching
involves slowly walking through the colony, so clothes rather than
physical activity are needed to stay warm. On come the neck-warmer and
thick gloves (a joy to write with), and my hat ear flaps are strapped
down tight.
After 6-8 hours, I walk back up to the hut, which is about a half mile
and 770 feet above the colony, up a gently bending snow field. New
snow thinly covers slick blue ice; in most places the traction is
good, but memory of a few falls on the way down this morning has me
stepping carefully. I am soon shedding layers to avoid becoming a
soaking mess, then arrive at the hut to wonderful smells drifting out
the slightly opened window..
After the feast mentioned above we gawk at videos of the Leopard Seal
in action, and have a slide show from Chris, the photographer who is
here working on the Skuas.
We all wandered out to our tents between midnight and 1 am, a standard
end to a pretty standard day.
Hope all is well with you all.
Scott
PS. My current plan is to continue sending these email updates, then
when I get good internet will add more or less the same text and
plenty of photos to the blog.
Well, we celebrated last night with a big Christmas Eve dinner, in the
French tradition. Rest assured that the American tradition of eating
more then you can handle then complaining about it for the next
several hours, all while snacking on left-overs, did not fall by the
wayside. Our pile of leftovers is bigger than our normal meals here,
and takes up half a bunk in the hut.
We started with savory pies, then moved on to pork tenderloin, mashed
potatoes, and two kinds of gravy. Desert was a raspberry and a
chocolate tart.
The day itself was fairly normal. I woke around 8 and had the first of
two main meals of the day, pancakes then some cereal (lunch is
generally a bit of jerky, granola bars, and some chocolate eaten on
the go). While eating I re-read some of the NSF grant for the
continuation of the project, then began getting ready to head out into
the field. It takes some time to gather all the things I need (food
and water, a thermos of coffee or tea, extra clothes, GPS, notebook,
nest markers, hammer, crampons, and a variety of other smallish but
important things), then get into all the clothes I wear down to the
colony (1 or 2 pair long underwear and bib wind pants on bottom, 2
light wool shirts, a light fleece, a soft shell, then a hard shell on
top[often this last layer doesn’t go on until I get down to the
colony], finally socks and boots, hat and sunglasses).
It was my day to do the AM sea watch, so I hiked up to the top of
Pat’s Peak (about 10 minutes) and sat for an hour scanning the ocean
for whales or other exciting action. I didn’t see any whales this day,
but we often see Minke’s and occasionally see Killers.
After the hour was up I headed down to the colony, and just as I was
getting there I heard over the radio that a Leopard Seal was eating a
penguin just off the beach. I rushed there, thinking the spectacle
would be over any moment, then stood for an hour or so as the seal
caught and ate two more penguins. Over two hours it caught 7 total and
ate 4, the other three got a way. It was a gruesome show, played out
literally 10 feet from the beach where we stood.
After the seal disappeared it was time to do some actual work. I went
to the weighbridge subcolony to download data from that device. While
this took place I checked the nests in that subcolony that belong to
tagged and banded individuals, and used a hand reader (imagine a
clothes iron) to try and find more nests with tagged birds. The tags
are 14 or 18 mm long and about 2 or 3 mm wide, and are injected under
the skin on the back of the penguins’ necks. To use the hand reader, I
crawl toward the nest (they don’t too stressed by things shorter than
them), then keep it’s snapping bill busy with one hand while running
the reader over its back with the other. If the bird is tagged a
9-digit number appears on a little screen, and I crawl away happy. One
of the birds I scanned was back to feeding its chicks less than a
minute after I finished, a sign I take to mean I didn’t cause too much
stress.
Once I was done at the weighbridge I spent a few hours searching a
section of the colony for banded birds. This area is not very close to
where the chicks are banded, and birds generally return to nest very
close to where they hatched, so I only had a few lines of data to show
for shivering in the cold wind.
Speaking of shivering, the weather is quite interesting here. My
clothing system has to be immediately adjustable, due to the fickle
meteorology. When I was doing the sea watch in the morning it was
sunny with a light breeze. My jacket hood was down and I was happy to
have un-gloved hands out and taking pictures. However, as I walked
down to the colony a dark cloud layer approached from the ocean and
soon snow blew across the colony on a chill wind. Band-searching
involves slowly walking through the colony, so clothes rather than
physical activity are needed to stay warm. On come the neck-warmer and
thick gloves (a joy to write with), and my hat ear flaps are strapped
down tight.
After 6-8 hours, I walk back up to the hut, which is about a half mile
and 770 feet above the colony, up a gently bending snow field. New
snow thinly covers slick blue ice; in most places the traction is
good, but memory of a few falls on the way down this morning has me
stepping carefully. I am soon shedding layers to avoid becoming a
soaking mess, then arrive at the hut to wonderful smells drifting out
the slightly opened window..
After the feast mentioned above we gawk at videos of the Leopard Seal
in action, and have a slide show from Chris, the photographer who is
here working on the Skuas.
We all wandered out to our tents between midnight and 1 am, a standard
end to a pretty standard day.
Hope all is well with you all.
Scott
PS. My current plan is to continue sending these email updates, then
when I get good internet will add more or less the same text and
plenty of photos to the blog.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Hello at last
Hello everyone.
I’m sorry for the long delay. Our wireless signal is supposed to be sent from the hut to a small repeater nearby, then to a repeater on top of 10,000 ft Mt Terror, then to McMurdo Station where it is sent to Hawaii via satellite, where it enters the landlines. Much can go wrong between all these points, and currently a large snow cornice is blocking the view between two repeater antennas. I’m not sure how or when they’re going to fix that problem, so I’m trying out the slow satellite phone connection to fill you all in a bit on what I’ve been up to.
So much has happened, and there is so much to tell, that this first post could get quite long. We’ll see how it goes…
When you last heard from me I was about to board a helicopter to fly across a frozen land to a small outpost situated on the eastern edge of Ross Island, right where the Ross Ice Shelf ends and The Ross Sea began (Ross, as you might gather, is a fairly important figure in Antarctic history). The flight was beautiful; blue sky and an endless variety of texture and pattern on the snow and ice below. Glaciers droop down from the high points of the island, silky smooth in places , gaping with crevasses elsewhere. The Ice Shelf marches purposefully south to the continent, seemingly endless as the sky. 30 minutes from the bustle of McMurdo, we floated through a low pass then swooped down to land at our new home. Hovering down onto a small rocky pad the hut looked small indeed as Grant came out to welcome us. The main room is 9 x 15 feet, with propane heater and stove, small table and 4 bunks. With the 5 people here now it is fairly crowded; in a couple more weeks there will be 7 of us! We sleep in tents but cook, eat, and hang out in the hut.
The days since our arrival have been full of unbelievable experiences, interesting difficulties, and lots of great fun. Our days are mostly spent walking through the colony looking for banded birds. The colony contains around 300,000 breeding pairs, and it takes 4 of us a full week to search the entire area. We’ve caught a few adults by hand or with a net in order to adjust their bands and measure their flippers and bills. We have also ventured twice to the Emperor Penguin colony, a half mile or so beyond the Adelie colony, in order to count the number of chicks there.
Recently the weather has been very nice, calm winds and relatively mild temperatures swinging above freezing by 5 degrees F and below by 10 or 15. There have been intensely sunny days, with ice and ocean reflecting white from all directions. However, for the first few weeks exciting storms kept us in the hut several times. Our highest gust recorded was 120 mph, and on several occasions it blew consistently in the 80’s and 90’s for hours at a time. On our windiest day our main source of entertainment was watching as a tent was flattened and ripped to shreds; in the wind there was no way we could go out and do anything about it. Once I had to dodge an empty 55 gal drum as it blew by, then chase it down before it reached a long snowfield below the hut and disappeared into the ocean.
The penguins are wonderful. When I first viewed the colony I didn’t know what I was looking at, the scale was more vast than I was prepared for. Viewed from high on Pat’s Peak, near the hut, the colony seems like French vanilla ice cream that has been melted and dribbled over the land; white layers of guano and black specks for each penguin. Up close the Adelies are about knee-high, and when they’ve just come ashore from foraging on krill they have the shape of big bloated pears, wobbling on little legs, balancing with outstretched flippers. The ones who have found a mate and successfully laid eggs can be seen walking purposefully up from the beach to their nest; we marvel at how they can find their particular mate and pile of rocks amid the chaos and crowding. At the nest, mates greet each other with loud hollering, heads pointed up waving back and forth. Then they switch places, the fat, full one settling down on eggs and the skinny, hungry one dawdling around a bit then heading out to see to find its share of krill.
They are full of personality, and each has a slightly different reaction to us. Those on nests seem to view us as large skuas, which have most certainly come to eat their eggs. The reactions of the unmated ones fall broadly into two categories: the amusingly curios “Wow, you’re a big penguin, will you mate with me?”, and the more violent “Wow, you’re a big penguin, you better stay away from my pile of rocks or I’ll bash in your shins!” The curious ones walk right up, tilting their heads sideways to get a better look, occasionally nibbling on a boot or outstretched hand.
Chicks have been hatching over the past week, and while I can’t exactly call them cute, I can’t resist watching and taking pictures each time a parent stands up to give a view. They are growing fast on all the krill they can swallow; within a week or so they are too big for their parents to cover up, and soon they will join together in groups called crèches while both parents venture out for food. The speed at which the breeding season progresses is quite different from my work in California.
It is so beautiful here; high volcanic peaks behind and vast cold ocean in front. Sea ice comes and goes with the wind and tide, and recently a big chunk of the ice shelf broke off and drifted away. These weeks have passed rather quickly, but with 24 hours of light the days seem rather timeless. It is difficult to understand in person, let alone explain to others.
So much more fills the space between the lines I’ve just written; I could go on for pages with stories and bits of information, but I fear the meager satellite connection will not handle it. If this post gets up fine I’ll write more soon. I have nearly 3000 pictures that have made it through the first round of deletions, but unfortunately don’t have the bandwidth for you to get the full appreciation of them.
I’m missing family and friends, and the life and home I’ve left behind for a time. But it is so amazing here that I can’t imagine not doing this.
Happy holidays to you all, and best wishes.
I’m sorry for the long delay. Our wireless signal is supposed to be sent from the hut to a small repeater nearby, then to a repeater on top of 10,000 ft Mt Terror, then to McMurdo Station where it is sent to Hawaii via satellite, where it enters the landlines. Much can go wrong between all these points, and currently a large snow cornice is blocking the view between two repeater antennas. I’m not sure how or when they’re going to fix that problem, so I’m trying out the slow satellite phone connection to fill you all in a bit on what I’ve been up to.
So much has happened, and there is so much to tell, that this first post could get quite long. We’ll see how it goes…
When you last heard from me I was about to board a helicopter to fly across a frozen land to a small outpost situated on the eastern edge of Ross Island, right where the Ross Ice Shelf ends and The Ross Sea began (Ross, as you might gather, is a fairly important figure in Antarctic history). The flight was beautiful; blue sky and an endless variety of texture and pattern on the snow and ice below. Glaciers droop down from the high points of the island, silky smooth in places , gaping with crevasses elsewhere. The Ice Shelf marches purposefully south to the continent, seemingly endless as the sky. 30 minutes from the bustle of McMurdo, we floated through a low pass then swooped down to land at our new home. Hovering down onto a small rocky pad the hut looked small indeed as Grant came out to welcome us. The main room is 9 x 15 feet, with propane heater and stove, small table and 4 bunks. With the 5 people here now it is fairly crowded; in a couple more weeks there will be 7 of us! We sleep in tents but cook, eat, and hang out in the hut.
The days since our arrival have been full of unbelievable experiences, interesting difficulties, and lots of great fun. Our days are mostly spent walking through the colony looking for banded birds. The colony contains around 300,000 breeding pairs, and it takes 4 of us a full week to search the entire area. We’ve caught a few adults by hand or with a net in order to adjust their bands and measure their flippers and bills. We have also ventured twice to the Emperor Penguin colony, a half mile or so beyond the Adelie colony, in order to count the number of chicks there.
Recently the weather has been very nice, calm winds and relatively mild temperatures swinging above freezing by 5 degrees F and below by 10 or 15. There have been intensely sunny days, with ice and ocean reflecting white from all directions. However, for the first few weeks exciting storms kept us in the hut several times. Our highest gust recorded was 120 mph, and on several occasions it blew consistently in the 80’s and 90’s for hours at a time. On our windiest day our main source of entertainment was watching as a tent was flattened and ripped to shreds; in the wind there was no way we could go out and do anything about it. Once I had to dodge an empty 55 gal drum as it blew by, then chase it down before it reached a long snowfield below the hut and disappeared into the ocean.
The penguins are wonderful. When I first viewed the colony I didn’t know what I was looking at, the scale was more vast than I was prepared for. Viewed from high on Pat’s Peak, near the hut, the colony seems like French vanilla ice cream that has been melted and dribbled over the land; white layers of guano and black specks for each penguin. Up close the Adelies are about knee-high, and when they’ve just come ashore from foraging on krill they have the shape of big bloated pears, wobbling on little legs, balancing with outstretched flippers. The ones who have found a mate and successfully laid eggs can be seen walking purposefully up from the beach to their nest; we marvel at how they can find their particular mate and pile of rocks amid the chaos and crowding. At the nest, mates greet each other with loud hollering, heads pointed up waving back and forth. Then they switch places, the fat, full one settling down on eggs and the skinny, hungry one dawdling around a bit then heading out to see to find its share of krill.
They are full of personality, and each has a slightly different reaction to us. Those on nests seem to view us as large skuas, which have most certainly come to eat their eggs. The reactions of the unmated ones fall broadly into two categories: the amusingly curios “Wow, you’re a big penguin, will you mate with me?”, and the more violent “Wow, you’re a big penguin, you better stay away from my pile of rocks or I’ll bash in your shins!” The curious ones walk right up, tilting their heads sideways to get a better look, occasionally nibbling on a boot or outstretched hand.
Chicks have been hatching over the past week, and while I can’t exactly call them cute, I can’t resist watching and taking pictures each time a parent stands up to give a view. They are growing fast on all the krill they can swallow; within a week or so they are too big for their parents to cover up, and soon they will join together in groups called crèches while both parents venture out for food. The speed at which the breeding season progresses is quite different from my work in California.
It is so beautiful here; high volcanic peaks behind and vast cold ocean in front. Sea ice comes and goes with the wind and tide, and recently a big chunk of the ice shelf broke off and drifted away. These weeks have passed rather quickly, but with 24 hours of light the days seem rather timeless. It is difficult to understand in person, let alone explain to others.
So much more fills the space between the lines I’ve just written; I could go on for pages with stories and bits of information, but I fear the meager satellite connection will not handle it. If this post gets up fine I’ll write more soon. I have nearly 3000 pictures that have made it through the first round of deletions, but unfortunately don’t have the bandwidth for you to get the full appreciation of them.
I’m missing family and friends, and the life and home I’ve left behind for a time. But it is so amazing here that I can’t imagine not doing this.
Happy holidays to you all, and best wishes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)