Skiing with penguins at the end of the world — part 2
10/21 ·Deception Island
Ben’s favorite book growing up is a poetic account of 50 of the most remote islands in the world (Atlas of Remote Islands, by Judith Schalansky). The Deception Island chapter in the book begins like this:
“The entrance to the caldera is easy to miss: it is less than two hundred metres wide. Here in Neptunes Bellows, at the gates of hell, in the jaws of the dragon, the waves crash interminably. Behind it, hidden beneath the dozing volcano, is one of the safest harbours in the worlds: Whaler’s Bay.”
The rest of Antarctica may feel like being on an alien planet, but Deception Island feels straight out of a fantasy novel of the likes of Lord of the Rings, somewhere the heroes can only reach after fighting dragons and winning over the wizards. Shaped like a donut, the island is actually an active volcano poking its crown out of the ocean. Seawater flows in through a crack in the caldera, forming a natural harbour inside. Nathaniel Palmer, an American sealer searching for new rookeries, chanced upon this “secret passage” in 1821 and named it “Deception” for its enigmatic allure. While looking ordinary from the outside, the interior of the island provides a perfect refuge for sailors battling the ceaseless raging sea waves.
As a continent only first discovered two centuries ago, Antarctica’s history is interwoven with the seal and whale trade. Although for over two thousand years, the western world had harbored fanciful imaginations of Aristotle’s “Terra Australis” (Southern Land), their interest waned quickly after Captain Cook published the account of his expedition from 1772 to 1775 where his ship ventured three times into the Antarctic Circle and found nothing but an impassable expanse of ice completely inhospitable to men. Cook’s scientific reputation and detailed journal also led the world to believe his conclusion that beyond the endless sea ice and icebergs, there was no continent.
So two hundred years ago, why would anybody willingly risk his life and venture into the world’s harshest weather and most turbulent seas? The answer, as always, is to make a buck. The shores filled with seals in Cook’s journal quickly attracted numerous sealers. Following in Cook’s footsteps, they first arrived on South Georgia Island, swiftly hunted the fur seals there to the brink of extinction. In the 1820s, the discovery of the South Shetland Islands led them to this region in Antarctica. Deception Island, with the perfectly sheltered harbor, became a hub for sealers in the area. However, overhunting again led to the near-extinction of seals in these parts within a few years. One thing I find particularly interesting about this history is that, on the opposite end of the Earth, the upper echelons of the Qing Dynasty in China were actually one of the world’s major consumers of fur seal pelts during that era.
Wild animals in Antartica, such as seals and penguins, lacking generational exposure to human contact, do not evade when they encounter humans (even to this day). It’s painful to read the brutal part of history in 19th century where hunters casually approach lounging and unsuspecting seals and repeatedly bang them to death with a club . At the same time, I wonder if I was alive at that time, would I have similar reactions to the cruelty and unsustainability of their actions? Probably not, our values have definitely evolved since. Another undeniable factor is that, at that time, scientific explorations and sealers existed in a symbiotic relationship. Without the hunting industries, many exploration projects would have lacked financial backing and public interest. In turn, the measurements and maps drawn by the expeditions helped the sealers and whalers navigate new waters. They even play a big part of legendary stories of the explorers—while Shackleton made an impressive run surviving in the polar region for 2 years, his crew would not have been rescued if it weren’t for the whaling station on South Georgia Island.
The place we landed on Deception Island is named Whalers Bay, for the whaling stations here from early 20th century. In the 18th and 19th century, whale oil extracted from whale blubber played a significant role in the Industrial Revolution as a source of high quality illumination oil and industrial lubricant (another intriguing use is corsets made from whalebone). Interestingly, even though kerosene had been discovered and gradually replaced whale oil by the end of the 19th century for illumination, the whaling fervor in Antarctica only began around the 1920s.
So why did whales still have to be hunted in the 20th century? According to our lecturer on the cruise, with the advent of new hydrogenation techniques, whale oil found increased use in the production of margarine and soap (apparently, the whale oil trade is what Unilever got started as a successful business). The advancements in whaling techniques also led to overproduction and a collapse in the market. The new whaling ships could process the oil directly on board without the need to go onshore, prompting the closure of the whale oil factories on Deception Island around the 1930s (the rest of the world did not drastically reduce their whaling until the 1980s). Today at Whalers Bay, the colossal boiling vats and the factory buildings from a hundred years ago remain as ruins. Walking amidst them, one cannot help but imagine the scenery a century ago, with the beaches filled with whale carcasses, and the snow and sea water stained red from whale blood.
While the numbers are still nowhere near that of a century ago, four decades of conservation efforts and fishing restrictions have brought significantly recovery of whale populations (e.g., the blue whales rebounded from 360 in 1970s to over ten thousand today). Shortly before reaching Deception Island, a group of orcas and fin whales swam alongside our cruise ship. If the course of history had taken a slightly different turn, and the worldwide conservation movements of the 1970s had not gained traction, we would not have had the opportunity to spot these magical creatures today.
As our ship approaches Neptunes Bellows, a group of Gentoo penguins gracefully leaped in and out of the water ahead of us, seemingly guiding us towards Deception Island.
Due to being a volcano, the black rocks and volcanic ash with the contrasting white snow creates a landscape reminiscent of a Chinese ink painting.
The sea water in the bay, heated by the volcano, exuded a misty haze, casting an ethereal ambiance. The air carried the scent of sulfur. As we disembarked from the Zodiac onto shore, a group of elf-like penguins greeted us with curious glances on the black sandy beach.
We landed around 3pm. Tight on time, we stepped into our skis and began the ascent into the misty haze right away.
Visibility was low due to the thick fog, and after climbing for about forty minutes, we reached the summit of a small hill and had to transition to descent. One unique feature of Antarctic skiing is that unlike mountains elsewhere, the steepest slopes are often near the bottom closest to the coast. As we descended, the final stretch took us down a slope with a steepness comparable to a double black diamond run in resorts (most of the skiing in Antarctica we do on this trip is not very steep, as they tend to be too icy and lack good snow). The snow’s texture was soft and corn-y, and it’s hard to describe the excitement of our first ski run in Antarctica! (You can see the slope in the middle bottom part of the photo below).
The first lap left us wanting more, we unanimously voted to go up again. For the second lap, we veered towards what turned out to be a taller summit to our right. As we approached the top, a sudden gust of wind swept in, dispersing the fog from earlier and revealing the contours of the surrounding mountains. We can now see the first slope we skied on (picture below). The interplay of white snow and black volcanic ash form captivating patterns blended by the wind. The tiny black silhouettes of fellow skiers adds contrast to the majestic scale of the scenery.
Near the top of this ascent, we came upon the legendary Sastrugi snow exclusive to polar regions. They look like undulating ocean waves and are shaped by the relentless battering of never ending strong winds.
Though surreal, the icy and slippery surface makes it hard to gain a grip. I stumbled once as I was making a turn going uphill, one of my ski poles caught under my ski and promptly snapped in half. I shoved the bottom piece in my backpack before it was blown away and kept moving.
Coming down, we had to employ some “survival skiing” across the sastrugi. Thankfully it was relative short and not so steep, and soon gave away to very skiable corn snow further down.
The two exhilarating laps took us a little over two hours, with about 1900 ft in vert and about 3 miles total (i.e. a very chill day). Off my skis, I lost myself for a while watching the penguins on the beach. Before I could thoroughly explore the ruins, it was time to return to the ship. Every landing in Antarctica, while dreamy and surreal, always felt too short.
To be continued…
(Check out part 1 of the trip journal here)
