Archive for December 25th, 2020

 

That Old Time Rock and Roll

Christmas in Antarctica originally posted by Linda Lou Burton December 25, 2005  from Port Foster, Deception Island, Antarctica – Kiddies all over the world spend Christmas afternoon playing with their new toys, or scowling about their new sweater from Auntie Marge, wondering why she didn’t send something they really needed, that is, electronic. The kiddies on our ship spent the afternoon inside a volcanic caldera. I don’t know how many of them went ashore, but even if they didn’t, it was a beautiful sight. Myself, I viewed it from the ship but offer photos taken by the crew.

We came into this great natural harbor through a 200-meter-wide entrance known as Neptune’s Bellows, for the winds which often howl through. Once inside, perfect calm. We anchored at Port Foster, the name given the waters inside ring-shaped Deception Island. A volcanic caldera! The last eruption was 1970, and most of the damage done was due to a massive mudslide. Home to British, Norwegian, and Australian whalers or researchers at various times during the past, it’s mostly a tourist stop now.

Main attraction: swimming! Steam vents from the volcano offer waters warm, bubbling from the black volcanic sands. Did our contingent swim today? Ya, you betcha! Ten brave and hardy souls came back bragging, grinning big, the Australians, we are told.

Coffee and Christmas cakes on Dekk 7, to celebrate. Then time to leave. The ship moved out into Bransfield Strait, then on to Gerlache, headed towards the Antarctic Peninsula itself. We hit open waters, during the dinner buffet.

The ship swayed left, the ship swayed right. Passengers with plates full of pickled herring grabbed the railing, knees buckled, hang on tight. The servers managed better, more accustomed to the movements of the ship. Still, there was a crash, a stack of glasses broke against the floor.

I had my wristbands on, pressing tight against the acupressure point. Do not get seasick, I told myself. We laughed at each other, “Get the fork into the mouth. Don’t miss!” The water sloshed back and forth inside our glasses. Some bites of bread, that is all I wanted. “It’s better to be seasick with your stomach full,” I’m told. I ate some more.

My room. That is where I wanted to be. I grabbed the handle of the dining room door, went hand to hand from rail to rail. To the stairway, down one floor. The hallway to my room is fitted with good railing, which I held to tightly.

There’s the bed. I am there now. And there I stay. Rock and roll. Burp.

 
 
 

Manuel and the Hoochy Coochy

Christmas in Antarctica originally posted by Linda Lou Burton December 25, 2005  from Hannah Point, Livingston Island, Antarctica – Christmas Day! We wake up at Hannah Point, known as the “jewel in the crown” of the Antarctic for its diversity of species and glorious scenery. Named for the Hannah, a sealing vessel, it is home to three species of penguins — Gentoo with their striking orange beaks, Chinstrap with a “strap” of black feathers under their chin, and Macaroni with their yellow rock-star hairdo.

The clouds have moved in today, the temperature has dropped to 33 F, and, to the delight of many who have never had a White Christmas, it is snowing! A light snow, faintly blowing across the deck, but snow, nonetheless.

For certain, I will enjoy the delights of Antarctica from the warmth of the Torghatten Salong today, sitting in a comfy chair with cameras occasionally recording the magnificent view.

And, writing. There is a contest! Manuel Marin has challenged us. Manual is part of our lecture/teaching staff, an Ornithologist from Chile (PhD from LSU!), a researcher of neotropical birds. So far, his lectures have included: Cormorants, the Untold Story; Penguins, Those from the other side; Penguins, The brush-tailed, Life and Death Part 1; Penguins, The brush-tailed, Life and Death Part 2. Manuel knows penguins. His lectures are entertaining: he passes around penguin parts for us to see (see the foot, they are very sharp!); he giggles as he shows us slides of penguins mating (ooo, Triple X, ladies cover your eyes!). “Pebbles are like diamonds,” he explains, describing a penguin nest. “The male offers a pebble to a female during the courtship ritual. These are of utmost value! Better than chocolates! Better than Chanel #55! So good!

Without the pebbles, there is little protection for the egg. A pile of pebbles makes for good drainage too. An egg left sitting on bare ground is more likely to freeze, or crack. “You think it is OK to take one pebble home?” Manuel asks us, looking stern, searching for a guilty face. “You think one pebble will not matter?” A pause. “Twenty-four thousand visitors came to Antarctica last year. If each person took ONE PEBBLE, what would happen to the beach! What would happen to the penguins! Do not take the pebbles! Do not pick up the feathers! If you promised this to your grandchild, instead, tell your grandchild how you helped a penguin to have life! You saved the egg!

Manuel paced around the room. Did he make his point? Still, Manuel wants us to think more. To understand the penguin. So, now there is a contest. All around the ship he posted signs, in English and in German.

Contest!

Prizes for drawing, sculpture, poem about birds!

Deadline December 28!

Pamela has been working on a cross-stitch penguin piece, sitting in her favorite chair each day near the cakes and tea, beside the “cleanest window,” she reports. Doug sits near there too, his watercolors spread on the tabletop, brushing daily memories onto paper. I’m sure he’ll have a beautiful bird to submit.

I can’t sew, or paint. But I like to write. Especially humorous takeoffs on the Night Before Christmas, at least, at Christmas time. Hmmmm, I’m thinking, as I see the penguins walking, far away, along the beach. In my mind I see the little Adelie penguin who passed me by the day before, hobbling and hopping over the rocks, her tiny wings an afterthought by her creator? Penguins. They can swim, but they can’t fly. What might a penguin wish for? I began to scribble, on a yellow pad…

  • ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the ship, every creature was stirring, celebrating their trip!
  •  But the penguins were nestled, all snug on their nests, having spent the day hosting, the Nord-nor-gay as guest.
  •  Adelie and gentoo, they welcomed our walk, enduring the kameras, with barely a squawk.
  •  On came Evie and Stevie, on came Lily and Luke, with a flap and a waddle, then the Duchess, and Duke.
  •  With pebbles like diamonds, all piled in a stack, each went for their lunch, and then each came back.
  •  No dishes to wash, no laundry to do, the life of a penguin, seems all lovey, and woo.
  •  When the spring light first came, and the weather got dandy, the Lukes and the Lilys, began to get randy.
  •  Hey baby! They called, You are looking so fine, take this pebble of love, and you can be mine.
  •  Oh hoochy! Oh coochy!, Stand still! I’ll be quick. But Lily is fickle. Did Luke give her a chick?
  •  Footprints on her back, show she’s tried it before. It’s only insurance! Our sweet Lily’s no whore!
  • The wedding is over, the nest is complete. Lily sits like Queen Sheba, piles of rocks at her feet.
  •  Luke stands guard for the skua, They both watch for the seal. The egg and the instinct are honored, with zeal.
  •  Some penguins are jealous, They had no such luck. They sneak to steal pebbles. They fuss, and they cluck.
  •  But Lily is fearless and Luke remains cool. The egg is kept warm. It’s their asset, their jewel.
  •  Peck Peck! I want out! Little chickie appears. Papa checks chickie’s feet, Mama checks chickie’s ears.
  •  Lily Penguin suggests, Let’s name our boy Lars. Papa Luke puffs his chest as he hands out cigars.
  •  Luke and Lily soon learn to their major surprise, now that chickie is born no more closing their eyes.
  •  Peep Peep! I want food! Bring me something to eat! Luke and Lily grow weary, nearly dead on their feet.
  •  Soon Lars becomes fuzzy. A mass of gray fat. Luke and Lily agree, That’s enough now, of that.
  •  So Lars learns how to swim. How to catch his own krill. Lars doesn’t mind that, but he dreams bigger, still.
  •  For the one thing he sees as the days pass on by, are the birds with big wings, soaring high in the sky.
  •  He stands on a rock, he jumps with a flap, but the beach comes to meet him, and he lands with a blap!
  •  He tries and he tries it. He jumps and he wishes. He thinks not of krill. Or even of fishies.
  • I KNOW I  can do it! I know there’s a way! I want to look down, on the ice, and the bay.
  •  The other chicks mock him. Even Lily and Luke wonder what they did wrong. Why is their boy a fluke?
  •  Now Christmas Eve’s here. Lars is sleeping, and dreaming. And Santa is near, hearing wishes, and scheming.
  • Then, while the ship parties, drinking, eating, and singing, Santa stops on a glacier, sleigh bells tinkling and ringing.
  • Come here Lars! He says quickly, Come and get in my sleigh, I will take you up flying, Up up up, and away!
  •  More rapid than skuas, his coursers they flew, and Lars knew at that moment, heartfelt wishes come true!
  •  The penguins below, saw Lars wave from his flight, as he called, “Happy Christmas! And to all, a Good Night!”

I decided to hand it in. I named it “The Rime of the Misunderstood Penguin,” with a special Cootchy-Coo Dedication to Manuel Marin.

Wish me luck!