Prion Island, South Georgia Island
At 0600 this morning Prion Island loomed out of the mist. By 0700 we were ashore, and climbing in groups of a dozen up a shallow gully. On either side grew ranks of tussock grass, shielding us from a sharp wind. Among the tussocks, young bull fur seals grumbled and snorted, too young to challenge the mature bulls down on the beach, yet old enough to feel disgruntled. We sympathized, but they were not our business. We had come to see wandering albatrosses, and a ten-minute climb brought us to their plateau. Just in front of us, a few dozen feet apart, sat three juveniles in drab grey plumage, each on a nest mound. Not far away sat two other adults, resplendent in white, and a dozen more dotted the hillsides. ‘No closer than 30 feet,’ warned our guides, ‘we don’t want disturb them.’ Indeed we didn’t; it was privilege enough just to see them. We spread out and watched. For a time the albatrosses watched us through beady, quizzical eyes. One adult stood up and stretched its enormous wings, folding them neatly before resettling. Another preened busily, burying its bill in an astonishing depth of breast feathers. The juveniles yawned and scanned the sky, hoping no doubt for a breakfast still to come. We trooped back down the gully, quiet, thoughtful and curiously enriched, to our own more certain breakfast in Endeavour.
At 0600 this morning Prion Island loomed out of the mist. By 0700 we were ashore, and climbing in groups of a dozen up a shallow gully. On either side grew ranks of tussock grass, shielding us from a sharp wind. Among the tussocks, young bull fur seals grumbled and snorted, too young to challenge the mature bulls down on the beach, yet old enough to feel disgruntled. We sympathized, but they were not our business. We had come to see wandering albatrosses, and a ten-minute climb brought us to their plateau. Just in front of us, a few dozen feet apart, sat three juveniles in drab grey plumage, each on a nest mound. Not far away sat two other adults, resplendent in white, and a dozen more dotted the hillsides. ‘No closer than 30 feet,’ warned our guides, ‘we don’t want disturb them.’ Indeed we didn’t; it was privilege enough just to see them. We spread out and watched. For a time the albatrosses watched us through beady, quizzical eyes. One adult stood up and stretched its enormous wings, folding them neatly before resettling. Another preened busily, burying its bill in an astonishing depth of breast feathers. The juveniles yawned and scanned the sky, hoping no doubt for a breakfast still to come. We trooped back down the gully, quiet, thoughtful and curiously enriched, to our own more certain breakfast in Endeavour.
