A Visit to the Weddell Sea
Far-away places seem ever so much more so lately...but let’s go to the Weddell Sea anyway. It’s an historical Sea, often trapping explorers and thwarting expeditions. Its waters are described as notoriously treacherous and dismal. As part of the icy world cupping the southernmost extent of the planet, the Weddell Sea is about as far away from our COVID world as a person can get.
The blue marker shows our Weddell Sea adventure from Pt. Wild (on Elephant Island) south to the tip of Antarctic Peninsula (yellow) to the A-68-A iceberg.
Radar view between northerly islands of the peninsula, south along Antarctic Sound, with calm waters ahead out the bridge window.
I never in my wildest dreams imagined I’d be there, but in November, 2019, it happened. Like the magical realm of Brigadoon, it appeared when ice flow projections and other necessary parameters lined up, and our intrepid expedition leader, Russ, and Oliver Kraus, the captain of the National Geographic Explorer, agreed to give it a try.
Notice the Weddell Sea and Ross Sea divots. See by the yellow dots how lucky we were to see emperor penguins.
View further south, from the ship’s bridge.
From my journal, dated Nov.23, 2019: “Yesterday was EPIC. And very long. I bounced out of bed at 01:30 [a.m.] when my cell phone brightly announced ‘welcome to Argentina!’ What?!” I was by then steaming along the eastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula in Antarctic Sound, many days removed from civilization, but when I peeked through the early dawn light of the southern summer, there were lights onshore. This was confusing. I thought there was no one and not much in this place. So much for that assumption! As it turned out, we were passing the Argentine base of Esperanza, winter population 55, one of just two civilian settlements in Antarctica. Within moments, it, along with the cell signal, was gone.
The northwestern Weddell Sea at dawn.
Shackleton’s memorial where the crew camped at Point Wild on Elephant Island.
The map shows the Weddell Sea as one of two huge divots in the general circularity of the Antarctic continent (the other being the much more tranquil Ross Sea). It is named for Scottish sealer James Weddell, who reached 74 degrees, 15 minutes South on February 20, 1823, a record at the time. [Source: Daily Program, Nov. 21, 2019, National Geographic Explorer] By contrast, we ultimately reached 64 degrees, 32 minutes South—still impressive!
The Weddell Sea’s 1,080,000 square miles are usually heavily iced, and its weather can be notoriously hellish, sudden, and severe, as experienced by Sir Ernest Shackleton and the crew of the three-masted Norwegian ship Endurance during the 20th century’s “Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration.” Shackleton and his 27 men (plus one cat) may have been in the strongest wooden ship ever built, but it was no match for the mighty forces of the Weddell Sea. The ship was crushed and delivered to the depths on Nov. 28, 1915 after being bound in the swirling gyre of pack ice for about 10 months. The party made its way to Elephant Island, 150 miles off the tip of the Peninsula in April, 1916. Our stop at Elephant Island was nowhere near as rigorous as the 127 days many of the men spent there, but Shackleton’s crew all survived after his subsequent 800 mile epic voyage across the Southern Ocean to South Georgia Island with five others in a 23-foot lifeboat. It was an honor to pay homage to the monument to Shackleton resting on the rocks of Elephant Island, which is carefully (and vocally!) guarded by hundreds of penguins.
The auspicious ice report of 11/18/19. Notice A-68-A in pink, on the right, and how it’s serving as a stopper against drift ice (peninsula & islands in light grey).
Our journey into the Weddell Sea was marked by astonishingly tranquil waters and breathtaking skies. As early-season visitors, our group was able to leave the ship and go cross-country skiing (!) on the annual sea ice which hadn’t yet melted. Twice! (Once on the Weddell Sea, and again near Port Lockroy on the western side of the Antarctic Peninsula.) The terrain was remarkably smooth and fun. We were able to stray quite far from our nautical home, with ample time to take in the immensity of the place and its thrumming silence.
Radar view of A-68-A (the thick yellow line) with other large ice in the area.
Creeping with great mastery closer to A-68-A (in the distance)
One goal during our foray into the Weddell Sea was to try to see “A-68-A,” a truly gigantic iceberg. In fact, one probable reason for the relatively ice-free water was because the miles long A-68-A was effectively a battlement wall, a wide dam holding back other drifting ice. The second-largest recorded iceberg, it reduced the Larsen Ice Shelf by 12 percent when it drifted away in 2017. At the time, according to www.earthsky.org, it “...was about twice the size of Luxembourg and one of the largest icebergs on record, changing the outline of the Antarctic Peninsula forever.” In the intervening three years, it floated northeast about 150 miles to where we saw it from our position at 64 degrees, 30 minutes South (that’s pretty far south!)
Another goal was to see emperor penguins. Emperor penguins are the largest penguin species, standing about 45 inches tall, and they can dive to about 1850 feet, staying under for 20 minutes. [See: Penguins On Parade] It would be a very rare find, if we could pull it off. These penguins travel many miles inland to breed, with the males protecting their eggs in a brood pouch while balancing them on their feet, huddling together for warmth for about two winter months while the females forage at sea. We’d need to encounter them at the water’s edge on their march to or from their colonies...and we did! Even some of our naturalists had never had such a day as we had among them.
Emperor and Adelie penguins at water’s edge. Note the size difference!
Emperor penguins (Photo credit: Jamie Coleman)
What a gift it was, to spend three days (plus the rest of the voyage!) with my longtime travel buddy, Margaret, on the infamous Weddell Sea, and now, to share it with you. [Our hosts were the cream of the crop at National Geographic and Lindblad Expeditions. See more at nationalgeographic.com/expeditions/]
