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AFRICA
ARTIST PORTRAIT

"On the first day of 2008, I left for Antarctica stepping into a fresh new year with a surge for high adventure and a commitment to have a first hand experience in what to me was a fiercely wild, untrammeled place. I had signed on with Zegrahm Eco expeditions a full year before. Top experts in this field and included in their itinerary was the Island of South Georgia. A buddy in the field of travel had emphatically underlined that I should not miss this destination, not only for its historical tie with the heroics of Ernest Shackleton in the successful rescue of his shipwrecked men, but also, and here the details were sketchy, that the "wild life" was the best in the whole area.

My journey was to be a full 17 days at sea, 3500 nautical miles that began in the Falkland Islands, where after we boarded the ship, we entered the South Scotia Sea. As a guiding element, our route followed the pattern of Shackleton’s Polar exploration of the early 1900's.

A handful of highlights to share with you: dawn light through a channel passage next to the Antarctic continent- Antarctic Sound with seventy mile hour winds where great tabular icebergs were our escorts. The glorious, reflective Lemaire Channel, calving glaciers at the end of Drygalski Fjord. Sea Lion Island , an Eden of strolling Gentoo penguins, where all wildlife was unafraid of man. Ponds surrounded us were covered with myriad species of water fowl. Magellenic penguins burrowed in the undulating ground of this Falkland Island and snoozing elephant seals idly scooped sand up onto their sides to keep from being sunburned. On board ship, Checkered Cape Petrels, the blessings of arcing Albatrosses and humpback whales were our salt water side-kicks. We saw every species of penguin in this area to be seen.

For me, Deception Island was a photographic feast of interesting shapes. Like forgotten sculpture, the abandoned whaling station there, its wrecks of weathered, broken wooden houses with snow filled rooms, its rusted, tilted oil tanks left to time reminded me of Frank Gehrey's contemporary architecture. It was one of the most picturesque spots, the setting, a sky of ever-changing light and a charcoal landscape devoid of any vegetation was magnificent.

I made 24 zodiac landings to experience and have a taste of the fully dramatic and powerful thrust of Antarctica, its encompassing beauty scattered amongst the islands that led to the actual physical ascent on to the continent itself. There is so much to tell, so many feelings to share, so much to try to describe to the outside world, but here, if I need to choose one place, to dispel the rumor that this unique area has little to offer except ice, I will send you with my words to South Georgia Island.

Prior to my departure, I kept meeting a distinctly vocal group of people who believed and believe still that Antarctica is a lifeless ice-cap. Why was I going there? How could I even consider it? Here are some small descriptions of "South Georgia that followed my brief landing on the Island. It was January 9th when I first saw the lofty drama of it looming up, rising out of the sea to 9000 ft.

Dressed in my issued red "expedition" jacket so I wouldn't disappear in any landscape, green or white, velcroed inside like a sausage, I was a slowly strolling layer of pure, non-itchy wool, complete in rain pants and "muck" knee boots. Snugger than any sheep made of fleece, I valiantly swung myself over the round top of my rubber boat, and ungracefully stood up on the glacial sand of the Salisbury plains, South Georgia. Ahead of me was a rat-free valley, ( and this is a vital statistic) filled with the overwhelming chorus of 100,000 pairs of King Penguins. Imagine--200,000 pieces of warm- blooded, walking, strutting, fishing, trafficking, egg-minding, egg- laying, staring, meditating, squabbling and sometimes fornicating birds!

This glacial out-wash had a naturally wonderful habitat made of arctic tussac grass, clumps of tough spongy vegetation. These rooted pads are shaped like fat green ottomans, perfect resting spots for all seals, podiums for speech-giving penguins and under its waterfalls of trailing grass, a perfectly disguised shelter for babies and wildlife of all kinds.

As I stood on shore to get my bearings, I did not know what to do -Do I photograph first? Do I look like I expected this? Overwhelmed and entirely astonished, I gawked. Can you even begin to imagine this view of numbers, be amongst such a level of density, of multitudes, I stood in a dry, oceanic flood of life-- wave upon wave of elegance, the world collection of King Penguins. From peak to shore, this avian colony was an undulating mosaic of slate grey blue coats, a timeless natural fashion worn by these three foot, upright birds. Their sleek faces were tar black- slashes of de-glo orange on satin black bills, more orange splashes upon skulls. The King's shirt fronts seemed to exude a soft light of their own, a kind of shiny cream glow in a day that was growing exceedingly gray. In fact, it began to rain. Here and there, as dark brown accents stood "Oakum Boys", adolescent King penguins dressed in cocoa fluff so named after the boys who worked on the whaling ships. Some birds who were in process of assuming their adult gray breeding dress looked like remnants with tufts of brown still stuck to their youth. Here and there, Elephant seals slumbered in lard like lumps. Piled next to each other like exclusive society, they were oblivious to the presence of Blue-eyed shags, Gentoo penguins and other commuters All along, Skuas, this relentless scavenger, a predator gull, flew short reconnaissance flights over the newborn, (should one not be carefully tended,), treated the injured and the dying below him as ready and convenient meals. High up on lofty cliffs way over my head, looking down on this frenetic scene, nested the majestic Wandering Albatrosses with eleven foot wing-spread folded over his future generation, his young.

What I experienced here was a wildlife exposure so phenomenally rich, it fell into a category of a" once in a lifetime". Here was a place so pulsating, so humming with life, no one could have accurately described this sight. One had to be here, one had to feel it, hear it, smell it. . Someone must have conjured up the whole scene with the tap from a borrowed wand and allowed me a short, gentle immersion in this fertile dream.

Today, I am still in the grip of Antarctica, its strange but singular magic. This place has a pervasive rawness. Its atmosphere is a haunting - can't-be-harnessed" wildness. It's variable and unpredictable soul has a mesmerizing allure. I liken it to visiting a roaming, somewhat benign but ferocious white tiger who wears a crystal coat. He tempts you, softens you with a curious charm, parades his collar of waddling penguins, fools you with the innocent busyness of his black and white "hobbits", his lazing molt of elephant seals, the sleek inquiry of his liquid -eyed, barking sea lions. This white tiger lifts his head then from out of the mist and fastens a mythical topaz eye upon you. If you are unwary, Antarctica can spring upon you with lethal intent in a matter of seconds. It's been stalking you all along, you know. This sense of risk to visit him is all the more beckoning. You visit his shores, admire his sheerness, feel his isolation, his scale. One is an always an intruder, an upstart before his ancient wisdom. You are stepping on a place not stepped on before, sidling up on a primordial, reptilian mind. Sometimes I felt almost like a child playing hooky in a forbidden playground, where he has been told he shouldn't ever go. For a short while, I had the thrill of gingerly patting the tiger without being bitten and momentarily blessed with his exquisitely beautiful countenance. I am grateful. He was overflowing with gifts "

~Elizabeth B. Henry 2008

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AFRICA