LEAVE NO TRACE
I HAVE A NEW FAVOURITE BEACH.
It’s shingled with fine, grey gravel, lapped by tiny waves and scattered with chunks of ice. On this calm, silvery, late-summer afternoon, the air is a comfortable two degrees.
As I relax on the shore of Neko Harbour, my face tilted north towards the sun, my many companions potter among the rocks, paddle in the shallows, plunge into the sea or emerge, sleek and wet, from the glossy, indigo-blue shallows. Occasionally, like Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, they raise their chins to the sky and bray.
They’re gentoo penguins, endearing little characters with dapper, black-and-white feathers, ketchup-coloured beaks and an ability to zip through the water four times faster than an Olympic swimmer. Their raucous hee-hawing is one of the Antarctic summer’s most distinctive sounds. Recent studies have revealed they call underwater, too, making short, squeaky whoops while hunting fish — even at depths of up to 200 metres. It’s unclear why they do this, although it could be to stun their prey.
It’s extremely rare, as a tourist, to gain access to a pristine region that’s been set aside primarily for science and conservation. It’s equally rare to experience a place where wild birds and animals, instead of fleeing, surround you — on land, while you’re walking, or at sea, while you’re kayaking or in a Zodiac dinghy. The
