Master Baiters of South Georgia?

It's getting a bit manic here as we get the last of our bait, fuel, accommodation and food loads off the ship. I'm taking a break in Jason Harbour on a spur of land about 400ft above a semicircular bay about a mile across. The usual ring of sea cliffs faintly echo the seal calls from the beach. It is possible to here this as unusually there is not the slightest hint of wind. We are waiting for the ship to sail round the coast from the last depot area. Time to upload what I had written the other day:


Cathedral Cheese

We had been working in a steep-sided 'Tolkien sounding' inlet called Elsehul. We shifted bait and fuel in a complex aerial ballet onto a sweeping wide flat-bottomed plain called Hope Valley. The loads seemed to get heavier as the down draughts increased during the day. We finished successfully however and set course east bound to "Possession Bay" (The point where Captain Cook 'claimed' South Georgia.)

Peter, Dave and I flew along the bay in our trusty BO 105's (one bright yellow, two 'post office' red) arriving and landing under dark grey skies and flurries of grainy snow with a bitterly cold wind from the South Pole.

It seemed at first an inhospitable bay with stark, dark threatening mountain surrounds. Then almost magically (I am convinced this Island is where the weather gods reside!) the sun broke through and the huge bay was completely transformed into an enormous space of wondrous beauty.

The changes in the weather and how these affect my sense of place is incredibly difficult to convey by words. Imagine a grey stone cathedral of vast proportions. You arrive, staggering up to it in a blizzard, unable to make out the size of the building. Inside it is grey and misty and difficult to see in the gloom. It is dark and uninviting, not a place of reverence and quiet calm.

Quite suddenly the storm subsides, blue skies appear outside and sunlight pours through the huge stained glass windows. The whole immense space is lit up, revealing a packed congregation of seals and penguins, from wall to wall a mile across.

Back to reality. In the sunshine the beach can be seen to be a riviera for young seals, acting for the entire world like young teenagers enjoying a day at the seaside. They cavort in groups of about a dozen, racing up and down the surf line showing off to their pals, testing their prowess in the water.

I dip my boot in the cold Southern Ocean for the first time and take a handful to taste the salt of a cold season. I turn and between the monstrous crags a mile behind me 3 huge glacier walls 200 feet high shove their white and crystalline snouts down toward the blue Antarctic water.

----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Please be kind and keep your replies short.