I’m lying on the snow, emperor penguins all around. Once you get used to the
sight, the sound and then smell are probably the most noticeable things. The
constant cooing, deep throttle cooing: da da da daa di da da daa di da da daa
daa. A rattle and a coo, constantly starting and ending, sometimes in unison,
a chorus, sometimes a chant, always in surround sound. On top of this is the
sweet demanding chirrup of chicks, almost a trill. "Feed me." "Where
The chicks are now getting quite big and plump. Some of them almost up to
the height of their parent’s shoulders if they stretch. These ones should make
it. There are little ones too, not necessarily abandoned, just later hatches.
These will make it as long as the ice stays for long enough and, of course,
that both parents keep returning with food. Then there are the tiny ones, occassionally
fostered by chickless adults but not fed. Finally, there are the dead chicks,
of all sizes, frozen into the ice.
As I stay still and write this, inquisitive adults approach. Never so close
that I could touch them easily but within reaching distance. The recent warmth
(~ -20C) makes an amazing difference since I can lie here and observe, writing
in thinnies [glove liners]. The downside however, is the stench. Fishy ammonia,
green-brown penguin poo streaks all across the ice. Not dissimilar from pigeons.
Birds is birds I guess.
One is now so close I see his reptilian feet, gnarled toes, long hard nails
for pulling out of the ice. He is standing very still, rounded back, dark black
stripes graffitied down his neck. He moves out of the way and a parent and chick
move in. The chick, fluffy grey, runs off like a toddler exploring and the parent
patiently follows through the crowd. I could stay here for hours but have been
told it’s time to go.
Da da da daa di di di daaa di di di daa daa.