A Sea Kayaking Adventure in Antarctica's Weddell Sea

It was our fourth day in a row kayaking in Antarctica with Aurora Expeditions. In Port Charcot, we entered a scene fit for a snow globe: We paddled past penguins flying through the water as snow blanketed our kayaks and the sea.

Another day, in Neko Harbour, we sailed into a scene right out of a travel brochure — the sky was so blue, and every glacier, iceberg and whale we spotted was perfectly duplicated in the water. The day before, while visiting volcanic Spert Island, I paddled through memories of past floats through other towering caves, jarred back to reality only by the authentically Antarctic icebergs dotting the cave’s entrance.

I decided to let my partner handle our floating vehicle, feeling the urge to capture our surroundings. (Also, my upper body was really, really sore.) The sight of deep black basalt rock stacked against beached icebergs reminded me of Iceland’s Reynisfjara beach, but this was better. There were penguins.

Emerging from the craggy black rock was a million-year-old volcano called Brown Bluff, our first stop on the Weddell Sea of Antarctica, which we reached by sailing through the Antarctic Sound after five days cruising the Antarctic Peninsula.

In the Weddell, I — along with my fellow cruisers onboard Aurora’s Greg Mortimer expedition ship — was promised something different. Unlike the Antarctic Peninsula, the Weddell is more remote and less visited. Filled with sheets of ice and icebergs, this is where explorer Ernest Shackleton’s Endurance ship was trapped by pack ice in 1915. Years before, Otto Nordenskjold, the Swedish explorer, miraculously survived an unplanned winter here after his ship was sunk by ice.

In addition to its unique expedition history, the Weddell is typified by volcanic rock, though icebergs and penguins add a touch of familiarity.

We were told that Brown Bluff typically soars some 2,300 feet, but on this day, from my perch just above sea level, it was severed by thick gray fog, the product of the union of warmer air and snow. Antarctica is known for its extreme weather, and it is not impossible to experience all four seasons in a single outing. In the days prior, we had kayaked in rain, wind and a snowstorm, so a little fog was hardly a deterrent.

Antarctica is known for its extreme weather, and it is not impossible to experience all four seasons in a single outing.

Against the outline of the mist, gentoo penguins crept nervously to the edges of rocks, ice and glaciers. Those by the water contemplated a swim. Later, I would realize my attempts to record a penguin hopping from boulder to boulder using my phone’s “slo-mo” tool would likely not materialize. Penguins are hesitant creatures, and they don’t quite grasp the need to create compelling content for social media. (Perhaps the hyperlapse quickening mode would have produced better results.)

After kayaking the open sea, we cruised the coastline, stopping to see what was left of the Adelie penguin population here.

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According to our kayaking guide, penguins spotted in this part of Antarctica in March — at the end of the summer season, and during our sailing — are those who simply do not feel ready to leave for the pack ice.

Gentoos are easily distinguishable by bright-orange beaks and a white patch on their heads, while Adelies are completely black and white with faintly orange-speckled beaks. Many were still molting, though, and their usually sleek coats were corrupted by charming tufts of brown fur shaped like mohawks.

Turning away from the penguins, we spotted fur seals on icebergs and, as usual, I was not sure what was more eye-catching — the cracks and holes in the ice or the textured seals, which from afar looked like tilted question marks. The seals inspected us and strutted their stuff, slithering around the iceberg as we circumnavigated them with our paddles. Not to be outdone by the fur seal, a leopard seal — a local apex predator — popped his head out of the water.

Instructing us to paddle away, a guide began to regale us with a story of getting stalked by a leopard seal.

Another guide piped in: “When they inspect us, there’s one question they’re considering: ‘Food?’”

When they inspect us, there’s one question they’re considering: ‘Food?’

Once we were confident that we would not contribute to their daily meal, we made a landing on the continent. Attempting to avoid the biggest bits of shallow rock — as well as each other’s paddles — was always exciting (and made slightly difficult with our kayaks).

Once safely positioned, we pulled off our spray skits and climbed out, furiously unraveling our dry bags for our gloves — a liner and a waterproof layer — in an often-futile effort to keep our fingers from going painfully numb.

We followed the guides up a glacier lined with four penguins. One lay on the ice, possibly asleep. The other three kept watch. We attempted to avoid the melty bits in the crunchy ice as we climbed up in our neoprene booties. Though booties do not sub well for webbed feet, I felt a bit like a penguin myself.

Awkward, slow and contemplative of my next step, I knew one thing: I would like to stay here a bit longer, too.

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