O Y S TER NEWS
No walking for us today, the spectacle of these tens of thousands of animals is so amazing that we can’t pull ourselves away. T e photographers wield their cameras while the others watch and learn about penguin life.
We eventually get to Grytviken; the island’s only settlement. T ere we fi nd the BAS (British Antarctic Survey), four boats tied up, two of which we already know and we immediately make friends with the crews of the others. We visit the tiny but perfect museum that Tim curated for all those years. We also toured the ruins of a whale-processing factory and, of course, the cemetery where Shackleton is buried. As with the other high latitude spots we’ve visited, we’re amazed by how young all these people are who died, many only in their early twenties.
We also visit Carlita Bay, Huvik Bay, Prioni Island, Prince Olav Bay and Right Whale Bay, but time has fl own by and it’s time for us to head back to Stanley as our fl ight home is just ten days away now. We watch the weather bulletins and GRIBs, going back into Stanley is the toughest bit as the wind is coming from the west and so are we!
Our friends have told us terrible tales of what awaits us: very high winds, cross seas, squalls, gusts. T e weather bulletins tell us there’s a very strong perturbation on the way from Argentina.
To put my mind at rest, Tim tells me that these perturbations pass very quickly. Unfortunately they also oſt en reach hurricane force and the GRIBs say 60 knots. My poor boat! How can I do this to her? How can I put her in the path of a hurricane? I try to put off our departure by making various excuses – I organise visits to other bays, but in the end, it’s all to no avail, the booked fl ight is more powerful than me and we get going in a 45/50 knot wind and in a cross sea! T e fi rst 24 hours are agony for anyone that suff ers from seasickness, they take to their bunks, drugged up on Stugeron, and the onboard medic hands out other pills. Soon they’re virtually comatose and will remain that way for some time to come.
T e others try to weather the storm, quite literally, as best they can. Good old Steve is at the helm, permanently drenched to the bone, hatless, shoeless, lashed by the wave. Is his superhuman endurance just because he’s so young or is he some kind of alien life form? We take our various watches. Even when it’s time to sleep, we can’t stretch out in peace, we’re tossed around in our bunks. It feels like we’re on a rollercoaster and I won’t even mention what it’s like trying to get dressed or having a wash.
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