Penguins always leave you hanging

A splotch of brightly colored brochures lays sprawled across the dining room table I´m using as a work area in Ushuaia, plotting my various pre-Antarctica Patagonian adventures.  Rafting.  Kayaking.  Trekking.  Glaciers.  Deep woods asado.  Lighthouses at the end of the world.  Penguin tourism.  The specks of black and white in stark contrast to the vivid brochure colors that envelope them attest to my interest in what might be the most popular birds in the world right now, thanks in no small part to the masterful narrative vocal work of Morgan Freeman.

Penguins, and the people that take pictures of them

Perito Moreno Glacier already left me feeling as though I´d seen something unnecessarily spectacular with the icy shadow of Antarctica looming in my immediate future.  A hundred dollars to Penguin Island is a fortune for most budget travelers, though could easily classify as a ¨once in a lifetime¨ experience, rendering the high cost negligible.  My trip on the MV Ushuaia is the last of the year, and came with the caveat that it´s the east ideal time for penguin watching.

¨Will I see any penguins at all?¨ I asked.

¨You have to remember,¨ the tour broker reminds me, ¨nothing in Antarctica can be guaranteed.  Probably, though.¨

My worries are unfounded.  We see penguins.  Hundreds of penguins.  Thousands of penguins.  I think I may have mated with a penguin for life (in a strictly non-physical sense, of course).  Gentoos.  Macaronis.  Chinstraps.  Adelies.  Oh wait– no Adelies.  The most common of Antarctican penguins was oddly elusive.  But the others were in large enough supply to make up for their diminuitive, black-faced cousin.

As with anything else in Antarctica, there are rules.  Since I have listed none up until this point, I´ll print them all here:

1. 

   The typical, pre-landing boot wash

   Boots must be heavily sterilized before setting foot on land, and then again upon return to the MV Ushuaia.

2. No food or drinks may be brought onto the continent or any Antarctic islands.  The same may be said with leaving trash in any form.  This includes human waste, though luckily the cool temperatures are encouragement enough to hinder the necessary removal of pants.
3. Take nothing from the island.  This includes any trash that was left on the continent before the international treaty was signed, which will now basically fester in a frozen wasteland for eternity.  This also includes stones, no matter how small or how plentiful they may be. [Note: I solemnly swear I did not take seven or more rocks from Antarctica.]
4. Don´t walk closer than ten feet to any of the penguins.  They are naturally curious and might bridge the gap, but it´s their call.  I think most of us realized the tourguides never call anyone out before getting to the five-foot mark, and took full advantage of this despite the occasional nervous stare of an encroached penguin.
5. Don´t walk closer than 25 feet to any seal.  I mistook ¨ten feet¨ as being the limit for all wildlife, and was chased by an angry seal for my error.  Luckily, these animals are amongst the most awkward land animals ever, and can be retreated from while walking backwards, pointing and laughing at them.

Macaroni Penguins

Despite being the most abundant penguin on Earth, we saw exactly three Macaroni penguins, chilling leisurely together amidst a pack of chinstrap penguins.  Shaggy, yellow feathers riding their head like a bleached surfer hairstyle mixed with the standard lacadasical penguin attitude give them the appearance of being perpetually high.  As we had only limited exposure to the Macaronis, there´s little more I can say about them.

The comedians of the Penguin family

Chinstrap Penguins

The angry tribe spots us from atop a rounded, stone lookout point, immediately flailing in unison.  Whether inspired by curiosity, anger or boredom is unknown to us.  Assertively, a single chinstrap in the circle lifts his head in the air, thrusting his flippers behind him, flapping with an intensity that comes across as triumphant.  Immediately, most of the circle thrust their heads into the air and follow suit, and the chant-like bird dervish continues.

With mostly white faces, the chinstraps stand out from a single line of black feathers running from ear to ear, providing them with both a stylish facial design and a namesake.  The chinstraps were mostly non-plussed by our presence, stopping at times to stare warily but generally going about their business as though we were no more interesting than inedible, moving rocks.

A circle of chinstraps, chanting

A young chinstrap is mostly unbothered by my breaking of the ten-foot barrier

Carrying a rock in its beak over to its nest. At any given time, these guys were either perched upon their rock nests, or off in search of new rocks.

Penguin shit. Besides smelling noteworthy foul, these inescapable white lines cris-cros the beaches of Antarctica like a Pollack painting. Giving no warning, the bursts shoot forth in a thin line reaching about three to eight feet from their point of exit.

Gentoo Penguins

Groups of gentoos fly along the water as we pass, equally above and below the water in an unbelievably graceful wave.  The water seems to push them upwards into the air with as much pressure and drive as gravity pushes them back into the water from above.  Lectures from our guides regularly grind down to abrupt silences whenever a group is caught swimming by, and after close to a week of these sitings, we show no signs of disinterest.

Gentoos (pronounced jen-TOO) are the only group we manage to catch in the late molting process, leaving them in the scientific state known as ¨adorable.¨  Molting mostly takes places here from January-February, and most of the chicks are already fully feathered, but a few waddle about with thick, baby feathers, giving them an ultra-puffed up appearance.  Those caught in that awkward in-between state tend to look the most awkward (much like with humans), with haphazard patches of baby feathers in asymmetric patches across their bodies.

A gentoo works on his nest

Feeding

A molting gentoo in that awkward not-chick/not-adult stage

´sup, guys?

For some reason, many gentoos liked to stand against rocks, facing them, as though urinating on a wall. At least, that´s what it reminded me of.

Penguins Mate for Life

Penguins: You´re jerks.  No, not all of you.  But those of you that are, know exactly what I´m talking about.  Case in point — nests.

Penguins, working their way up an icy hill at an impossibly slow rate. Upon reaching the top, they stared at one another quizzically before heading back downwards just as slowly.

Penguin nests dot all available flat, open spaces up here, generally less than two to three feet from one another on the most prime real estate.  While most of the day is spent standing above these rock piles, shifting listlessly while looking over at fellow penguins or gazing timidly at the tourist hoards, some penguins occasionally feel the urge to strengthen their nests with the addition of new rocks and pebbles.  This typically involves a long, slow waddle down a hill some twenty feet long before returning to back supplement their now drastically shrunken piles with the new addition.

Why ¨drastically shrunken¨?

Because while ambitious Penguin A has made his slow strut downwards, three other penguins have dashed off of their own piles to each grab a stone from A´s now-unwatched trove, quickly shifting it to their own with a temerity that far surpasses that of Penguin A.  As the intrepid A returns with a small rock that doesn´t even match any of his lost materials in size, he clearly recognizes something is terribly amiss, though it´s not clear if he´s aware of what it is.  Looking about curiously at his peers, most of them go about their business; only three pointedly are staring off in opposite directions refusing to meet his eyes, their bodies frozen in penguin guilt.

It´s just like The Grasshopper and the Ant, only the ant´s clearly screwed this time around.  I guess that´s kind of hopeful, given my perspective.

After several days of being ignored by penguins, I find myself eye to eye with one while on the ground nearby.  I had been examining a stone that I almost certainly would not be taking with me, when I caught his (or her — I never actually saw any penguin genitals over the course of the week that would let me be certain) gaze upon me.  Thrusting his head in the air, the gentoo starts flapping wildly while SQUAWWWing out loudly in my direction.

A cluster of penguins, swimming

¨Oh yeah, pal?¨ I say, throwing my arms behind me like wings and matching his motions as elegantly as a tall, lanky non-bird of my size is capable of doing.  ¨FLAP.  FLAPFLAP FLAPFLAPFLAP FLAP.¨  The onomatopaeia is unnecessary, but I throw it in for good measure.  By this point in the trip, we´ve tried calling out to the birds and offering them stones, seaweed and other found things on the beach.  I´ve seen singing performed in their general direction, and waving, cajoling motions with arms and hands.  All have been ignored to this point by the seemingly unflappable penguins.  So I guess it makes sense that it took flapping to finally get their attention.

Upon finishing my ostentatious display, the penguin immediately shuffles a few feet forward and flaps madly at me again, repeating his screechy penguin-song.  I repeat my earlier actions with a bit more zest, and after several volleys, the penguin and I are now eye to eye.  We stay together for ten minutes or more as he sizes me up, chews at my gloves or screeches while steadfastly maintaining intense eye contact.  While playing, several others come up and flap along with us before moving on, but my initial friend stays planted firmly by my side.

As we sit in silence, an idea forms in my head.  Reaching down, I select a choice rock from the ground and place it on the driftwood that sits between us.   His head stays locked upon my hand through its entire path of movement, and he continues to stare down at the wood for several moments after the stone is dropped.  I repeat the action with a second stone, and then another, and another.  Eventually, a pile is formed, and while I´ve yet to resume our game of frenetic wing-flapping, his attention hasn´t wavered in the least.

Eventually I stop.  Short of picking up rocks coated in layers of penguin guano with my mouth, there´s little more I can do to ape the ways and traditions of the gentoo before me.  We sit silently, our eyes locked on one another with our sad, silent understanding of a love that cannot be.  Breaking eye contact, the penguin starts to waddle away, making it about two to three feet before stopping abruptly and picking up a small rock with his mouth.  Turning back towards me, the penguin shifts its body and slowly returns to me, dropping the rock down in a fluid gesture — whether of supplication or confusion, I can´t tell — directly at the base of my newly formed pile.

At this point, I think I started yelling out excitedly to those around me that were taking pictures, and apparently this was too much for my potential cross-species life mate.  Turning back in the opposite direction of where he´d picked up the rock, the gentoo slowly makes his way toward the water.  I sit, locked in place, part of me hoping he was simply in search of a new and more perfect rock for our home.  But upon reaching the water, he jumps in, never once looking back in my lonely direction.

The penguin and I, deep in conversation

He seemed more interested in my glove than any other part of me. I can´t tell if this is how penguins make out, or if he expected it to be more flavorful than it was.

Other penguins join in on the chat. Other people had come up as well, though most were cool enough to keep their distance while I had my penguin moments.

Ok, it´s possible that flapping your arms for fifteen minutes while squawing at penguins might be ¨weird¨. So what!

Our nest. Yet another comfortable home I was forced to leave behind.

Goodbye!