50°39’ S 166°10’ E – 54°30′ S, 158°57′ E

Being at sea rapidly becomes my favourite time on board the ship. Of course this is mostly due to good weather allowing us to be outside, where the birds are. As we head south down the east coast of Auckland Island, countless albatross, petrels, prions, and shearwaters spiral around the ship.

The shearwaters take off in huge rafts from the surface, millions of silver-black wings propelling them into the skies. The Prions race across the bow, twisting and turning and getting lost against the blue-grey of the sea. Cape Petrels are our ubiquitous companions, always circling, passing close enough to touch.

The grace of the albatrosses cannot be matched, though – White-capped, Light-mantled, Southern and Northern Royals, Gibson’s Wanderers, small and large, they dominate our photographs. The glacier-cut fjords of Auckland Island are shrouded by cloud and make an impressive backdrop. Every now and then the sun lances through, illuminating wings and water.

The afternoon passes, most of it spent on deck. Between times we attend lectures, drink tea in the Bar/library, and nap. Heading further and further south, the sun refuses to set until well after 10o’clock at night, and we are out in the warm evening light that stretches on forever. The waves are tinged rosy, black in their depths, and spray scatters the low light into thousands of jewelled droplets.

The next day we wake in the mist, rain whipped along by the wind, and the ship rolling steadily in the swell. Not many people have slept well, tipped from one end of the bunk to the other. One arm fastened around the outer stair-rail, I photograph our attendant seabirds while watching swells catch us from behind, tipping us forwards, and then overtake us, leaving us in deep troughs.  From inside, the view through the portholes is either sky or sea – and the brief moment of both as the ship rolls back the other way. We shelter on the bridge while the rain increases, ducking out to photograph as birds skim past, enjoying the wind. As the day progresses, the weather clears until the water is turquoise and the sky bright blue.

Firmly in Australian waters, and getting ever closer to the rich waters of the Antarctic convergence, the number of seabirds appears to increase every minute. I roll back my 80-400mm lens to 80mm, and try and fit as many seabirds in a single frame as I can. With them all travelling in different directions at different speeds, the most I can manage is six!

As much as I’m excited for Macquarie Island, there’s something about the freedom of simply being at sea that makes me wish the day would never end. The endless blue is so full of promise (and seabirds). But evening comes, as it always does, and it’s even more perfect than the day has been. The sky blushes pink again, the waters shade through a deep sapphire to inky black. Even as the sun slowly leaves, the seabirds stay with us, and tiny storm-petrels skitter along the surface. We stay on the rolling stern until bed beckons, as Macquarie Island promises an even more exciting day tomorrow. It means we miss the sunset, but after last night’s rough ride and a day of near-constant photography, we are all a little exhausted.

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Dave has some amazing photographs from our time at sea in his Trip Report – check it out!