54° 29′ 59″ S 158° 56′ 14″ E

We appear to have lost Macquarie Island. We know where it is – just a little to the west of us – but we can’t see it. Every now and then, parts of it appear from behind a wall of grey cloud. A hill there. A stack there. The station blooms into being, rows of buildings and the spherical ANARE satellite dome are a slightly darker grey than the mist. Everything is muffled but for the constant hum of the engines and the gentle swell against the hull. We’re out on deck in the clinging fog, waiting. Our landing at Buckles Bay has been delayed until the weather improves, which will apparently happen some time this afternoon. Fingers are crossed.

I photograph seabirds to while away the time. There are plenty of them; my favourite Light-mantled Albatross skimming across the water in synchronised pairs. Just at the edge of the fog-line, two large black triangles burst from the water, arc, and disappear again. It’s the Orca we missed the other day! I don’t see much of them though, they’re heading south along the coast and quickly vanish into the mist. A few brief seconds of fins slicing through the water, and then it’s just us and the seabirds once again.

We’re ashore first – a group of birders and photographers who are more keen on the wildlife around the base than the base itself. It looks like the base has been adopted by wildlife, our first stop being the gaggle of Gentoo penguins that have taken over the road. Their chicks are big enough to wander around now, and some have almost moulted out of their down. Bright orange feet and flaming beaks (there should be a lipstick colour called ‘Gorgeous Gentoo’) glow in the mist. Adults lift their heads and bray, and I’m struck by how different the voices of penguins are. The Gentoo call takes me right back to February, to Danco Island in Antarctica. Sitting in the snow on the shoreline. The world around me is glacial and massive and endless. Ice towers into a grey sky and plunges into glassy black water. A platoon of Gentoos erupts from the sea on to the shore. 

I open my eyes and I’m back on Macquarie. Penguins are using lush green grass as pillows as they doze. The sky is heavy and dripping on us. It’s so different, but still so wild. For that, I love it all the more. Antarctica is another world, but these islands are even more isolated, battered by the storms that surge across the Southern Ocean. It’s chaos, relentless, and still these little penguins persist. They don’t mind, it’s their home. I swear this Gentoo is flirting with me. Look at that sly wink.

Down on the beach, there are Elephant seals of all sizes, lolling and snorting. There are more King penguins, in case we haven’t seen enough of them yet (I haven’t!). The rain is a steady mist between us and the world. We can barely see the ship out in the gloom. This is my kind of place – where the wildlife outnumbers the humans.

Baby Elephant seals practice their kissing. Very cute.

The Isthmus isn’t wide – and in storms waves can roll all the way across it. Thankfully the weather isn’t quite that wild today, and we head across to the other side – Hasselborough Bay to look for Macquarie Island Shags. But of course, there are Elephant seals to get past first!

The water in the shallow bay is churned and frothy, and bright glowing turquoise. It foams against the black gravel of the beaches, every now and then spitting out a penguin. The green of Wireless Hill and the station is dulled by the mist, but swathes of kelp along the shore are a startling orange against the grey.

There are birds everywhere. Skua on the beach, huddling or picking at seal remains, Giant Petrels overhead, sometimes landing with a thump and an ungainly shake. Macquarie Island Shags are collecting grass for their nests and commuting from the beach out to rocks in the bay. Every now and then, one flaps past with a face-full.

So close to the station, the wildlife here sees humans nearly every day. They’re not bothered in the slightest, and in fact, some of them are too bold. A Giant Petrel lands right next to Dave and advances, wings spread wide, intimidating. They live up to the name ‘Giant’, especially when you’re lying down! He sits up quickly, not keen on being lunch. Speaking of lunch, apparently there’s scones in the mess hall, waiting for us (more likely being devoured by the rest of the group). We head back to the station, stopping every few meters to photograph something. Like shags collecting dry grass.

I think this might be a little over-zealous, but I admire the effort.

This looks much more manageable.

Although we make it to the mess hall, most of us bypass it with the promise of Rockhopper penguins and Sub-antarctic fur seals in a little cove around the corner. Someone manages to sneak inside and grab a bite though – particularly the one of us who nearly got bitten. You can’t hide that scone, Dave.

I make friends just outside the station with a curious King Penguin. I’m kneeling in the sand with my camera in my lap, looking a penguin straight in the eye. The penguin looks back at me, head stretched forward to get a better view. I usually talk to the animals I photograph, but this is an exception. After a brief ‘hello’, we share a silent moment. The orange plate on King penguins’ bills always make them look like they’re smiling. I appear to pass whatever inspection I was getting, and the penguin wanders past me, towards the station. I let out the breathe I didn’t even know I was holding, and laughter bubbles up instead. This place is ridiculous, and I love it.

Seals are such posers, and the Sub-antarctic fur seals are no exception. They’re an interesting two-tone mix of ginger and brown, unlike any other fur seal species. The bay is full of Elephant seals and fur seals, moulting King penguins, and a few distant Rockhoppers. There’s not much time before we have to get back on the ship, so we’re a little bit frantic in taking photographs. Trying to take it all in. Just as we are leaving, the sun begins to peek through the clouds.

Weather in the Southern Ocean is fickle, and suddenly the sky is blue. But now we have to leave, and head north again. Campbell Island is our next destination, and it will take a while to get there. I’ll be out on deck, watching for seabirds all the way.

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