The excitement has built and built. Maybe it’s because I’m surrounded by Australians (I’m looking at you, Dave, Henry, and Liz!). The day at sea of anticipation, and the morning of waiting almost unbearable. The slice of oceanic crust that is Macquarie Island is gold in the morning light, and tall enough to be wreathed in its own clouds while the skies around are startlingly clear. We are so ready to go that I don’t even remember eating breakfast. We must wait a little longer though, as Macca (as it’s known to the locals) runs on East Australian time and our ship is still on New Zealand time, two hours ahead. 

We spend every waiting moment out on deck, spotting rafts of Royal and King penguins in the impossibly blue water, binoculars trained on the island in front of us looking for colonies, and admiring the view of the Macquarie Island ANARE Station, (Australian National Antarctic Research Expedition). I don’t have words for how excited I am to see King and Royal penguins, so instead I just laugh (slightly maniacally) and take a lot of photographs as they ripple through the bluest water. I’m not alone in my mild state of mania – there’s a lot of whooping going on as we spot new birds, our eagerness to be ashore bubbling out feverishly. Then we are called down into the dark lecture room for a briefing as the ship makes its way down to our landing site, and quarantine procedures are routine to us by now. Waiting for the zodiacs, we’re hopping from foot to foot in anticipation.

By the time we tumble ashore into the foamy waves and gravel of Sandy Bay (another one!), I am breathless. I fumble to remove my lifejacket, pull out my camera gear, and end up kneeling on the beach in quiet awe. Not that it’s a quiet place – the braying of penguins, snorting of elephant seals, screams of skuas and the constant rush of water on pebbles paint the air with sounds, as colours paint the landscape. The sky is the bluest I think I have ever seen, the mountain ridges a golden green I didn’t expect, run through with the ochres of bare earth. But the chaos on the beach is what draws my eyes – the near-fluorescent yellows of Royal penguin crests and King penguin plumage.

 Royal penguins breed only on Macquarie, and after seeing them glide through the waters from the ship I can’t help but laugh as one waddles up to me. They’re not the prettiest of penguins, their wide pink gape turned down in a permanent frown. Added to this, beady red eyes and an unusual white face gives them an almost clown-mask, topped with ridiculously yellow plumes. Their character leaves something to be desired as well – life for a Royal penguin appears to be a never-ending series of arguments. They bray and snap at each other at any opportunity, even in the surf as they are tossed and swamped by waves.

 Compared to them, the Kings are stately and elegant, with long decurved bills, shapely necks, and smooth colouring. Well, some of them anyway. At the moment the Kings are moulting, and it doesn’t look like a fun process at all. Huddled in groups, their old feathers are a puffy mess, while the new ones poking up underneath look sharp and itchy. White feathers fill the air, tossed in the breeze like snow. Scattered on the beach, they are little commas of white caught in black pebbles and maroon seaweed. There is endless flapping and shaking, fervent preening, and dejected shuffling as they try to work the nuisances free. But only time will work the old feathers loose and grow fresh ones in their place.

And then there’s these guys – Elephant seals. They’re piled up on the beach like logs of lard, in various stages of shedding their fur and looking the worse for it. The little ones are cute, but the larger ones look a lot like furry slugs with weepy faces and the typical flabby proboscis of a nose that gives Elephant seals their name. Something I’m not quite prepared for though, is their smell. There’s something about the overwhelming, warm, rank smell (stench) of Elephant seals that has me breathing through my mouth to try and avoid it. But this doesn’t make it any better, because now I can taste it too! It’s time to move on down the beach – towards the boardwalk that leads up to a Royal penguin colony. I’m more of a birder anyway… 

The river marks the border – we’re not allowed to go any further along the beach. I don’t think I’d like to risk wading through Elephant seals like the penguins must to get out to sea either. There’s another river – one of penguins stretches along the shore – a never-ending ribbon of squawking, flapping, waddling life. From a vantage point on the stairs, I can see them all along the beach – just little specks of black and white in the distance.

The Royal colony rings with noise, and my ears are buzzing with penguin brays and Skua screams. Grumpy, argumentative parents abuse the neighbours, feed their squeaking chicks, and tussle with predatory Skuas and Giant Petrels. Today we have met both Southern and Northern Giant petrels, distinguishable by the green or red bill-tip. Only Southern Giant petrels have an all-white morph, something we’re hoping to see. No such luck up at the colony, though. The bright sun wreaks havoc with my photography plans – casting strong shadows and making the contrast of black-and-white birds nearly impossible. I end up focusing on the Skuas – despite their predilection for eating penguin chicks, they’re some of my favourite birds (Do I say that about all birds? Probably).

Back down on the beach it’s chaos.  I’m crouched down, face first in a puddle of penguin feathers and other leavings, trying to get reflections of the preening Kings. There’s a splash and a scream as a Skua lands in front of me, ruining the mirror-water. With a bit of feather ruffling and strutting, it wanders up and appears to be trying to decide whether or not I’m edible. A few pecks of my ungloved hands (ow) satisfy it that I’m not particularly tasty, and it starts to preen instead.  I’m looking for quiet moments in a whirlwind of penguins, coming ashore in droves and slapping each other with stiff flippers. On land they lose all the speed and grace that they have in the water, and being tumbled ashore by waves doesn’t help. I end up lying down in front of a group of Royals, some asleep, some preening. The gold of their crests is blinding when the sun catches it. 

All of a sudden it’s lunch time, and we’re chivvied off back down the beach towards the ship. Last as usual. The Elephant seals watch us go, content to flop in the sand and soak up the sun. I wouldn’t mind that, actually, but the prospect of being sat on by one prevents me from stretching out for a nap. That and the fact that we have to go back on board for lunch – no food is allowed on the island. I’d happily skip lunch to stay, but the rangers and our crew won’t! We’re allowed to return this afternoon, and you can put money on me being on the first zodiac back ashore.As we’re skimming through the calm swell, we spot her. Immediately dubbed “Galadriel”, the white morph Southern Giant petrel trails along the surface, heading back towards the island. We’re going the wrong way! Beautiful against the blue water, and then gone, into the tumbled rocks of the shore. At least we’ll be back soon, and then we can search her out.

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