Stonington Island, South of the Antarctic Circle
“Going south!” This expression is sometimes used by those escaping the cold northern winters. But not this time. “Going south” can also be an endeavor with a less than favorable outcome. But that definitely wasn’t the meaning either. For us, going south was a joyful event that began last night at 10p.m., as we crossed the mythical line of 66 degrees, 33 minutes South, the Antarctic Circle. No dotted line stretched across the horizon, nor was there a bump. With great mariner flare, Captain Skog sounded the horn and we toasted our good fortune. And we didn’t stop there. We kept going into the night and by morning found ourselves at Stonington Island, a whopping 68 degrees, 11 minutes South. Occupied by both the British and the U.S., Stonington consisted of two buildings, the wooden shelves still filled with old tins cans and crates of oats that reminded us of bygone days. Lots of excellent science was conducted at these now-abandoned sites. But even if history wasn’t our calling, we could still enjoy the stunning scene that surrounded us. Hardly a ripple, except for the occasional wave created by ice cascading down from the nearby glacier. For many of us the highlight was the chance to launch our kayaks in calm conditions.
Tucked into a corner of the American station was a poem by Richard Black, the station leader from 1939-1941.
“It may be that this awesome land
Has something in its air
Which sears the heart
Like burning brand and leaves a longing there.”
On this day “going south” was neither an escape nor a failed effort. Today we celebrated a trip that filled our longing, and we were delighted.
“Going south!” This expression is sometimes used by those escaping the cold northern winters. But not this time. “Going south” can also be an endeavor with a less than favorable outcome. But that definitely wasn’t the meaning either. For us, going south was a joyful event that began last night at 10p.m., as we crossed the mythical line of 66 degrees, 33 minutes South, the Antarctic Circle. No dotted line stretched across the horizon, nor was there a bump. With great mariner flare, Captain Skog sounded the horn and we toasted our good fortune. And we didn’t stop there. We kept going into the night and by morning found ourselves at Stonington Island, a whopping 68 degrees, 11 minutes South. Occupied by both the British and the U.S., Stonington consisted of two buildings, the wooden shelves still filled with old tins cans and crates of oats that reminded us of bygone days. Lots of excellent science was conducted at these now-abandoned sites. But even if history wasn’t our calling, we could still enjoy the stunning scene that surrounded us. Hardly a ripple, except for the occasional wave created by ice cascading down from the nearby glacier. For many of us the highlight was the chance to launch our kayaks in calm conditions.
Tucked into a corner of the American station was a poem by Richard Black, the station leader from 1939-1941.
“It may be that this awesome land
Has something in its air
Which sears the heart
Like burning brand and leaves a longing there.”
On this day “going south” was neither an escape nor a failed effort. Today we celebrated a trip that filled our longing, and we were delighted.
