Danco Island & Neko Harbour

Just as we left it last night, the mountains were visible in all directions as the morning sun shone on the crevassed and powdery slopes of ice. The southern entrance to the Errera Channel had ice trapped in the constraints of Rongé Island to the west and the Arctowski Peninsula, part of the ‘mainland’ Antarctic Peninsula, to the east. The southwesterly winds had blown the bergy bits and icebergs into the entrance, but luckily, we were able to pass by with ease and find Danco Island.
Danco Island brings us back to the story of the Belgica voyage as we move north again into the region where Gerlache pioneered the charting of this coastline in 1897–99. Emile Danco was a member of the expedition who died on 5 June 1898 during their polar night, leaving the men of the Belgica with a challenging loss during the endless darkness south of the polar circle. Danco was a Belgian geophysicist on board.
As we motored into the channel, many of us were enjoying the possibility of staying out on deck, not needing to retreat to the deckhouse in this relatively warm weather.

The west side of Danco Island was lined with brash ice and growlers, so a northern shore landing site was chosen instead. We passed an ice floe with two Weddell seals basking in the sun on our shuttle to the shore. Gentoo penguins strolling the beach and returning from fishing trips welcomed us ashore. They were sparsely spread on the beach, but the smell was strong from the dark rocks up the slope, where there was a hive of activity as young chicks were fed and protected from circling skuas.

We meandered our way along the beach, passing the remains of Base O, a British Antarctic Survey station that was only used for a few years from 1956 to 1959. The men from this station made the first journey up onto the Forbidden Plateau, leaving from Portal Point in 1957, at Cape Recluse, part of the peninsula further north. All that remains of this hut today are the concrete foundations and a small plaque with some dates of the scientific work carried out here.
We continued along the beach, photographing a number of deeply incised penguin highways and heading for a well-developed route up the snow slope. At this time of the morning, the snow was still firm, making the walk a lot easier.

Winding between the penguin colonies, avoiding highways and stray penguins, we observed the chicks enjoying the warmth of the sun while the parent gentoos vigilantly watched the skuas above.
At the top of the snow slope, we gained a view over the crest, giving 360° views of the peninsula and Rongé Island. The glaciated steep mountains reflected off the glassy water, only obstructed by the blocks of ice scattered in swirls on the surface. The now-obligatory moment of silence commenced at the summit as we looked out, feeling present and content in our surroundings. Booms of ice falling caught our attention in the otherwise silent minutes. On the descent, we caught sight of one of these as a high serac broke off, bringing with it a cloud of powdery snow.
We returned to EUROPA using the beach closest to the ship to shuttle. Here the ice was passable now, with the help of some ice shoving and careful route choice. Before midday, all were back on board as we started the transit into Andvord Bay, where Neko Harbour lies.

Neko Harbour
What a last landing it was. Europa slowly glided on mirror-like water. There was not a single sign of wind or breeze to sculpt ripples into the surface. The ice and glacier kingdom we are so fortunate to visit was putting up its best face, reflecting into the water around us. Europa slowed down near the rocky beach of Neko Harbour. The place was stunning, with glaciers surrounding the ship from all sides. The one next to the landing beach was particularly volatile, with frequent glacial calvings.

The landing site was accessible, and soon the whole landing crew was ashore. From there, we started our way up to the lookout point. It was a bit of a hike uphill, and the afternoon heat made the snow very soft. Soon we made our way to the rocky patch higher on the slope. Luckily, there were no skuas nesting this season, even though they very much prefer this spot. There was a sole skua sitting just in the middle of the rocky patch. We went slowly around, carefully avoiding the bird. The view from the top was magnificent, with the glacier right below us washed with the blue water of the bay, so clear one could mistake it for a tropical beach.

By popular demand, we held five minutes of total silence, just admiring the scenery and listening to the sounds all around us. The penguins cawing, waves splashing on the beach, the glacier giving out constant sounds of movement, and then, when calving happened, it felt like gunfire. During this moment of silence, we reflected on the past couple of days we spent on the southern continent—on all the sites we visited, the people we met, and the friendships we forged. It was an unforgettable moment we will cherish for the rest of our lives.

After this experience, we made our way down to the beach. Nobody really wanted to go back to the ship, as if they wanted to soak in every bit of this last Antarctic experience. It also reminded us that even though it is beautiful, it is still a dangerous and untamed place. We were reminded that Mother Nature is still the boss around here.
Unfortunately, we could not stay here forever. Everything comes to an end—even our time ashore. Back on the ship, we started motoring, still in good weather and surrounded by beauty. It was the perfect time to spend some time in the rig without the swell of the Drake Passage. But there were no more landings left. We were heading home. Farewell, Antarctica.

The deck was busy all evening as we watched and took in the vast landscape of snow-laden mountain peaks tumbling down to the iceberg-strewn glassy sea below. What more could be added to this special evening? Just as people began retreating to their bunks—particularly the white watch, who would be starting us off at 0800 tomorrow—there was a call for whales. On our port side was Anvers Island, and Waifs Islands lay to our starboard. We were not the only ones enjoying this narrow passage. Groups of humpback whales were visible in different directions and distances.
Captain Moritz turned the engines off, leaving only the Antarctic silence and the screech of each surfacing humpback. Each time, hands were thrown up to point in the direction of a feeding whale, a surfacing whale, or a fluke. They appeared to be full of energy, playing and tossing their flippers to slap them on the water’s surface.
It was a magical evening that rewarded those who stayed up late. The wildlife playing amongst the glassy waters and crisp, clear skies revealing all the features of the mountains kept us from returning to our bunks far beyond what would seem reasonable. What a send-off from this continent.
- Expedition Leader Beth & Guide Richard
