The Silver Discoverer at Macquarie Island. Photo / Daniela Plaza
The marine animals and birdlife on the remote sub-Antarctic Islands captivate Isobel Marriner.
My husband is up on deck about 5am, filming as we approach Perseverance Harbour on our first sub-Antarctic island. He startles the waiter setting up for early breakfast. But nothing fazes Edwin, and he rustles up the first coffee of the day with his characteristic huge smile. I think I'm doing pretty well to be up at six, but it's been light for quite a while; down here the summer nights are wonderfully short, and that's just how you want them to be ... there's so much to see.
But it doesn't feel too much like summer. The wind is whipping around the deck and the top of the island is shrouded in mist. Time to fuel up; we've a longish walk ahead, and it's a good, uphill route.
Our energetic expedition leader, Juan, has encouraged everyone to attempt the climb; the rewards are worth it, there are nesting albatross up there. Most of our fellow passengers on the Silver Discoverer don't need the encouragement. They are fit, outdoorsy-types; most of them are bird people.
We're wrapped up pretty warmly in our expedition jackets as we pile into the Zodiacs - a couple of earlier landings on Ulva and Stewart islands have made us old hands on the nimble craft.
It's a muddy tramp at the start but the boardwalk is pristine and does its job of protecting the island's fragile plant life, which is a revelation. We're used to the thick bush and tall trees of the mainland, so this flora seems otherworldly. The megaherbs bulbinella (a type of lily, but it looks like a yellow red-hot poker) and stilbocarpa, the edible Macquarie Island cabbage, are the most visible among the tussock but there are tiny gems, too, gentians, and flowered mosses.
Up and up we go; as the track winds along the mist clears and, at last, there are the huge birds, the size of small dogs, most sitting on their nests looking impressive but, occasionally stretching those vast, 3m wings. The southern royal albatross, or toroa, have been following the ship for a day, wheeling behind us, but not until we see them at ground level do we truly appreciate their size.
On the way down I round a corner and almost run into a sea lion. We've been prepped on pinniped encounters - sea lions apparently are just like dogs, and can run just as fast, so don't turn tail, or they'll catch you. This one is smack bang in the middle of the boardwalk heading my way, so I take off my backpack (always put something between you and the sea lion) and edge carefully backwards, hoping there's someone brave not too far behind.
Luckily, Lars the ornithologist, is heading my way and with a shake of his stick and a bark in Danish (I think it was Danish) he has the young bull on its way.
"Ah yes," he says, somewhat mysteriously, "I know that one." Knows it is a troublemaker. But it is something to tell my husband; he can't have a story to beat this one.
Wrong. When we meet up near the bottom of the track he is fit to burst. He's shot the teal.
That's the Campbell Island teal, thought to be extinct but rediscovered on an offshore island in the 1970s and repatriated. It's shy and rare. And he's the only passenger with its picture.
It's our first glimpse of the welcoming party; just a solo scout bobbing through the water. He is followed soon by the advance party: groups of three or four swimmers, doing a drive-by and occasionally lifting their heads, checking out the leviathan that has strayed into their territory. The sea is cold, but it is as clear as a tropical ocean and under its surface you can see the sleek bodies gliding, flipping, then shooting into the air.
On board ship the excitement is palpable; penguins ... PENGUINS! As the Silver Discoverer makes a slow entrance into Sandy Bay we pass huge rookeries, one after another, hugging the coastline and snaking up the hillsides. I just didn't realise there would be so many birds. It's something to be thankful for, as among the masses are rusting boilers or "digesters" used in the late 19th and early 20th centuries by sealers - who had almost wiped out their original prey - to process up to 4000 penguins a day for oil.
A concerted effort by Tasmania's conservation department has eradicated pest species left by those early visitors; rats and rabbits are gone and now the birds, elephant seals and native vegetation are thriving again.
Knowing all this, it's a privilege to set foot on the island. Stepping from the Zodiac, it's my first "wet" landing and I'm chanting "face the water, face the water" as we pull up on the beach but I still manage to flip my leg over the wrong way and collect a bootful of chilly Southern Ocean. That momentary discomfort soon vanishes as I get my bearings and look around. The elephant seals, literally piles of them, line the back of the beach, enormous grey and mustard slugs occasionally breaking from their torpor for a scuffle, a grunt and it's back to sleep while the young seals, or weaners - fluffy, grey and, oh my goodness, what big eyes you have - shuffle over for a nuzzle. They haven't had a meal since their mothers left, up to a month ago, and they are after any affection they can get. Or a feed.
But those beautiful black and white birds - thousands of them - are the stars of the show. The king penguins fill the air with a trumpeting coo, like the sound of an elephant that has cohabited with a dove, and turn their heads to and fro as you pass by, regarding you with each eye in turn and showing off their elegant long necks and vivid golden markings. The royals, with their cheeky yellow crests fall over each other as they come in from the sea; waddling up to regard us newcomers with open curiosity but no fear, squawking and squabbling and generally behaving like clowns.
A short walk away is the royal nursery. It's noisy and smelly and, at first, it's hard to distinguish that the balls of grey fluff tucked between feet are the babies. The parents have staked their claim to particular pieces of ground and are quick to cuff any interloping penguin with the temerity to wander through. Sinister skuas prowl the perimeter, eyes peeled for a chick that has wandered or been temporarily mislaid; ready to swoop and make the most of an unguarded moment.
Macquarie, Australia's sub-Antarctic jewel, is special for so many reasons; geologically, we've learned, because it is the only place on Earth where the seabed is above ground, oceanic crust having been forced upwards at the meeting of the Australian and Pacific plates. It lies at the end of the same chain New Zealand is part of, so I'm thinking it really is a little bit ours. I'm claiming it for us, anyway.
But we have to leave early ... there's a storm brewing and it's coming our way.
Yesterday, with the ship surfing ahead of bad weather, we had an exhilarating day, watching the wild waves build behind us and negotiating the decks and corridors with a good swell on. This is the Southern Ocean and it would have been disappointing not to feel its power. But we've outrun the worst of the storm and reached a safe haven in Carnley Harbour, a huge volcanic caldera.
The sea is calm and we man the Zodiacs for a "harbour cruise". Nothing like Auckland though. Instead of passing by waterfront diners enjoying crayfish and cocktails, we come upon a den of raucous pterodactyl-like giant petrels, fighting over the bloody carcass of a seal. It's a gruesome spectacle, at once fascinating and horrifying, as, wings raised and tails jutting obscenely, they hack and tear.
Meanwhile, the Silver Discoverer has repositioned to Tagua Bay and we make our way there for welcoming cocktails and a better lunch than the petrels are having.
Tagua Bay is home to a little piece of recent history, and we head off to discover it. It's a bit of a haul at the beginning of the track, but the expedition team have set up guide ropes and as we alight they lend helping arms. The air is clean and gently perfumed by the blossom of the stunted rata forest, the sun's out, the birds are singing and it's actually warm. The track snakes through bush to the Coastwatcher's Hut where, after a 1939 incident involving a German merchant ship, members of a service codenamed the "Cape Expedition" were dispatched to look out for enemy vessels. Close to the hut the ground is littered with broken glass and odd bits of metal rubbish. At first there's that feeling of disappointment that this wilderness has been desecrated, but we learn that the detritus is from wartime days - so put that historical rubbish down.
I'm reading about an even earlier expedition, the Enderby settlement that was founded in Port Ross, at the top end of Auckland Island, in 1849, as a base for the whalers and sealers who frequented the Southern Ocean.
It's a sad and somewhat bizarre tale; Samuel Enderby's settlement lasted only three years, fraught with infighting and drunkenness, and was gazumped when the Panama Canal was opened and ships no longer needed to sail into the Roaring Forties to make their way home from Australia.
Travelling northwards along the island's rugged coast brings home the fortitude of the hardy (and possibly in some cases desperate) few who chose to make this place, for a short time, their home.
So-called because their European discoverer believed they were a hazard to ships, these little rocky islands are always at the mercy of the weather and we're lucky to be able to get into the Zodiacs for a close-up look. We cruise close up to them to watch the Snares' crested penguins, tumbling from their rookeries in the clifftop olearia (tree daisy) forests and cascading down the slopes to skip and hop into the sea beside us.
We cruise close to the sheer faces of the islands, spotting tiny baby seals perched on the ledges and passing over huge beds of kelp, waving like giant strands of brown spaghetti in the crystal waters.
The sea has weathered massive grottoes into the cliffs and we manoeuvre through these caverns, then motor past huge stacks of granite tumbled like dominoes from the cliffs.
The Snares are our last sub-Antarctic stop and, before we sail for the mainland, a fitting place to ponder the astonishing, windswept beauty of New Zealand's wildest, most southerly places.
It's NOT a cruise, it's an expedition, I tell everyone. There's a difference. For one thing, the small size of our ship, the Silver Discoverer, allows us to sail closer in to the coast of wild islands and fiords, to reach small inlets and harbours that larger ships, with bigger draughts, can't negotiate. This journey's not about casinos, dance lessons and sunbathing or shore tours, tourist traps and shops.
It's about taking you somewhere few other people are lucky enough to visit, educating you about those places and encouraging you to challenge yourself physically. There are early wake-up calls and there's walking involved, looking, and learning. And the expedition staff are key.
On board we have naturalists, geologists, an ornithologist, marine biologist, cetacean expert, conservation officers and two photographers. As well as giving lectures in the evenings, and on sea days, these incredibly knowledgeable and approachable people, from Colombia, Australia, Ireland, Denmark, Germany, the United States and New Zealand also drive the Zodiacs, so are on the spot to answer questions and give advice, find the best places for pictures.
Expedition leader Juan provides a debrief every evening; over cocktails and canapes we go over the day's activities, share photographs and look forward to the next day's itineraries. Oh, and learn the cricket scores: the passengers are mostly Australian and English.
But "expedition" doesn't have to mean Spartan. Silversea is a luxury line and our exertions during the day are rewarded. The meals are memorable - I eat crayfish, scallops, frogs' legs, crab claws and the juiciest snails I have ever eaten; we have an Italian night and a Malaysian banquet, and, because Silversea's German executive chef is aboard, we have a "fruhschoppen" in Fiordland - a meat-stravaganza of a brunch complete with suckling pig.
And, though nature is the star of this expedition, the unstinting cheerfulness, friendliness and consideration shown by the staff proves that though the Silver Discoverer is a small ship, she has a big heart.
CHECKLIST
Getting there: Silversea's Silver Discoverer will explore New Zealand's sub-Antarctic region again with voyages on December 20, 2015 and January 3, 2016. Silver Discoverer also sails to Australia's Kimberley Coast, to remote Pacific islands and north to Alaska and the Arctic.
Isobel Marriner travelled as a guest on Silversea's Wild New Zealand expedition.
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