An old whaling ship in Ocean Harbor yesterday morning.
We've seen many of these rusty hulls in the waters around South Georgia. There's a kind of poetic justice in the way the fur seals especially have come back from near-extinction, while the whalers and sealers are long gone, leaving only these relics behind.
We're all assigned to one of six zodiac groups, and every day they rotate the order in which we disembark. I was in the first group yesterday, so had to be ready to leave at 7:30, with only one cup of coffee and a few bites of egg in my stomach. Then our zodiac stalled in the middle of the harbor because of a clog in the fuel lines, so we had to sit there for half an hour or so until it was fixed. And it was lovely—so quiet without the engines, just drifting on the waves, listening to the seals on the beach.
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