Ode to Antarctica by Kevin Clement (With Apologies to Robert Service)

Ode to Antarctica By Kevin Clement (with apologies to Robert Service) There are strange things done in the Midnight sun Three days, nine landings; it passeth understanding And one of those was our trip How we could manage so many— Through the icy breeze of the great Southern Seas Especially when we heard (though to us ‘twas absurd) On our little Adventurer ship. That some other trips couldn’t do any. To Ushuaia we came on a couple of planes In spectacular scenery, though with much less greenery, And touched down by the canal they call Beagle. We landed and cruised the South Orkneys. It all went just fine, but a flight at that time Then, not getting thinner, we came back for our dinner, Of the morning shouldn’t be legal. Before you could say “Pass that fork, please.” There at the pier, as we drew near, We pulled off a coup, that few people do, There were ships that looked too big to float. When we got to the island called Elephant: Among them all, our ship looked so small We set foot on Point Wild, in conditions so mild We thought it was one of their lifeboats. The weather was really irrelevant. And so we set sail; like riding a rail In the Sea of Weddell, conditions were swell There was hardly a roll or a toss. When we landed at first at Brown Bluff. We were followed by trains of what looked like small planes But by the end, we had 90-knot winds— But turned out to be albatross. That’s quite a huff and a puff. The penguin’s a creature whose unusual features The idea of Cheli’s was to meet the Adelies Made it one we could watch all the day. At Brown and the island called Devil. So as penguin seekers we went first to Bleaker Those in good form climbed one or more horns To watch the rockhopper ballet. While the smart ones stayed down on the level. In old Stanley Harbor, to port and to starboard, Through Antarctic Sound, where the big icebergs ground Lay the wrecks of many ships sunk To the oddly-named island of Spert. By the gales of Cape Horn. With their rigging all torn There were towers and caves; the reviews were all raves They limped in, and their crews all got drunk. And the weather, well, it didn’t hurt. The isle of South Georgia never would bore ya’ We sailed south, ever south, and into the mouth With Prion, Stromness, Elsehul, Of the strait that we came to call goulash. St Andrews Bay, Gold Harbour, and that day By mountains surrounded; icebergs abounded; We hiked ‘cross the Barff to Godthul. If you weren’t up on deck you were foolash. On the plain Salisbury, there’s always a flurry We often saw whales, flashing their tails Of activity, with zillions of penguins From the ship or our boats made of rubber And elephant seals, with their grunts and their squeals So many it seems, when I look back in dreams, And a snort like a hard-starting engine. All I can think of is blubber. All over the beaches, baring their teeth as In Neko and Paradise, there is a lot of ice. You try to land on South Georgia, It tumbles down in great masses. With manners quite crude, and bad attitudes, We climbed for the views. On descent we could choose The fur seals are waiting there for ya’. To slide down the snow on our…rain pants. The sight of Grytviken made our pulses quicken At Lockroy we paused, and for a good cause With scrap iron all piled up in stacks. Went shopping. But it hasn’t dawned on me In the graveyard a legion of long-dead Norwegians How the money we dropped at that little shop And the man we call Bring-‘Em-Back Shack. Can enrich the Antarctic economy. Up to the highlands of Cuverville Island Marched our determined yellow-clad troop. The views were as touted, but the best thing about it Was at last getting past penguin poop. On the isle of Deception, the chinstrap reception Was really quite pleasantly warm. Which is more than I’d say for the swimming that day— In fact, “wallow” is more the right term. And now ‘cross the Drake, once again like a lake, With weather this good, you get fussy. Not to be rude, but I have to conclude That Shackleton guy was a wussy. It’s been quite a trip on our trusty small ship, Antarctica’s shown many faces. Our story must end, but there’s a moral, my friends: It’s up to us to protect these places. There are strange things done in the Midnight sun By those who seek wild destinations. I think you can see, when you get home you will need A vacation from your vacation..

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