Cobblers Cove walk to Rookery Point in the morning and a visit to Ocean Harbour in the afternoon.
Cobblers, named after the numerous White-chinned petrels (nicknamed shoemakers or cobblers for their noise around their burrows, similar to that of an old-fashioned cobbler’s sewing machine), use the slopes and high plateaus of the area as a nesting site.
One of the most sheltered coves for small vessels and sailing yachts, though a bit of a challenging site for a ship like the Europa. The entrance to Cobblers runs through a dramatic little channel between cliffs up to 100m high on one side and shoals and rocks covered with kelp on the other, leading to the landlocked cove.
If you manage to get inside, you are usually welcomed by calm waters despite the surge and breaking swell over the outer shores.
Steep sides all around allow for a couple of hikes here and there over tussock grass slopes, plus the hike to a 150m high saddle that leads off the bay towards the exposed northern coast of the island. There, over 50m cliffs and amongst the high grass, the Macaroni penguins nest.
The weather is good, the swell low, and just a breeze blows, so right after breakfast, the ship makes it through the narrows into the cove. Not a place to spend a long time, so after the zodiacs have brought us ashore, she moves out to wait and drift in the open and less confined waters of Godthul, the neighboring larger bay.
After a short time at the beach—a space shared as usual with Fur and Elephant seals—we head up the slopes, enjoying the sun and the magnificent views all around as we gradually gain height above sea level.
Up above, the sights change as we face the outer coasts of the area. Here, the hike is easier and downhill, just zig-zagging around, giving a wide berth to the several Giant petrel nests that we find on our way. And around a corner, there they are, in clearings amongst the tussock grass—their yellow-feathered hairstyle gives them away—the difficult-to-find Macaroni penguins. Although their population outnumbers the King penguins, they like different habitats, preferring exposed, steep, and rocky coasts instead of the large open spaces the Kings love.
Still with some time to spare, we make our way along a typical stretch of the island’s wild tussock grass to the rocks at the coast.
There, the penguins come ashore after feeding and fishing at sea. Today, just a few of them rest here together with a few Fur seals, but nevertheless, this corner is of special beauty.
Soon it is time to retrace our steps and walk back to Cobblers Cove. Above our heads, Light-mantled albatrosses fly. They also use these cliffs for nesting, but unlike other albatross species, they don’t form colonies. Instead, they tend to need more space and are often solitary or very spread out.
From the saddle marking the highest point of the hike, the views are even better than a couple of hours ago when we climbed it from the other direction. The Europa has decided to come into Cobblers Cove and wait for us there. Precarious, shallow anchorage, but in there, the ship adds to the setup of the scene. Only without wind or swell can our ship manage this—today, the perfect moment for it.
Now, a good couple of hours lay ahead, motoring our way towards Ocean Harbour. There, the ship will drop anchor and stay overnight, but before that, we plan to go ashore for a while.
The harbour today has calm waters, no wind, and as usual, is quite filled with large kelp beds. The large sandy beach at its head is home to a good population of Elephant and Fur seals. No penguin colony is to be found here. Ocean Harbour was one of the many areas on the island dedicated to large-scale whaling, though now not much is left to witness those bloody times. The building of the station began in 1909, managed by Carl Anton Larsen and his brother. Just two years later, they introduced the first reindeer to South Georgia, which thrived on the island until about five years ago when they were eradicated following the South Georgia Heritage Trust Habitat Restoration Projects.
The station worked until 1920 after merging with “United Whalers,” the same company that operated Stromness. Then buildings and equipment were moved there.
In former times, before whaling started, the try-pots used to render seal blubber into oil, which we encounter as we walk around the site, bear witness to the sealing era as well.
But first things first—the afternoon activities began with a visit to one of the bay’s most striking features: the rusting hull of a shipwreck.
It was on the 6th of June, 1911, when the Bayard, used as a coal storage vessel for the station, broke her moorings in a storm and drifted across the harbour until she ended up aground and hard stuck over the rocks on the western side of the bay. She couldn’t be salvaged and has lain here since.
1911—an important date for the Europa too—the year she was launched and started her life as a lightship in the Elbe River. Many years had to pass until the 1990s, when her life took a 180º turn—from being steady in a river helping to navigate its waters, to becoming the well-known Ocean Wanderer she is today.
Kelp beds surround the Bayard. Her main mast has fallen, and grass grows over her open decks, but her structure as a 67-meter-long, 3-masted bark is a clear reminder to all of us after sailing the Europa for a few weeks.
At the beach, Fur seals fight for their harems. Females are starting to arrive and give birth. Soon after, they will become extremely attractive to all those big bulls around. These males know that shortly, their chance for mating is coming. This turns the skirmishes for their limited territories into bloody, serious fights. Harems are beginning to take shape.
Meanwhile, the Elephant seals are nearing the end of their breeding season. Still, some beach masters are around with the last females of their harems, giving birth and becoming receptive. The youngest Elephant pups are now between one and a half to two weeks old. Their dark, long fur is changing into a grey, shiny coat. Their mothers are ready to get pregnant again, and the big males don’t waste time. The remaining beach masters mate with their females, but smaller satellite males linger nearby, waiting for their chance to fight the big guys or sneak into the harems when the beach masters are busy or distracted.
All of this unfolded before our astonished eyes in just a couple of hours ashore, right next to where we stood, watching their doings.
The night is quiet, with starry skies and calm waters. In the darkness, all around us, the low-frequency loud growls of the Elephant seals and the higher-pitched calls of the Fur seals echo through the night.