Children of Desolation

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 176, 15 October 1927, Page 26 (Supplement)

Children of Desolation

HLONG the rim of the great Antarctic Continent, -which will be visited by the Byrd expedition next year, the only living things are the penguins —strange children of the ice-armoured wilderness, sole survivors of the animals and birds that, in bygone ages, inhabited a smiling land that was destined to become desolate and inhospitable. In the North continents extend their ■ md surfaces far into the polar regions Animals find it possible to make permanent homes in the North; birds fly there to breed in summer. A desolate land, to be sure, but not devoid of life. In the South geographical conditions are far different. The two main continents taper off, and between them and the Antarctic continent is a vast stretch of water. There is food in the North; there is none in the South. Hence the birds migrate north. The South is left to the ice and the gales. But scientists tell us there was a time when the antarctic -was a tropical continent inhabited by many animals. As it slowly cooled off those animals found no hinterland to which they could retreat as did their fellows of the North. Most of them were frozen out and ceased to exist. In a few cases, however, these Southern animals were able to (1 ev elop into creatures that could live in the icy waters about them —the sea leopard, for instance, a fierce beast of prey that is thought to have been once a land animal, as all seals were originally land animals. But one land animal of the South, concerning whose authenticity there is no doubt, still survives—the penguin. Scientists say that the penguin must once have been a land inhabitant, just as is the turkey or the goose. It still has the rudiments of wings. There is a strange parallel in natural history in what has happened to this bird of the land of ice and to the bird of the desert, the ostrich. Each must once have flown or it would not have developed wings. Each found itself in an environment where there was no need of wings. Unused, these members have tended to disappear. But while the wings of the ostrich have become quite useless remnants those of the penguin have been adapted to a new use. The bird of the South, as land supplies grew scarce, took to the water. It learned to live on red shrimp, which were abundant there. To catch shrimp it was not necessary to fly, but the penguin learned to swim and dive. Like is ostrict, it proceeded to adapt its body to a new environment. It managed to use its wings for swimming. Oddly enough, in doing so it adapted the same overhand stroke as is used by man. After countless generations of this sort of swimming its wings had quite changed their nature. They had become two horny little paddles covered with degenerate feathers that looked more like scales. The legs, altough they terminate in web feet like those of a duck, are little used in swimming. But with these bony paddles the penguin, swimming manfashion, thinks nothing of starting out on a hundred-mile journey, or it races for its very life with the killer whale, which sometimes hunts here and is very fond of the fat morsel the penguin occasionally provides. A stocky little figure, this penguin. It is two and a-half feet tall, standing bolt upright on its duck-like legs, propped by its tail. It weighs from 30 to 40 pounds. Its black back and white breast suggest the dress suit. Wherever an explorer goes ashore in the Antarctic he is likely to be greeted by a penguin committee. These strange birds have seen so little of man that they are not afraid of him. The welcoming committee usually follows its chairman, waddling comically. This chairman will walk right up to the visitor and salute him with “squawk,” which is taken to mean “welcome” in penguin. If the visitor answers this salutation in kind, the chairman is likely to seem satisfied; but if not he will repeat his call in some irritation. The civilities thus attended to, the penguin chairman may yawn in the visitor’s face, set himself down propped by his tail—and go to sleep.

In December the penguins start south from the pack-ice rim. They follow the inlets as far as there is open water. When they must they will climb out upon the snow and trudge away on their short legs into the interior. It is a remarkable fact that Indian files of them sometimes stretch for scores of miles. But when the penguin is tired of walking it has another method of locomotion. Flopping down on its feathered breast, it converts itself into a sled, which it propels by kicking the snow with its feet. These penguins are bound for their nesting grounds in the interior. For their nests -they must find bare ground. This first appears in wind-swept areas exposed to the sun, where the snow is thin. Each colony of penguins knows where to find such a place. The females set out first for the summer home. Only two or three men of science have ever gone along with them and observed their colony life. As each female arrives and the snow disappears she selects a home site. Here she sits flat on the frozen ground until the warmth of her breast thaws it Then she scoops out a hole as big as a wash tub. This is the foundation for a nest. Here she is sitting when the male arrives and begins his wooing. The male penguin, when he gets into camp, is very tired. So he props himself up with his tail and takes a tenminute nap. After that, apparently refreshed, he begins an inspection of the prospective brides of the colony. Critically, he walks around one after another, and seemingly comes upon one which he suddenly recognises as his fate. It is singular to record that the penguin colony has what might be called money or legal tender. Possession of this money is vital to the well-being of a family. It is a pebble currency and, since the supply of pebbles is less than the demand, they are much sought after and carefully guarded. The reason why pebbles are held in such great value is that no nest is satisfactory without a hoard of them. Thawed out of the frozen earth, these nests are subject to water seepage. When midsummer thaws come the penguin colony is a muddy place. Pebbles, therefore, are necessary as lining for a nest. Three or four inches of them may be needed to keep water from reaching the eggs and spoiling them. Wet eggs never hatch. Now the male penguin, having selected his mate, goes forth and gathers pebbles, bringing them and piling them before her. There seems to be something that smacks of barter in this procedure, as if the wooer were buying his way to the lady’s heart. Certain it is that she pays no attention at all to him until he has demonstrated his ability to provide by gathering a considerable store of pebbles. The two proceed to build their nest. Procuring pebbles is the chief adventure. All about them are other penguins similarly engaged. Penguin nests are planted as thick as potatoes in a field. Every male is hustling pebbles. These queer birds live through a month of nest building with nothing at all to eat. They live upon the fat that has been stored on their bodies during the feasting in the north. But when the eggs are laid and the quiet of the incubation period has settled upon the colony, various male members begin pilgrimages to the nearest waterfront. Upon reaching it, they act for all the world like a group of boys at a swim-ming-hole—a bit afraid, at first, of the cold water. When the young ones are hatched, the parents take turns in providing food. They swim beneath the nearby waters gathering shrimp, which are always abundant, and then when the young ones are big enough to feed themselves the older generation goes into retirement, sheds its feathers and gets a new coat. The colony is now ready for its return to the north. It came to the breeding grounds in December, and in January the young ones appear. By February the southern summer is drawing to a close. The call to the rim of the ice pack is again heard. These overhand swimmers, followed by the new generation, take to the inlets that are now likely to be open the length of their journey and roll away to the north.