Month: September 2025

South Georgia had been on my travel wish list for years. Remote, wild, and bursting with wildlife, it’s often called the Serengeti of the Southern Ocean — and now I know why. On my HX Expeditions journey aboard the MS Fram, I was lucky enough to spend four unforgettable days exploring this sub-Antarctic wonder.

This is one of those rare destinations that defies description until you’ve stood there yourself — a jagged island deep in the Southern Ocean, where glaciers tumble into the sea and the sheer scale of wildlife feels otherworldly. Over the course of our voyage, we set foot in some of South Georgia’s most extraordinary places: the vast king penguin colonies of St. Andrews Bay, the historic whaling station and Shackleton’s grave at Grytviken, the steep cliffs and macaroni penguins of Hercules Bay, the dramatic landscapes of Cape Rosa and Peggotty Bluff, and finally the ice-filled majesty of Drygalski Fjord.

Each stop revealed a different face of the island — from haunting reminders of human history to raw, untouched wilderness alive with birds, seals, and penguins by the hundred thousand.

Day 1: Cape Rosa & Peggotty Bluff

After a few days of sailing, the jagged peaks of South Georgia came into view, cloaked in mist and crowned with glaciers. We were greeted with strong winds for our introduction at King Haakon Bay, a particular highlight for the Shackleton fans among us. To see the place where he had arrived in South Georgia was very special.

In the afternoon, we landed at Peggotty Bluff, another step in Shackleton’s footsteps. There was a buzz onboard MS Fram as we suited up in our expedition gear, practiced the biosecurity checks, and clambered into zodiacs for our first landing.

We saw King penguins, fur seals, and lots of elephant seals, which crossed our path regularly—almost like an elephant seal highway.

Day 2: Fortuna Bay & Hercules Bay

The morning took us ashore at Fortuna Bay, a wide sweep of beach backed by rugged mountains and glaciers. As soon as we landed, the noise and movement hit me — the beach was alive with king penguins surfing in the waves, fur seals and elephant seals snoring on the shore, and tens of thousands of king penguins stood in orderly rows, their bright plumage standing out against the grey sand. Some penguins waddled past us with their comical dignity, while curious fur seal pups eyed us with bold little barks before darting back to the water.

Walking inland, we followed a trail Shackleton himself once trekked during his legendary crossing of South Georgia. Surrounded by snow-dusted peaks and the cries of penguins echoing across the valley, it was impossible not to think about the sheer determination it must have taken for him and his men to reach safety here over a century ago.

Zodiac cruising in Hercules Bay

After lunch back on the MS Fram, we boarded zodiacs again for an afternoon at Hercules Bay. Unlike the open beach at Fortuna, Hercules Bay is dramatic — steep cliffs plunge straight into the sea, streaked with waterfalls from melting snow. Nestled among the rocks, we spotted colonies of macaroni penguins, easily identified by their wild yellow crests. They scrambled up and down the cliff faces with incredible agility, squawking at one another as if in constant conversation.

The zodiac ride itself felt adventurous, weaving in and out of small coves, the cliffs towering above us. At one point, we drifted silently while a light-mantled sooty albatross circled overhead, its wings catching the late afternoon light. It was one of those perfect expedition moments — dramatic scenery, rare wildlife, and the feeling of being very small in a very big world.

Day 3: Grytviken & Sandebugten

We began the day at Grytviken, South Georgia’s most famous settlement. Tucked into a sheltered bay, it was once the island’s largest whaling station, and walking ashore felt like stepping into a ghost town turned wildlife haven. Rusted boilers, enormous propellers, and weathered storage tanks lay scattered across the site — silent reminders of an industry that once devastated whale populations. Today, though, the scene is softened by life: elephant seals sprawled across the grass like oversized boulders, and gentoo penguins waddled confidently between the rusting machinery as if they owned the place.

Our first stop was the South Georgia Museum, housed in the old manager’s villa. Inside, thoughtful exhibits told the story of the island — from its days of exploration and whaling to its remarkable transformation into a sanctuary for wildlife. Artifacts from Shackleton’s expeditions gave me goosebumps; seeing his personal items made his legendary journey feel closer than ever. Outside, some of us took the chance to send postcards from the tiny post office — a novelty from one of the most remote corners of the world.

The most moving moment came at the small cemetery just beyond the station, where Sir Ernest Shackleton is buried. We gathered quietly around his simple white headstone, the mountains rising behind us, while the expedition team retold the story of his final days here. A toast of whisky was raised in his honor — a long-standing tradition on South Georgia — and as I sipped, a pair of skuas wheeled overhead and the distant calls of penguins echoed across the bay. It was a poignant reminder of how human history and wild nature are woven together in this extraordinary place.

In the afternoon, we were meant to land at Sandebugten, but the plan changed. The beach was littered with the bodies of fur seals and seabirds, casualties of the avian flu that has sadly reached South Georgia in recent years. It was a stark reminder that even in the most remote corners of the world, wildlife is vulnerable.

Instead of going ashore, we spent time on deck and in the lecture theatre as the expedition team spoke about the impact of the outbreak and the careful measures in place to minimize the risk of spreading disease. Watching the coastline drift by from the comfort of the MS Fram, I felt a mix of gratitude for the chance to see this place — and sadness for the losses it’s experiencing.

Day 4: St. Andrews Bay & Drygalski Fjord

Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer spectacle of St. Andrews Bay. As our zodiac approached the beach, the sound hit first — a low, rumbling chorus of penguin calls rolling across the water. Then the sight: tens upon tens of thousands of king penguins, their sleek black, white, and golden plumage stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see. The colony here is South Georgia’s largest, with estimates of over 300,000 birds, and standing among them felt like being dropped into another world.

The beach itself was a chaotic blend of life. Elephant seals dozed in tangled heaps, occasionally erupting into noisy, blubbery squabbles. Fur seals darted in and out of the surf, while giant petrels circled overhead, ever watchful. In the middle of it all were the penguins — adults marching in steady lines to and from the sea, while shaggy brown chicks, nicknamed “oakum boys,” huddled together in huge groups that looked almost like herds of strange animals.

I crouched quietly at the edge of the colony, trying to keep at least 5 metres distance, and one particularly curious chick waddled right up behind me, pecked at my boot, and then looked me in the eye before toddling away. It was one of those rare, heart-stopping encounters that make you feel a deep connection to the wild.

Back onboard the MS Fram, the excitement lingered long after we left shore. The lounge buzzed with stories, memory cards were filling fast, and everyone agreed — St. Andrews Bay was a once-in-a-lifetime sight.

Farewell South Georgia

If the morning at St. Andrews Bay was about life on a grand scale, the afternoon at Drygalski Fjord was about raw, dramatic landscapes. As the MS Fram sailed into the fjord, the world seemed to narrow and rise around us. Towering cliffs of dark, jagged rock plunged straight into the sea, their faces streaked with snow and waterfalls from melting ice. At the head of the fjord, massive glaciers loomed — fractured, blue, and endlessly creaking.

Standing out on deck, bundled in layers against the wind, I felt dwarfed by the scale of it all. The fjord was eerily still, broken only by the crack of ice calving into the water, or the spray from the humpback whales. We spotted light-mantled sooty albatrosses gliding effortlessly in the updrafts, and a few fur seals surfacing briefly in the icy water.

The expedition team encouraged us to simply be still — to take in the silence, the grandeur, and the knowledge that few people on earth ever get to stand in such a place. It was the perfect finale to our time in South Georgia: the morning had shown us nature’s abundance, and the afternoon revealed its untamed, elemental beauty.

As we finally turned to sail out of the fjord, the cliffs fading into mist behind us, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

South Georgia had given us four days of experiences I’ll carry with me forever.