When you read Erika's experience with Jackson, the King penguin, you are there not just there in South Georgia on another continent--but there on another planet. She transports you into his world, and Jackson stands before you, alive, in living color as you see, feel, smell and hear him.

Her book: Happily Lost in Time and Place printed by Exit Press, (Amazon.com) should be read to every spouse, partner, child and grandchild who loves, (or might love) a King penguin.

I fell in love with Erika Atkinson Jackson and stood there with her in front of this noble fellow. For me, Jackson wasn't just the great being she described, he was all those great qualities expressing themselves as a penguin.

Pages 119-124 (SOUTH GEORGIA ISLAND, ANTARCTICA) January 2010, His Antarctic Highness, Jackson, The King Penguin are so beautifully written, it will make you cry with sheer delight. If you are an animal lover, you will want to experience, share and cherish this story about Jackson. He will not leave you where he found you. Thank you Erika. I want to go back to Antarctica!

I'm looking forward to Erika Atkinson's next book: FROZEN STILLNESS: MY JOURNEY TO ANTARCTICA

You have so much to say, so naturally, so beautifully please keep writing.

Below is my King Penguin Photo Gallery page on the website: www.TomsGroupCruises.com (Photo Gallery) Antarctica-11

Jackson is the very first photograph. If you visit the website, you will find wonderful information about all the different penguins we encountered.

Jackson and his friends - Salisbury Plain, South Georgia

SOUTH GEORGIA ISLAND, ANTARCTICA
January,   2010
His Antarctic Highness, Jackson, The King Penguin
By Erika Atkinson

Email: erikainparis@sbcglobal.net

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Filled with overwhelming excitement, I stepped out of the zodiac directly into what I would consider, for me, to be one of the most spectacular wildlife visuals in the animal world, a vision not only involving but truly overtaxing all the senses. Wherever I looked, all I could see was penguins, an enormous and endless forest of penguins, rising and stretching and swirling and weaving its way for several kilometers up the mountainside, all the way to the retreating glacier at the horizon. The braying sound was deafening and the viscous smell of the guano simply unbelievable. A completely unforgettable and undeniably potent first major penguin impression. Standing on the periphery, I was frozen in a solitary gaze at this overpowering scene and shaking my head in disbelief, speechless, probably for the only time ever in my life.

Breathless with anticipation, on my way into this forest of penguins, I followed close behind Maggie, one of the guides, plodding carefully across small, dangerously sharp rocks, into the midst of female Fur seal multitudes nursing their pups, and several hundred aggressive male Fur seals hissing at us without hesitation from their harems as we passed by.

Once beyond the furry mounds of seals, Maggie led me to a spot somewhere in the midst of all this profusion and I stopped, absolutely immobilized, thunderstruck, realizing I was suddenly surrounded by endless hectares of King penguins, feeling completely paralyzed inside a cacophony of symphonic sound that would have challenged any Twentieth Century twelve-tone composer. Someone next to me said: And can you imagine; in the midst of all this discordance, penguin chicks are able to identify their very own parents call in less than a few seconds!

Daring to wander farther in and among them, I became almost tone deaf by their harmonic trumpet calls. Non-stop and contagious, it was their way of ultimately arousing thousands to join in until their ecstatic and pompous display had spread throughout the entire colony. I pretended it was my welcome anthem! The whole situation was more than my overwhelmed mind could absorb or process in the short amount of time the group was allowed to remain here.

The visual beauty of the Kings, in stunning tailor-made coats of orange, yellow, black, and white, provided a veritable feast for the eye; three feet of noble distinction and grandeur standing out so exquisitely above the brownish carpet of thousands of chicks in their molting coats, interspersed and interwoven all throughout.

Numbed by their superior force and powerful nature, and literally being pulled inside their songs and throngs, the urge to just sit there a spell came easily. Time to be here, I thought, to observe their behavior, their actions and reactions, so humanlike, so fearless, and so friendly; to laugh at their humor and their physical antics, and to watch them feed their chicks and attend to them, and ultimately to watch them waddle through endless stagnant pools of mud and excrement as they headed in a single file line for a wash in the seaside surf below.

Once I had come to a good observation point, I also hoped for a non-guano-covered rock to sit on, but to no avail. In this universe, every square centimeter has penguin poop on it. Grabbing a few biodegradable tissues out of my pocket, I wiped what I could off the very top of one rock, and finally just sat down in my easy-to-clean waterproof pants, and focused.

My eyes were about to lock on one penguin, a tall guy, and very confident, when a gentle tap on my shoulder from my friend Tom brought the announcement: That's Jackson! Fair enough, I smiled, a good and full name for a handsome and strong penguin.

Completely upright before me, Jackson looked extremely dignified in his formal black and white coat, perfectly adorned by the orange patches extending downward on either side of his head and meeting beneath his chin like a starched collar, his outfit completed by his yellow bow tie mounted at the top of his silvery-white breast plumage.

Jackson liked me instantly. Docile, tractable, curious, and friendly, he stood tall on his patch, his heels in balance, and his back proudly arched. He did seem frozen to the ground, moving his regal head from side to side like a pivot upon his fixed body.

For a quiet moment, I wondered: am I mirroring him, or is he mimicking me?

Attempting several gentle movements and whispered sounds, I tried to take advantage of his laser-focused attention, in hopes of getting a specific reaction. He stared with keen interest, fixing his gaze on me, dead on, face to face, eyes unblinking. Finally, I opened my mouth to speak directly but softly to him. Hey, Jackson, I said in a near whisper, and he responded, with a slight movement of his head.

Instantly excited by his reaction, I quietly said, Oh, you are such a beauty, and this time he slowly blinked, closing and opening his eyes just once. How great! A phenomenal and astounding miracle moment.

I enjoyed this attention for a number of seconds, and then decided to test his focus on me. I leaned to my left and said, Jackson, you are so handsome! At the sound, his head turned right, and he blinked his eyes once more. I did the same thing the other direction -- leaning my head to the right, saying Jackson, you are very intelligent! and he turned his head left, and acknowledged my compliment with another slow blink of his eye. I - was - elated, and felt I had opened a genuine and trusted communication channel with him.

Following that little experiment, Jackson and I both up-righted ourselves and stayed with the dead center focus, face to face. He kept his diligent gaze completely locked on me, without even moving a feather -- and without blinking! I was happy to remain in this stationary position for as long as he needed me there; in fact, I wanted to wait to see how long he would remain in the motionless silence immediately surrounding him and me. I recognized how comfortable I was, just the two of us staring at one another. Had he been human, I might have felt different.

Lost in time, we kept watching one another for quite a while, at least for as long as it took me to wonder what might be going through his mind in these circumstances when, suddenly, he broke my train of thought and stepped a little closer toward me, leaving a distance between us of only about two feet -- that's not very far when you consider the size of this creature.

I took off my gloves and let my ungloved bare left hand dangle from my knee to see if his curiosity would entice him to come up and either peck it, or smell it, or . . . kiss it!! Within moments, he bent his elegant neck slightly downward directly toward my hand, and I felt his beak touch the top of it. Breathless, and filled with ethereal suspense, I waited for more contact. A tear fell and froze halfway down my cheek. He trusted me; in fact, he liked me, and I was unbelievably honored. I loved his concentrated gaze as I put the glove back on my very cold hand!

The silent dialogue went on a few minutes more, and then, perhaps feeling well enough acquainted, he released his feet from the heel position once more, moved a few more inches closer, put on his emergency brake, and fixed his gaze upon me with full-on all-out intensity. How excruciating it was, knowing I wasn't allowed to just reach my arm around him to hug him! His body language gave me every clue that he was waiting for it. I could even read it in the bubble above his head!

Yes, I was beginning to feel a strong urge to put words in that bubble for him. Completely arrested by a sweet confidence in one another, and through my poetic mind, my imagination could hear him say: Sometimes the sun sets only once a year where I'm from. I miss it when its gone, and it seems that the night is prolonged until the sun rises again, thank goodness. It is so cold that my hips forget their dance and my feet have to keep crossing to keep their warmth; my lips even chap, and food completely loses its appeal. Thank you for understanding. I have enjoyed your visit very much.

For a few moments longer, I remained sitting there, wondering so many more things: what his age might be, what his story had been so far, how many handsome King penguins he had been responsible for adding to the population. I wondered if he remembered being a chick, like we humans remember being kids. I wanted to answer all his silent questions to me. I wanted to toss a little ping pong ball with him. I wanted to scratch his belly, swim with him, be wise like he was, to go home and forever live in peace and harmony in my world in the manner in which I had observed him living in his -- the harshest environment known to mankind.

I had a hundred more things to ask Jackson, and to discuss with him, tell him. But it was time to leave. We were being summoned back to our zodiac by the sound of our leader's bullhorn.

Oh, how I hated to leave, but slowly I got up to begin the departure. Jackson stayed in position, and I wondered if by now he might have become seriously frozen to the spot. He watched me very closely; I walked a few steps away from him and turned around just in time to watch him pry himself loose and follow me. Where are you going? he seemed to say, looking straight up at me as if he wanted me to stay forever.

Oh Jackson, how I wish I could pick you up and carry you all the way to San Francisco!

The urge to stroke and pet him was becoming more difficult to resist with each passing half-minute. I wanted to kidnap him and bring him home, and sadly, he provided no reason on Earth as to why that would be impossible to do. "Take me; what's so difficult about that? he seemed to question.

I moved forward a few more steps, and still he followed, though leaving more and more distance between us. Ten more short steps away from him, and Jackson, in his perplexed stance, was still there watching me. I waved, and I could have sworn his flipper moved in response. I will say it did, because I know he wanted to!

Turning around one last time, I noticed, a few penguin steps away from Jackson, a chick, perhaps his own, edging toward him, still wearing its youthful plumage, which I called its brown Russian fur coat. Made me want to walk back over and fluff it nicely for him! And then, within moments, the chick's mother entered the fold. She must have just eaten a fish on her daily excursion into the sea, digested it slightly, and was now regurgitating the food into her chick's mouth. Standing by proudly, I could hear Jackson say, ever so acceptingly, if not submissively: Living's not always easy, but you just have to make the best of it!

Finally walking away from this unbelievable colony of King penguins, with a certain sadness and definite heaviness in my heart, I understood why the benevolent penguin is the one animal people love coming to Antarctica for.

And I kept hoping that perhaps someone, from somewhere on this planet, might return here again one day and have another visit with my friend Jackson. Possessive of considerable wisdom along with a great sense of humor, he would have exhorted the onlooker: Please, when you see Erika from San Francisco, give her my love, and tell her I think she lost her heart in Antarctica!

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