WorldTravelReynolds

South Georgia tomorrow! Today the expedition team turned into the strictest hall monitors on the planet, and we both loved and dreaded every minute.

To keep the island pristine, the entire ship has to pass biosecurity with at least 95% compliance. With about 270 passengers, that means we’re allowed exactly 13 screw-ups total before the whole ship gets grounded. No pressure.

We formed the saddest parade you’ve ever seen, clutching parkas, waterproof pants, hats, gloves, backpacks, and our giant muck boots like we were heading through airport security after rolling in a mud pit. The crew went full CSI on us—flashlights, magnifying glasses, and tiny vacuums that looked ready to suck up alien life forms. Apparently Velcro pockets are public enemy number one when it comes to smuggling seeds and dirt.

Chuck and I got sent to boot-scrubbing detention for traces of “previous penguin dirt.” Down to the mudroom we marched with a bucket, soap, scrub brushes, and a pair of tweezers small enough to perform surgery. Twenty minutes on a wet floor, cursing Velcro, our aching knees, and every life choice that led us here… but we passed re-inspection and high-fived like we’d just summited Everest in rubber boots.

Then came the wildlife briefing—officially titled something boring, but we’re calling it “How Not to Become Lunch”:

• Fur seals charge. A lot. Solution: stand tall, clap like you’re front row at a Taylor Swift concert, shout like you mean it, and back away slowly. Running just makes you look tastier.
• King penguins are nosy little tuxedo gangsters. If one tries to nibble your boots or waddle into your personal space, puff up, clap loud, and act like you own that beach. (Apparently the same technique works on bears, so we’re feeling versatile.)
• After dark, every single window blind on the ship slams shut because the local albatross and giant petrels treat lighted windows like glowing piñatas and dive-bomb them hard enough to rattle your fillings. Seriously. This means no peeking out at dinner or midnight stargazing—even though daylight lasts about 20 out of 24 hours down here.

Tomorrow we finally set foot on South Georgia: morning landing at Salisbury Plain (second-biggest king penguin colony on Earth—over 250,000 birds, basically Pittsburgh if everyone wore formal wear and smelled faintly of fish), followed by an afternoon zodiac cruise through iceberg alley.

Wake-up call: 5:45 a.m. We’re running on caffeine, pure adrenaline, and the hopeful delusion that coffee counts as a food group.

Sleep tonight? Ha. Good one. My apple watch has already informed me that my sleep pattern has changed. Ya think?

South Georgia, please be gentle with us. Our knees are still recovering from boot-scrubbing detention!

May God bless you always, Chuck & Lea Ann