February arrived, and off we journeyed to Ushuaia and onto a three-week voyage taking in the Antarctic Peninsula, South Georgia and the Falkland Islands.

Eighteen days into the voyage, the ship's captain, a wonderful Danish woman, has declared that today the weather is just right to visit Steeple Jason Island in the Falklands.

The excitement of the shore visit is infectious, radiating from one of the scientists on board, who cannot believe that today, after years of previous journeys and near misses, she will get to witness this thousands-strong phenomenon of nesting black-browed albatross chicks.

What makes this island so special is that Steeple Jason is home to the largest single black-browed albatross colony on the planet.

We take a short ride from the mother ship in the tender to land on a dark pebbled shore, laid out with wooden decking so we don't slip on the shoreline glazed to shining smoothness by centuries of relentless currents.

The afternoon is a relatively warm and sunny 37°F, and as we clamber out of the tender, the young scientist, unable to contain her excitement, bursts into tears of absolute joy. Today she will finally achieve her goal of witnessing a most remarkable spectacle, the enormously busy and noisy nesting grounds of these unique pelagic birds.

She leads us onto the island, pushing through five-to-six-foot-high green, spindly tussock grass that both shelters and hides the cacophony of sounds we are walking towards. As we get closer to the sounds and consequently the nests, the chicks start making a defensive clapping sound with their beaks, which adds even more enchantment to the still hidden spectacle.

Gaining some high ground above the tall thick grasses, we come to see thousands of elevated, volcano-shaped nests, with one white downy chick atop the mound of soil, seaweed, guano and mud which has been built up over years of this nesting habit. Little black eyes, black beaks and what looks like a black smile all stand out vividly against their pure white heads. Their molded nests are spaced about six inches apart and travel all the way down to the shoreline, as far as the eye can see.

Thousands of chirping, beak-clapping chicks, lots of them intermittently extending their fuzzy wings and legs as if to be readying themselves for their upcoming flying lessons, when one of their parents returns soon with morsels of tasty food. At about three months they are already the size of a seagull and very noisily communicating to each other, their parents or us, a perceived threat!

Our scientist was in awe, we were in awe, as much for her as ourselves! The innate balance of living systems, without human interference, in a remote locale, alongside a scientist so moved by the essence of nature, was an experience I will always cherish.

Trudy A. lives in Southampton, New York, and feels privileged to explore this extraordinary planet and to be humbled by every continent and all its cultures, past and present.