Most seabirds have the decency to live somewhere accessible. This one has elected to breed on bare rock faces hundreds of kilometres inside Antarctica. It chooses altitudes that would trouble a mountaineer. The colonies are synchronised. Nearly every egg in the neighbourhood hatches within the same week. It is an arrangement that raises questions. What, exactly, counts as a good location? The bird does not care. It has made its choice. It sticks to it. In the air, it is a purposeful machine. The Antarctic Petrel glides on stiffly held wings. It crosses open ocean and pack-ice. It covers enormous distances between breeding colony and feeding ground. There is minimal fuss. The plumage helps identification. A chocolate-brown head and back are cut cleanly against white underparts. A broad white wing bar completes the look. It is unmistakable at range. Against the grey and white of the Southern Ocean, it stands out. It looks like something that knows it does. The confidence is visible. Feeding is done on the water's surface. Or just below it. A shallow plunge occurs. A surface grab follows. Krill or small fish are secured. Nothing is elaborate. The diet is Antarctic krill above all else. Squid and fish supplement the menu when available. Large flocks gather around productive water. They sometimes operate alongside foraging whales. The efficiency is quiet. The system has been running a very long time. It requires no modification. It works. Breeding pairs return to the same nest site each year. They usually return to each other. They lay a single egg. Incubation happens in shared shifts over six weeks. One chick is raised through a six-week nestling period. South polar skuas take some eggs. Some eggs roll out of the nest and freeze. The hatching rate is 70 to 90 per cent. This is good by Antarctic standards. That is a low bar. The bird clears it. New Zealand sees this bird occasionally. And reluctantly. Mostly in winter. Mostly storm-wrecked on west coast beaches. In 1978, several hundred turned up around Fiordland and Stewart Island. Seventy-seven were found dead. The Antarctic Petrel is not a visitor. It is a casualty of weather. It is briefly and inconveniently present. Then the Southern Ocean reasserts its claim. The bird belongs elsewhere. It does not belong here. The stay is accidental. The departure is inevitable. It carries on.