Midway through 2024, after previously looking at and rejecting excursions to Antartica largely for economic reasons, I learned of a partnership between Audubon and Hurtigruten (HX) where a trip to Antartica was promoted at a price that seemed reasonable, if still exorbitant. If that sounds wrong, all serious voyages into Antarctica are ridiculously expensive but this one offered an extended visit with chances to land, a relatively small ship, multiple opportunities to learn about Antarctica, and amenities that made it all sound attractive. We booked it in early fall of 2024, nearly a year and a half away from our planned departure. In my usual fashion I began to try and grasp this icy continent, its geography, those who found and explored it, and what we might encounter. It’s been fascinating.
GEOGRAPHY
A map of the continent with East and West shown. The Antarctic Peninsula is where we will make our incursion.
For some, what follows might seem to be nothing more than a rudimentary summary of 7th grade geography, but as I’ve read about the exploration and mapping of Antarctica the question of how that was accomplished has demanded a review of some fundamentals. Forgive me if all of this seems elementary. It is indeed a rabbit hole for some but one worthy of a bit of exploration.
The earth has long been laid out through the use of lines of latitude, those encircling the earth on an east/west line and parallel to one another, and corresponding lines of meridian or longitude, those laid out on a north/south line and all converging at the poles. They are quite different.
There are five major circles of latitude, the equator at 0°, marking the midpoint between the poles. North of the equator are the Tropic of Cancer at approximately 23° N and the Arctic Circle at approximately 66° N. To the south are the Tropic of Capricorn at approximately 23° S and the Antarctic Circle at approximately 66° S. The equator divides the world into two hemispheres, the Northern and the Southern. The Tropic of Cancer is located at a latitude where the sun appears directly overhead at noon on the June Solstice; conversely, the Tropic of Capricorn is located at a latitude where the sun appears directly overhead at noon on the December Solstice. Between the equator and each pole are 89 degrees.
Unlike the circles of latitude, lines of longitude begin and end at each pole. By modern convention, the Prime Meridian, defined as 0°, passes from each pole through a location near Greenwich in Great Britain. Positive longitudes are east while those that are negative are west of this line. Longitude and time are inextricably linked such that local time, wherever that might be, varies by one hour at the equator for each 15° east or west. But, lines of longitude converge at each pole so that the distance between the lines decreases as one approaches each pole. If one knows his or her latitude, longitude can be found by multiplying the distance at the equator (approximately 69 miles) by the cosine of the latitude. So far, I’m in way over my head.
It is this link that has enabled navigators to determine their longitude by comparing local time to an absolute measure of time. While easy enough to state, the art of comparing these times has taken centuries to perfect. For example, an absolute measure of time was once thought possible by comparing local times during an eclipse. Other methods were developed, including the use of a chronometer, watches or clocks designed to be accurate in the face of climate, elevation, and oceanic movements, among other influences. Today, that seems antiquated as we all examine our digital watches and phones.
Hipparchus, a Greek astronomer who lived two hundred years before Christ, understood that the world was round, and he divided it into 360 degrees as we still do today. It was his idea to use the local times during an eclipse as a means of determining longitude. Claudius Ptolemy, some four hundred years later, created a mapping system that employed the use of meridians. Each of Hipparchus and Ptolemy used different prime meridians but their understandings were similar.
Antarctica, a name coined in the second century by Marinus of Tyre to denote the opposite of Arctic, lies largely south of the Antarctic Circle, currently located at 66°33’50.5″. One might think that this latitude is static, but it moves or drifts southward approximately 48 feet each year through the effect of astronomical nutation, the gravitational impact of the moon and sun on the earth’s axis. The tip of the Antarctic Peninsula and small portions of the continent extend north of this line. The continent is divided into East Antartica and West Antartica, the Transarctic Mountains providing the line of demarcation. In this configuration, the Ross Ice Shelf, where the Amundsen and Scott expeditions were grounded, lies at the bottom with the Ross Sea further yet below. The continent is surrounded by the Southern or Antarctic Ocean, or depending on one’s orientation, the Southern Pacific, the Indian, and the Atlantic Oceans.
The anti-meridian, or 180° longitude, passes through the continent, extending northward (upward) into the South Atlantic and northward (downward) into the South Pacific. The Antarctic Peninsula lies along a longitude of about 58° W and points to Tierra del Fuego at the tip of South America. Our journey formally began in Buenos Aires some distance to the north at approximately 34° South, but we flew south to Ushuaia at 54° South and 68° West where our journey began. Leaving Ushuaia and sailing east along the Beagle Channel, we crossed the Drake Passage over two days and explored portions of the western side of the Arctic Peninsula, all described in further detail below.
An enlarged map of the Antarctic Peninsula with an inset that shows its position relative to the tip of South America.
The image to the left illustrates the peninsula in an attitude where it points upward, or northward, with the southern part of South America in the inset pointing southward. There are multiple claims to the peninsula by numerous countries that lay rights to sovereignty, all leading to a confusing and often misleading nomenclature. The tip of the peninsula is named Graham Land, after Sir James R.G. Graham who was first Lord of the Admiralty in 1832 at the time of John Briscoe’s exploration. The area adjacent to Marguerite Bay is named Palmer Land after the American sealer, Nathaniel Palmer. The name “Antarctic Peninsula” was only established in 1964 through the work of the Advisory Committee on Antarctic Names and UK Antarctic Place Names, and no nation currently attempts to enforce its claims.
To the east of the peninsula lies the Weddell Sea where Shackleton’s Endurance Expedition began in 1914. To the west and around the continent is the Ross Sea where the Great Barrier or Ross Ice Shelf can be found. It was here, with Roald Amundsen at one end and Robert Perry at the other, where epic attempts to reach the South Pole occurred.
EXPLORATION
In 1520, Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese explorer, found a strait at the tip of the South American continent that allowed a relatively safe passage between the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific Ocean. It is located in the world of our day in Chile, with Tierra del Fuego to the south and the mainland of South America to the north. A more treacherous route takes one further south into open seas around Cape Horn, the very tip of Tierra de Fuego, through waters where the oceans and currents converge. These waters are named the Drake Passage in honor of Sir Francis Drake, a privateer who was forced into the passage in 1578. The passage was actually discovered by Franciso de Hoces much earlier in 1525 and the waters are known as Mar de Hoces on Spanish maps. It is an unforgiving body of water where the convergence of the world’s oceans occurs and struggles with world climate and other influences. It is this body of water that we passed over and through to reach the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula and then further south.
The Antarctic, cold, unoccupied by humans, remote, inhospitable, has been in collective imaginations for centuries. Terra Australis was conceived in times of antiquity not on the basis of observation or empirical fact but as an idea that northern land masses had to be offset by something in the south. James Cook in the latter part of the 18th century crossed the Antarctic Circle and posited in one journal that the existence of a southern continent was probable and claimed in another that he had actually seen evidence of it. There are conflicting accounts of explorers reaching the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula in the early 19th century. Over the decades that followed, the existence of the continent was confirmed, all leading to the Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration, a period beginning at the end of the 19th century and ending after the First World War.
The term “heroic” was conceived after the fact, in a nod to the intrepid explorers who lacked modern devices of navigation, who improvised items of clothing and other gear, and who fearlessly confronted an unforgiving landscape of ice and snow. It is a fascinating look at the determination of men willing to risk their lives for an objective that many might find pointless. There were some 17 expeditions launched during this period by ten different countries, with 22 men losing their lives. In some cases, reaching the geographical South Pole was the primary objective, such as the Amundsen and Perry expeditions, but in others there were different goals, some scientific and others merely devoted to the exploration and mapping of the continent.
PREPARATIONS
We booked this voyage more than a year before our departure and it was a good thing because there was much to be learned. Our host went to some lengths to help us along with a comprehensive introductory video exchange where a lot of details were addressed. These included suggestions that ranged from what apparel we should bring to what we might expect on board our ship and to further reading that would be helpful. This was followed by a more comprehensive course of study prepared by the University of Tasmania that introduced us to the history of the continent, its political background, its climate and geography, wildlife we might encounter, its geography, and the profound confluence of the world’s oceans and currents.
ABOUT OUR SHIP
The Roald Amundsen at dock in Ushaia. The boarding ramp leads to the fourth deck. Somewhat further forward, on the third deck, is where the platform for shore excursions is deployed.The rear of the Roald Amundsen in Ushuaia.
We boarded the Roald Amundson in Ushuaia at the tip of South America in the Argentine province of Tierra del Fuego on January 18, 2026. It is a modern hybrid powered vessel designed specifically for arctic and antarctic expeditions. It is 459 feet long with a capacity of up to 490 passengers depending on its configuration. On our voyage, there were approximately 350 passengers and 167 staff. It uses battery packs that are capable of reducing emissions by approximately twenty percent. There are 265 cabins, all with outside facing windows. They range from more modest compartments suitable for two people to large suites that include jacuzzis and decks. There are three restaurants, of which two were included with the fare that we paid and one of which required an additional payment and reservation.
There are ten decks where the accommodations, restaurants, and other facilities are located. An 11th deck offers an exposed lap that extends around the ship with large viewing areas at either end. It is perfect for walking and viewing. There is nice gym, a lecture room where various presentations occur, a small shop that sells clothing, gifts, and incidentals. From the sixth deck, a large exposed observation area can be accessed at the seventh deck level offering excellent views forward and to either side.
From the third deck, all expeditions occur by means of a deck that extends out over the water. From this deck, passengers enter zodiac vessels that are used to transport people to shore, for cruising, for kayaking, and for other incidental purposes. The ship is equipped with stabilizers that ease the effects of rough waters. The rear propellars are capable of turning 360 degrees and there are front thrusters, making it possible to control the ship very precisely. It is equipped with state of the art navigational and operational devices.
While the ship is quite small compared to many cruise liners, it is capable of providing an Antarctic experience that larger ships simply can’t do. We were able to approach the continent so that landings could occur. We were also able to negotiate narrow passages and sail among huge ice bergs with relative ease. And, we were able to reach a point nearly 70° S.
ITINERARY
JANUARY 18-19
We flew from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia on January 18, 2026, a journey of some 1,500 miles, taking us from approximately 34° to approximately 54°.
A cell phone photograph of the Beagle Channel from our aircraft as we approached the airport.Another cell phone photograph of the Chilean side of the Beagle Channel as we approached the airport.Mountains surround much of the northern side of Ushuaia. This is a final cell phone photograph of the area as we arrived.
After a few hours in Ushuaia where we had decent food and a chance to walk a little, we boarded the Roald Amundsen and departed at 6 p.m. Ushuaia is the capital of Tierra del Fuego with a population of about 82,000. It claims to be the world’s most southernmost city, lying on the Argentinian side of the Beagle Channel. It is surrounded by mountains and rugged terrain, and the wind blows incessantly. The Beagle Channel, the Straits of Magellan, and the Drake Passage are the only three navigable passages between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.
Our ship sailed eastward on the Beagle Channel to Nueva Island where we turned south to cross the Drake Passage. By then, we had retired for the night. We spent a long night and day traversing this body of water that marks the convergence of the oceans of the northern world with the one that surrounds the Antarctic Continent. Predictions of ten foot swells were accurate and we were tossed about mercilessly. Walking was hazardous without a firm grip on a hand rail or wall, and keeping things where they belonged, including everything I had recently eaten, was a challenge. We faced yet another full night and day before we would reach the continent where we could expect shelter and some relief.
A cell phone picture of our cabin looking out a small window.Another cell phone image of our cabin, this time looking toward the door from the window/port area. A small bathroom was off to the right in the hallway.
By mid-day we reached a point somewhat south of 59° S 65° W placing us nearly at the center of the Drake Passage. We expected to cross the Antarctic Circle at approximately 66° S at some point on the following day. I am in total awe of early explorers who ventured here with only sails, sextons, chronometers, and dead reckoning.
In the face of these conditions, we tried to stay active. On the top deck was a track of some 165 yards that forms an oval around the edge of the ship. There was a fierce wind that whistled and added to the uncertainty of staying upright, but by hanging onto the rails, walls, and each other we managed a few laps. There were occasional birds that live at sea, but I could barely keep myself erect let alone aim and operate a camera. We made a commitment that we would not us the elevators, determined to maintain some semblance of activity and exercise.
A cell phone image of the sea outside our window/port.
The food was okay, my initial opinions no doubt influenced greatly by the hint of motion sickness. Staff were incredibly accommodating, and our little berth was quite comfortable. Taking a shower on that first morning was an experience I won’t soon forget. My advice to Marsh to put one foot out onto the floor during the night as a means of avoiding motion sickness was apparently not that helpful, and not received all that positively. We elected against using motion sickness drugs out of concern for drowsiness, and I think it was the right decision since neither of became ill.
In spite of the rough conditions, the sea was a beautiful royal blue, almost purple. The swells were topped with white caps, there were wisps of clouds and fog, and the sky was clear and deep blue. There was a stark beauty about it, made more pronounced by the realization that we were approaching the last great frontier of the world.
JANUARY 20
On our second day, we seemed to have found our sea legs. Neither of us had fallen or gotten ill, and everything entered and exited the body in a normal way. It was foggy, rainy, and quite windy. The temperature had dropped considerably although it was still in the mid 30s. But, standing on the deck for an hour was difficult with the wind and water. By noon, we were at about 63° S, only three degrees from the Antarctic Circle. We were some 60 miles to the west of the South Shetland Islands that lie to the north of the Antarctic Peninsula. As we neared the tip of the peninsula, the ship slowed considerably out of concern for ice in the water, and we were warned that the ship’s stabilizers would be pulled in to avoid potential damage. We seemed to be hardly moving. and pitch and roll became be the new order of the day.
At 8:45 each night, “plans for the day” were presented by our moderator and planner. We typically watched these in our room but they were presented live in the lecture area on the sixth deck. They lasted 15 minutes, and they always included a summary of what had occurred that day and predictions of what might follow on the next. All plans were subject to weather and other conditions that were constantly changing. On the evening of our second day, we were advised that the ship would reach the Antarctic Peninsula and begin a descent along its western edge through the Lemaire Strait. We retired in eager anticipation.
HX, our cruise line, like virtually all others that are allowed to actually make landings on the continent and its islands, is a member of the International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators (IAATO). All members subscribe to complicated, thorough protocols to protect Antarctica. To that end, we were required to submit all of our clothing and gear to be vacuumed in hopes of removing anything that might contaminate. We were not allowed to wear our own boots when we landed. Instead, we were issued large, heavy duty boots that had been chemically cleansed. Each time we returned to the ship, we stepped into a cleansing device that scrubbed the boots and then we stepped into a chemical bath to kill anything that might have been attached. On land, we were not allowed to do anything but stand, sitting, lying down, etc. being strictly forbidden. There were strict rules on how close we could approach wildlife. There are strict limits on how many people could be allowed on land at a given time. No more than 100 people were permitted to wander about at one time at all of our landings, a restriction that required cooperation with other tour operators that might be in the area. As a practical matter, we only saw one or two other ships during our our entire stay in Antarctica.
There were lectures every day devoted to wide ranging topics that intended to provide us with the best possible experience of visiting this incredible place and protecting it at the same time. We learned a great deal.
JANUARY 21
Crossing the Drake Passage was a trial, tedious because there was little to do while crossing a vast body of water, and trying because of the pitch and roll of the ship. But by the middle of the second night, as earlier predicted, we had reached the western coast of the Antarctic Peninsula. And then, by about four in the morning, we began passage through the Lemaire Strait, a narrow, ice filled body of water that lies between the Kyiv Peninsula and Graham Land. It is only seven miles long and only 2,000 feet wide at its narrowest point. This passage would take us to Peterman Island.
We rose along with a good number of other intrepid adventurers to see the strait in the early Antarctic light, and it was breathtaking, ethereal, mind numbing. The light was faint and deep blue, shrouded in fog and clouds. The water, deathly still, was topped with chunks of ice, and it was full of ice floes and ice bergs that our captain slowly and expertly circumvented as he edged the ship south. On either side, rocky crags jutted almost straight up, bare of snow and ice only because they are so steep and rugged. The water seemed impassable, clogged with ice in every conceivable shape. While it was eerily quiet, there were periodic booms as huge slags of ice broke free and fell into the water. It was mind-numbing, beautiful, stunning, beyond my imagination. It was cold and wet. Aside from one or two birds that seemed so out of place, there was no sign of life. I doubt that I will ever forget this experience, our first introduction to this fascinating frontier.
Off to one side of the ship, fog enshrouded terrain bathed in the blue light of very early morning can be seen.From the bow of the ship on the seventh deck, we had this view of the channel ahead, covered in ice and appearing impassable.The light, so blue and eerie, made the passage seem all the more improbable.On all sides of the ship, we passed floes of ice that sometimes scraped along the sides.It is hard to adequately describe this image, the colors and the accumulation of ice making it all so impossible.Our captain and crew got us through this ice with little difficulty and with great expertise. The waters were dead calm, lending a further mystic to this experience.
By early morning, our ship found a place to stop near Peterman Island at the south end of the strait. It is inhabited by thousands of penguins, most of them Gentoo. The water was calm, the sky a bit brighter, but the atmosphere otherworldly.
We were divided into animal groups, ours being the Cape Petrels, and we were assigned to certain events at an appointed time all in keeping with controlling the numbers off the ship at any given time and providing a means of assuring our whereabouts and safety. After a breakfast that seemed to go down a lot easier without the impact of huge swells we appeared on the third deck for transport to the island. We were dressed as required in snow pants, warm socks, our heavy boots, layers of other clothing, an HX water proof coat that we were given at the beginning of the voyage, a life vest, hat, neck gate, and gloves. By the time we were fully arrayed and presented ourselves, we walked not that differently than the awkward penguins we were about to meet. After waddling our way to the departure deck we were unceremoniously hauled onto zodiac crafts and whisked off to the island.
As we approached, we were enveloped in an incredible stench of penguin guano (shit) that covers virtually every square inch of the island. It comes in shades of red and green, depending on whether a penguin has eaten recently or has been tending the young, and the snow and ice are bathed in these colors. The Gentoo are quite small, about 30 inches tall, incredibly awkward, and so very cute on land. They are swift, beautiful swimmers in the water, moving at an astonishing 25 mph.
We walked and hiked about for roughly an hour, making our first acquaintances with penguins but also an Elephant seal that was taking its morning nap on the rocks near where we landed.
After returning to the ship, we went to a lecture on cetaceans (whales, dolphins, and porpoises) conducted by a young woman who has devoted her life to research and preservation of these animals. It was interrupted by a pod of humpback whales that came close to the ship and provided a spectacular show, blowing and rising and then sinking with a display of their flukes.
After all had seen Peterman Island, our ship moved further south to the Yalour Islands where we donned all of our gear yet again and went cruising in a zodiac. Whales were still breaching, and there were occasional penguins in the water jumping and swimming athletically, Numerous large ice bergs surrounded us, and Gentoo penguins were on all of the small islands.
It was an exhausting day, and toward its end we were back on the ship moving south even further. Dinner that night was quite good, and staff were beginning to know us. In the lounge on the tenth floor, we were met with dismay when we ordered a “safe” martini, straight gin and an ice cube, although later in the trip we found a man who could actually put one together, albeit way too small. Virtually all of the staff were asian, and all worked long, hard hours. Some performed multiple tasks, such as work in the restaurants and helping with boarding and transfers. They were gracious and welcoming, and over the course of our voyage we came to know and admire many of them.
A Gentoo penguin colony on Peterman Island, hundreds climbing to rocky areas where they nest and care for their young.A Gentoo penguin greeted us, or seemed to, as we landed and began exploring Peterman Island.
JANUARY 22
The plan for today was zodiac cruising in the morning to be followed by a cruise down The Gullet but, alas, the weather said otherwise. Fierce winds and a threat of something worse dictated to the captain that we had to move and that no one would be getting off the ship. And so we forged southward, crossing the Antarctic Circle at roughly 66° S into The Gullet, a narrow strait with stunning scenery on either side that eventually opens into Marguerite Bay. Along the way, we were accompanied for a time by a pod of Orca Whales that seemed to play with us. Orcas are not actually whales at all, but dolphins, colorful, swift, athletic, and fierce hunters.
A pod of Orcas accompanied our ship for some distance as we moved toward The Gullet.
Antarctica, that mysterious, distant place that everyone knows exists, is a last frontier that remains unexplored in many ways and misunderstood in others. It is the driest, highest (on average), and coldest place on earth. There are areas here that have seen no precipitation of any kind for millions of years. It is inhospitable, totally dark for months, and home to a sparse group of intrepid creatures that find its waters and land a comfortable place to live. It is starkly beautiful to see, but clearly not a place that one would want to live. I’m in love with it.
One of the lectures that we attended today was devoted to the Heroic Age of exploration, that period from the end of the 19th century through the early part of the 20th century. Shackleton, Amundsen, Gerlache, Scott, and others feature prominently. Fascinating stuff for anyone interested in history, drama, and suspense. Shackleton’s experience, for example, is unbelievable.
On deck, the wind was almost unbearable. But, at the urging of my spouse, we did our 20 laps around the top deck. It’s only two miles but in the wind it seemed like four. We made a commitment that we wouldn’t use the elevator in hopes of keeping ourselves in at least moderate shape. According to Marsh’s watch we climbed 48 flights today between our accommodations on the fourth floor, restaurants on the sixth floor, the lounge and viewing area on the tenth floor, and the launching deck on the third floor. The elevators, two of them, were in the central part of the ship, dominated by huge digital illustrations of wildlife and landscape.
The Gullet, a narrow, picturesque passage to Marguerite Bay, is a spectacular display of ice and snow, mountains, glaciers, and incredible colors.Ice and glaciers in the The Gullet.
We ended the day cruising around Jenny Island somewhere in Marguerite Bay looking for a lee where we could moor for the night. The ship doesn’t do that well, we were told, trying to stay still in high winds, making it necessary to keep moving. Earlier, the swells were a moderate three feet or so but calmed considerably as evening approached.
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JANUARY 23
High winds forced the captain back out into the sea for the night where we were tossed about for the entire night in ferocious swells. Sleeping wasn’t really that difficult, but there were times when I thought a giant poltergeist had lifted the side of the bed and was trying to foist me onto the floor. We encountered a number of staff and other passengers who found the experience intolerable and were so ill that they couldn’t get out of bed. One of our favorite servers, Sheila who was a Filipino, told us that she routinely took medication to help her survive the motion sickness.
Our morning was shrouded in fog, burst through with occasional shafts of sunlight. The shore was one fantastical image after another, sheer cliffs that rise into the fog and disappear, glaciers dipping into the sea, a few intrepid birds that seemed unfazed by the temperature and conditions, and the sea filled with ice.
Like being in another world, we were surrounded by ice bergs in light that is impossible to accurately describe.
We did our 20 laps around the top of the ship in late morning, the deck having been closed earlier because of ice. It was brisk but exhilarating. The sky by then was a brilliant blue. On either side of the ship were icebergs, blindingly white in the sun but interspersed with shades of aqua blue that varied in intensity depending on the light.
The goal for the day, depending on one’s group, was kayaking, camping, and zodiac excursions to the shores of Horseshoe Island. All but the zodiac excursions were cancelled because of the winds. It wasn’t yet our turn to kayak, and camping, once something I had threatened to do, was no longer going to happen. But, the zodiac excursion did.
We were in seas with pretty decent swells, two to three feet. Getting to shore was okay, although our pilot had to force our craft through ice that was intent on clogging our passage. On a rocky, remote shore, we came upon a Weddell Seal who had somehow gotten itself up and into a rocky enclave. They are among the largest Antarctic seal species, growing to 11 feet and weighing as much as 1,300 pounds. This one met those specifications, lolling about on its side oblivious to all of the spectators. It was rare enough to get this close that a good many of our guides were quite astonished and thrilled along with all of us.
A Weddell seal on the shore near where we landed.
And, then to our further delight, a sole Adélie Penguin appeared, standing by itself quite a distance away from the shore and preening in the afternoon sun. Occasionally, it would raise its head and emit a squawk that was eventually answered by another penguin out in the bay on an ice floe. It soon scampered down the rocks, dove into the water, and the two united out in the bay. It might have been a lovers’ quarrel and who knows if the make up ritual was going to follow.
Our return to the ship was a ride. The swells by then were nearing three feet and our little craft rose and slammed down as our pilot apologized as flumes of sea water bathed us all. Thankfully, the ride was relatively short. It was all incredibly rewarding, and we retired to the tenth floor with spectacular views, a drink, and lounge lizard music. It’s was quite a day.
A huge ice shelf or tabular iceberg greeted us as we moved to a position where we could make a landing.Our ship is in the distance, and the accumulated ice near the shore is representative of what the zodiacs had to negotiate to get us back and forth.
An Adélie penguin entertaining us at the edge of the shore.
JANUARY 24
The plan for the morning was zodiac cruising. Our shift, determined by the animal group we were in (Cape Petrels), was early, and we scrambled to get breakfast and then don all of the necessary gear, an arduous task described earlier. It was a process best completed before arriving at the departure deck, and so it was necessary for us to waddle our way down the fourth deck hallway to find the stairway down to the third deck and the waiting area. Just before arriving, an announcement proclaimed that the cruising had been cancelled because of six foot swells that made boarding the zodiac a death wish.
And so, we spent the morning cruising the inner part of Marguerite Bay in the ship, passing enormous ice bergs, many as high as the ship and much longer. It is a wondrous sight. We rode long, rolling, enormous swells that made our 20 lap hike an exercise very much like
walking across a trampoline. For the most part, the ship moved into and out of the swells so that the bow of ship rose up to create a hill that we would climb only to then hold back a bit as the deck turned into a downhill run.
The mainland was all but inaccessible, either because it consisted of rocky crags that seemed to extend upward perpendicularly or because glaciers were entering the sea, blocking any hope of landing. There were enormous ice shelves that offered a better chance in some areas, and some of these are quite famous. The Ross Ice Shelf, the largest in Antarctica, is about the size of France, several hundred meters thick, and boasts a coastline of about 370 miles. While presenting an icy cliff for most of its coast, Amundsen and Scott established camps at opposite sides of the shelf when they assaulted the inner continent in efforts to reach the South Pole.
The weather finally cleared just enough to allow a landing, and the Cape Petrels were lucky enough to be among the first. There were stern warnings that only those who could adequately navigate rough conditions were to attempt the landing and so, of course, we went after the arduous process of getting clothed. While not that cold, the ride in was choppy and exiting the boat on the rocky shore required some timing to avoid water up to one’s mid thighs.
Our destination was Stonington Island, the site of British and American research sites, both now abandoned and rarely used. It sits just across from the mouth of the Northeast Glacier, a huge mass of ice that is heavily crevassed. Periodically, we heard noises like a sonic boom that signaled a movement in the ice.
The Northeast Glacier, awesome to see and imagine what it must be like to try and cross it.
Traversing the island was difficult because it’s largely a rocky surface covered partially with snow. At one end, on a small ice berg, a group of Crabeater seals basked in the sun. They are medium sized, very abundant, and they feed largely on krill. Their pups are often the prey of the ferocious Leopard seal. At another point, a sole Crabeater lay on a small ice floe, sporting a huge scar that was likely the result of an Orca attack. We also came across three very attractive Adélie penguins. It would be hard to find anything more charming.
A large Crabeater seal with a huge scar across its torso, evidence of an attack by a predator, perhaps an Orca.
We managed to get back to the ship, pretty well exhausted, only to hear that the rest of the shore parties were cancelled because of high winds and a weather system moving in. Things change in Antarctica so very fast, and there isn’t much that is very forgiving.
JANUARY 25
Our morning arrived with a dash of testy weather that again made cruising in the zodiacs impossible. And, a planned landing on the continent itself had to be postponed at least until the afternoon.
Our laps around the top deck occurred in snow flurries with brilliant vistas of the sea, icebergs, and jutting mountains. The air was incredibly clear, with daylong light that seemed diffused at times but blindingly white at certain angles. Each time we walked out on the deck, it was ethereal, and we wondered at how we had been so fortunate to be able to see this part of the world.
The principal objective of the day was an intercontinental landing, one where we set foot directly on the continent of Antarctica. Originally, we were set to land on Red Rock Ridge in the vicinity of a colony of Adélie penguins, but that proved impossible in the early part of the day. But, later in the afternoon we managed our first actual landing on the continent on the opposite side of Red Rock Ridge. It was brief, with little opportunity to actually go anywhere or see very much, a symbolic gesture that confirmed setting foot on the continent. The landing site was at the edge of a steep incline that was impossible to traverse, a short, rocky coastline pathway being the only possibility. All we could do was land, walk up a treacherous set of steps chopped into the ice, and then walk perhaps 50 yards to a vantage where a staff person offered to take our photograph. While not as rewarding as it might have been on the opposite side, we nevertheless could say with pride that we had walked on the mainland of Antarctica.
At the end of a rocky, icy pathway cleared by staff, we posed for a photograph standing on the continent. Our ship is in the far background.
The waters we were in were full of ice but navigable. As winter approaches, however, all of these waters will freeze over and make the entire area treacherous in the extreme. It was on this side of the peninsula that Gerlache and his crew were trapped in the ice for a full winter, escaping only by luck and gutsy perseverance. On the other side of the peninsula, Shackleton’s ship was trapped and eventually crushed, his escape an unbelievable saga.
Red Rock Ridge, ice and rocks making any actual incursion onto the continent impossible, marked our first actual landing on the continent.The zodiac was the vehicle that took us cruising and that transported us from ship to shore.From our vantage on the edge of Red Rock Ridge, we had this look at our ship behind a large ice berg.
JANUARY 26
By early morning, our ship had moved from the south of Marguerite Bay into the north of King George VI Sound. At nearly 70° S (69° 51,310′), we were further south that any other ship in these waters except an ice breaker. We rose early to watch our passage into the sound. It had snowed quite heavily covering our ship with a blanket of nearly five inches. The surface of the sound was dead flat and silent, covered with platelets of ice with the appearance of dull white china.
Ice floes surrounded by ocean waters covered with platelets of ice.
Ice floes, ice bergs, and ice debris were everywhere, and the sky was low with clouds and fog making the scene like a fairyland. It was fascinating, beautiful, mesmerizing. Further south, it’s much icier making navigation risky, and in just a few weeks all will be frozen making any passage impossible or very dangerous.
By mid morning, we were cruising in the zodiacs, zagging our way through the ice on the surface and around the many ice obstacles. Some were “young,” while others were large bergs with compressed ice the color of iridescent blue, magical. Except for the zodiac engines, it was eerily still, with only an occasional boom or crack. There was no wind. It was like being in a world that can’t be imagined.
In 1914, Earnest Shackleton, in the Endurance, set sail to Antarctica in an attempt to traverse the continent. But, his ship was trapped in the ice of the Weddell Sea and eventually crushed. He and his crew abandoned the ship, taking two life boats and supplies. They hoped to pull the boats and supplies to land, but that proved impossible. They were forced to live on ice floes, hoping that the winds and currents would eventually take them to the eastern shore of the peninsula. While that proved hopeless, they eventually drifted to Elephant Island north of the tip of the peninsula, a remote, inhospitable, place where there was no hope of rescue or survival. It was here that Shackleton and two others, one a skilled navigator, set sail in one of the life boats. They fashioned a sail and set forth with only wind in hopes of finding help. They were beset by horrible storms that created waves of 100 feet, and after many terrifying days they landed on South Georgia where they had to cross the mountains to reach a small settlement devoted to hunting whales. It’s a fascinating tale of courage and hopeless odds. It’s also nearly impossible to imagine how they navigated, using only a sexton, chronometers, nautical tables that were nearly illegible, and skill.
And so it was in the afternoon, we also landed on a large ice floe some 80 centimeters thick, large and safe for us as temporary visitors, and yet so small for anyone considering a prolonged stay. Our ship was in constant motion to remain a safe distance away from from this ice floe and others in the area. As we walked over and around, there was an undulation that reminded us that we were on a fragile, temporary platform of ice that was alive. We had a large, comfortable ship not that far away, and we were secure in the knowledge that we weren’t at the mercy of the elements. I tried to imagine what it might have been like to survive with that reassurance.
An Emperor penguin standing not so far from where we stood mesmerized.
On the floe, we came across several Adélie penguins and a Crabeater seal that athletically exited the sea onto the floe, but the highlight was an Emperor penguin navigating its way across the snow on its belly, periodically standing to peer around. They are Antarctic residents, but typically in the water at this time of year and rarely seen. It is the largest of the penguins in this part of the world, a treat for us and for the HX crew. We stood for quite some time to watch it periodically “swim” across the floe and then stand to peer at us and its surroundings.
It was “polar plunge” night, an event that I gave careful consideration to for at least a nano second. Marsh might have taken a bit longer because she brought a swimming suit. The water – it is salt and so it takes a more extreme temperature to freeze it – is meant for different creatures, not humans. So, we enjoyed a glass of wine and some dinner and watched a few of our fellow passengers jump off the pier. The protocol was to dress down to swimming attire, don a life vest, and then jump into the water tethered so that retrieval was assured. One gentleman backed down the ladder to just above his knees and then scampered back up, and another woman jumped in and did the backstroke around the pier as though she could have stayed indefinitely. It was all great fun for those who did it and those of us who watched and giggled.
JANUARY 27
After a spell binding day in King George VI Sound, amidst the ice and on a dead calm sea, and after the polar plunge that lasted into the evening, we turned north back into Marguerite Bay and out into the Bellingshausen Sea, an area between about 57° S and 102° S along the west of the peninsula. We were warned that things would get “bumpy,” and true enough we were soon back into heavy seas of some four meters (a bit more than 12 feet) that made sleeping challenging.
An Emperor penguin, by itself and uncharacteristically wandering about where it was never expected.
While our captain expertly guided the ship to nearly 70° S, this image gives an idea of why it was prudent to turn north.
Our day was at sea, some sixty miles west of Adelaide Island, among ever worsening conditions, the seas getting even rougher with swells between four and six meters, or just under 20 feet. It made for a challenging day for us, much worse for others. A lecture that we planned to attend was cancelled because our instructor was ill proving that even seasoned sailors can be smitten. We did well but always with a bit of trepidation that one or both of us would fall ill.
Laps around the top deck were out of the question. We were able to attend a later lecture on identification and attributions of sea birds, presented by a young man who was so impressive. And, then later the captain and his crew responded to questions related to the operations of the ship, including whether there was a “brig.” I can’t really say enough about how impressed we were with our ship and crew and program. While we were by no means converted to “cruising” as a means of travel, there are places in the world where there is no alternative, and Antarctica is most certainly one. There are others, and perhaps we will do this again in the future.
JANUARY 28
It was a rollicking night, swells and waves around 20 feet that made walking treacherous and sleeping an interesting mix of something that might have been a lullaby and a violent thrashing that threatened separation of body and bed. By evening, we passed north of the Antarctic Circle out in the Bellingshausen Sea, and by early morning we arrived at the south of the Lemaire Channel where we were first introduced to the Antarctic. It seemed so long ago.
A Southern Giant Petrel accompanied our craft.
While the voyage south through the channel at the first part of our trip was very early and very blue, our trip today was later with much different light. There were whales on either side of the ship, quite a lot of birds, penguins in the water, a frigid wind, and stark snow and ice covered cliffs on either side. We stood agape, simply overwhelmed with the drama of what we were seeing.
Humpback whales were constant companions. Here, I managed to catch the fluke of one that had just surfaced.
The sea was dead calm, and the ship moved slowly through the ice lending a feeling of a certain eternity. I felt very small and insignificant.
Over the next hours, we moved further north, stopping briefly at the Penguin Post Office at Port Lockroy, the southern most postal service in the world, devoted primarily to post cards and souvenirs. Those who work there are generally desperate for a hot shower and real food and our ship, among others, tries to help by bringing them aboard for a brief respite.
Our destination for the day was Damoy Point not far away from where a small British facility was built and used for largely scientific purposes until 1993. There is a large Gentoo penguin colony here, and we snowshoed over ice, slush, and snow for something close to two miles. Marsh and snow shoes were not a happy marriage, but she managed quite handily with a backpack full of necessities that turned out to be unnecessary. There was some rain and fog, but it was such an exhilarating experience, standing among the penguins and just imagining life in this context.
The Gentoo penguins breed and nest on rocks, and they navigate to impossible heights to find their places, often exposed to the elements. They are so impossibly awkward on land, but they survive quite readily, and they are here by the thousands. The male and female take turns tending their egg, and then take turns again to forage for food which they regurgitate for the benefit of their young. They are oblivious to humans, ignoring us completely as we gawked and took photographs. In the water, they are swift and elegant and so small.
Gentoo penguins swimming alongside our ship in gestures so different from their awkward walks on land.
At one time even after we embarked I was determined that we would “camp,” and Marsh would have done it even though she was unenthusiastic. But, as I pondered the prospect, I was reminded of a decision I made decades ago that I was never going to spend another night on the ground. So, what was it that prompted me to think that I would find spending a night on ice with penguins a rewarding experience? I don’t know, but camping for us was cancelled so we’ll never know. It was here that those who were otherwise determined were put ashore and left for the night.
Antarctica is so large, so mysterious, so enthralling and so fragile. The peninsula is warming, and there are signs of changes that would have profound consequences for the world. I hope my children and grandchildren can come here and see what we’ve seen.
JANUARY 29
After retrieving the campers, we moved further north over the morning toward Orne Harbor at approximately 64° S, a cove on the continent first discovered by the Belgian explorer Gerlache in 1898. It was this man who also discovered and explored what is now the Gerlache Strait somewhat further north. His ship, the Belgica, was stranded further south in the ice where he and his men descended into near madness as they attempted to survive a winter after being trapped by ice. While earlier seafarers had learned that lemon juice was pretty good protection against scurvy, those lessons were either forgotten or ignored by early expeditions to the Antarctic, and Gerlache was no exception.
On the ship with Gerlache were Dr. Cook, an intrepid adventurer who was ultimately incarcerated for financial fraud and who claimed to be the first to find the Arctic North Pole, and Roald Amundsen, who later was the first to reach the South Pole. Cook observed his shipmates going mad from darkness, isolation, fear of never escaping, and the effects of scurvy. He experimented with the consumption of raw meat, seals and penguins, as a cure or antidote to scurvy. And, it turns out he was right.
Fortunately, we had ample quantities of fresh fruit, nearly 24 hours of light, very adequate supplies of decent alcohol, warmth, the Internet, a very comfortable bed, a jacuzzi, and the security of knowing we weren’t going to be trapped by ice. However, there was, reportedly, a ship further south than us that was temporarily trapped in the ice so caution was the order of the day, and lucky for us our captain and crew had plenty of that very precious commodity.
Laps were challenging today, not because of swells but a hard wind and spattering rain, but we got them done and retired to the tenth deck for a bit of reprieve. And, then suddenly there was an announcement that a pod of Orca Whales were just off our bow. I tore down ten flights of stairs to get the correct camera equipment and then back up to the 11th deck where there was an unobstructed view. The captain turned the ship around and we followed the pod for about 30 minutes.
Orca whales swimming just off our ship as we moved toward Orne Harbor.
Orne Harbor is a cove about a mile wide into which large glaciers push down. It is inhabited by a very large colony of Chinstrap penguins. Initially, the plan was for us to climb some distance up to see some of the penguin population at the top, but that proved impossible because the terrain was frozen, steep, and quite dangerous.
Expeditions occurred in zodiac crafts, capable of carrying about 12 people. We boarded these vessels by descending seven or eight steps, then stepping onto the side of the zodiac and finding a seat on either side. The pilot then propelled the boat to our destination. When landing, it was necessary to step into water that was two feet deep and then onto somewhat difficult terrain. It was made all the worse on this day by a large accumulation of ice that the zodiac had to break its way through. Shackleton and Gerlache it was not, but it was nonetheless a stark reminder of how quickly the ice can accumulate and how impassable it can make a passage.
Our expeditions today were two, one cruising where we could see some of the penguin colonies. There were many birds as well and I wish I could have seen them from a more secure location with my camera. The second was another continental landing, where we were only able to maneuver over limited terrain but where we were in the company of a huge, black elephant seal.
We are standing on the actual continent here for the second time, ice filling the bay in the background. It was quite thrilling.
The waters by then were almost dead calm, inhabited by Humpback whales that breached periodically, blasting huge spurts of air and water as they surfaced. It happened so often that one could begin to think that it was just another whale and yet the entire experience was so unreal that it’s hard to for me to now imagine.
JANUARY 30
While internet access was remarkably good for most of the voyage, there were a few times when we seemed to lose contact, a reminder of how remote this part of the world can be.
Yesterday morning, we stopped at Danco Island at roughly 64° S, named after Emile Danco who was swept off the Belgica as Gerlache and his crew explored this area in 1897. It is inhabited by a large colony of Gentoo penguins, many of whom were molting when we arrived and others of whom were higher in the rocks tending to their young and making a lot of noise. We were able to walk along the rocky shore and climb to a point where we were among the colony. As I stood there, a penguin casually hopped and climbed its way to my feet a point, where it suddenly turned, took an enormous, white, runny dump that spattered on the rocks below, and then went on its way. It was one of those exchanges with the animal world that reminded me of how irrelevant I can be.
The setting was specularly beautiful, a bit of deep blue sky, fog and clouds blowing through, and a spattering of rain every few minutes. The bay, full of ice, was home to humpback whales that moved through at an unhurried pace. Every few moments, one could hear them come to the surface and exhale, a distinctive sound of air being blown out with a kind of low whistle, and then they would float for a moment or two before submerging. There were a lot of birds, some looking for opportunities and others floating on the sea. The penguins are not afraid of humans and don’t react to us or try to hide or get away.
Danco Island, a serene incredibly beautiful setting where we walked among molting penguins.
It was our day, finally, to kayak. After leaving Danco Island we assembled to learn how we would garb. It was complicated, including a “onesie” that was nearly impossible for me to get into, followed by a wet suit intended to keep water out. I found it something close to a medieval torture garment, all but closing off the circulation in my wrists and clogging my Adam’s Apple so that I could catch a breath only with some effort. There were booties and the inevitable life jacket. We assembled on the third deck later on to embark only to be informed that the winds were too strong making any venture unsafe.
By then, we had reached Lapeyrére Bay, another fairyland like setting a bit further north where our kayaking adventure might have occurred. Upon our arrival, the seas were calm and clear, a setting ideal for the kind of kayaking that Marsh and I have done so many times. But, by the time it was our turn to embark, at nearly eight in the evening, the entire bay had been overcome with “fresh” ice, chunks broken off from the ends of glaciers or icebergs, and there was a brisk wind that made any attempt to move about in the ice in a kayak hazardous. So, instead of kayaking we went cruising in a zodiac, forcing our way along and through all kinds of ice at a slow walking pace.
Lapeyrére Bay upon our arrival, calm and deceptively inviting.Lapeyrére Bay, with ice beginning to accumulate in the late afternoon.
By this time of day, the light had faded, lending a mysterious and almost mystical aura. We made our way to a safe distance at the bottom of a huge glacier where we found a fur seal on a small floe. These seals were hunted to near extinction at the turn of the 20th century but their population has now rebounded and they are no longer threatened. Further on, we encountered a huge Leopard seal, creatures that have a fierce countenance and that hunt and kill other seals and penguins. While not typically dangerous to humans, there are infrequent accounts of attacks, and I would not find any kind of close encounter welcome.
A Leopard seal lolling on a small ice floe, its maw appearing to be prehistoric.A Fur seal in the distance. This image depicts the ice floes that we had to encounter in the zodiac, conditions that were not ideal for kayaking.
We didn’t return to the ship until quite late, the sun by then quite low but still bright enough to illuminate the entire area. The surface of the sea by then was a mass of ice making any passage by kayak impossible and movement by zodiac slow and cumbersome. We retired to the tenth deck where we had 14 year old Oman, a premium drink of real whiskey that cost us dearly all the while listening to unsatisfactory versions of Clearwater Credence. Alas, there was no Mahler or Mozart.
JANUARY 31
We sailed further north through the night and by mid-morning we could see Deception Island in the distance.
On a clear, blue day at sea our ship approached Deception Island going ever more slowly. While still far south, there was no ice in the sea.
It is aptly named, a land mass disguised as an island when in reality it’s a caldera all but hidden except for a narrow opening that leads inside. It was first discovered and named by the American sealer Nathaniel Palmer in 1820. It later became a whaling outpost in the early party of the 20th century and even later it was used for scientific purposes. All was lost in 1969 when the volcano erupted yet again and destroyed most of what was left. Today, it’s largely a tourist destination, although a mere 15,000 visitors come here on a typical year.
The caldera is entered by way of Neptune’s Bellows, another apt name since our rather benign approach to the island turned into a ferocious gale as we turned into the entry. Once through the narrow passage, the ship came to a stop in Whaler’s Bay where we had a splendid view of the caldera and the remains of the structures now abandoned.
Neptune’s Bellow is the only entrance to the interior of the island. By this point, the wind made standing on the deck nearly impossible.
Meals on the ship occur at two restaurants on the sixth deck, one quite large and considerably more varied and one a bit smaller with a certain intimacy. There are expansive views from either one. At each, there is an admonition to wash hands before entry at one of three sinks that offer warm water, soap, and paper towels. While the two official languages on the ship were English and German, there were large signs at both restaurants above the sinks that were written in English and Chinese that said “no spitting.” Apparently, the Germans did not need this admonition.
Late in the afternoon, we made our last landing, zodiacs taking us to shore around the old whaling station. There were several Fur seals lounging about, large creatures that can be quite aggressive and best given a wide berth. We walked a good distance along a pebble beach and climbed up to the lip of the caldera where we had fine views of the sea outside and the caldera. On our return, we met a sole Chinstrap penguin that seemed unperturbed by our presence. Along the way, we also saw Antarctic Terns hovering over the surf near the shore and then periodically diving and delicately dipping in the water for its dinner. By the time we got back to the zodiac, we were in a driving sleet of rain and snow.
A life boat, once essential to survival at this station, now lies almost submerged along the shore.
In late evening, the ship began moving toward Neptune’s Bellows and back into the sea. Deception Island is at the very south of the South Shetland Islands and we were destined to soon be back in the Drake Passage to make our way back to Ushuaia.
A Fur seal lounges in the moss.A lone Chinstrap penguin waddled along the shore as we hiked.
FEBRUARY 1
At the turn of the 20th century, explorers the world over used sextons to determine latitude, a fascinating skill that when exercised properly could be very accurate. The concept is simple enough, the measurement of an angle defined by a heavenly body, such as the sun, in relation to the horizon. But, the actual process is quite complicated and required a bit of math, a level horizon, and the skill required to adjust the sexton correctly. Imagine Shackleton in 100 foot waves and hurricane force winds trying to take a reading. Longitude, in contrast, was determined by using a chronometer, a clock that was capable of keeping precise times in the face of factors that would have an impact such as climate and motion. The local time, using the chronometer, is compared to the time at, for example, Greenwich Mean Time found in nautical tables at a known latitude. At the equator, there are 15 degrees difference between lines of longitude, but these degrees decrease as the navigator moves north or south. So, here again, considerable skill, math, and accurate nautical tables were essential.
It was with my nearly non-existent understanding of these navigational concepts that I looked in awe at the ship’s bridge where we were invited to visit. A very young First Officer pointed out all the technology used to pilot our ship, and it’s stunning to appreciate what has happened over the past 100 years or so. There was an auto pilot that automatically took our ship to a destination with total accuracy, there were sophisticated radar systems to detect other ships, land, and surface ice. No one was using a sexton or chronometer. Still, there was a person at the very front with high powered binoculars looking for whales in our pathway so that the officer in charge could take evasive action if necessary to avoid injury.
We were greeted on our first morning on the Drake Passage with azure blue skies, an almost cloudless sky, and a sea that was dark blue, almost black. The sun had set, I was told. From the rear of the ship on the tenth deck, the bow rose to a point above the horizon and then plunged downward. Between the swells and the wind, walking around the deck proved difficult but quite wonderful.
Cape Petrels accompanied us for most of the day, but by late afternoon there was no wildlife. The weather changed intermittently and dramatically, at one moment brilliant sunshine and stunning blues and then in just a short time changing to fog and falling snow. A day or two of the sea was interesting, but I can’t imagine days of it.
A Cape Petrel, common around the ship far out into the Drake Passage, flew close by as I watched in wonder.
We had another full day of the Drake Passage before we entered the Beagle Channel and turned westward back toward Ushuaia.
FEBRUARY 2
We had another “bumpy” night making sleep difficult. Just as I threatened to drift off, a swell would tip the bed so that I had to grab something to avoid tragedy. Morning, however, brought some relief and laps were almost pleasant. By late morning, the tip of South America came into view off in the distance and soon we had the company of birds.
An Imperial Shag, a cormorant, greeted us as we returned to the tip of South America.A Southern Giant Petrel near our ship.
During an evening presentation, we learned that annually there are about 147,000 visitors to Antarctica, but of those only 47,000 actually make landings. So, we are among a very few lucky people to have been here, and we were reminded that we are now ambassadors of a sort responsible for telling others what we’ve seen and learned. The continent is integral to the health of the world in many ways, and so its preservation is essential.
We have been so impressed with HX, our expedition provider. It is, of course, a member of IAATO. It goes to extraordinary lengths to protect and preserve Antarctica while also making a lot of money. One important question that arose was whether people like us coming here is more negative than positive. We got some reassurance that it might be more positive. Our ship, for example, carries scientists and their equipment to the continent, and our payment for the voyage makes that possible. There is actually quite a lot of research and other work being done on these vessels.
The transition from Antarctica, where everything was black and white and where nothing in the plant world but the rare lichen could survive, to Tierra del Fuego was dramatic. The green on either side of the channel was a welcoming back to a world we know better. The Beagle Channel was serene, a benign change where I could stand on the deck in shirt sleeves and feel fairly safe from gale force winds.
The mountains of South America, quite different from those we saw in Antarctica, greeted us as we drew near Ushuaia.Hundreds of Magellanic penguins crowd together on a small rocky isle in the middle of the channel.
FEBRUARY 3
We spent our last night on the ship after docking in Ushuaia, waking to calm waters, overcast skies, and a ferocious wind that seems to be a permanent part of living here. I found myself walking as though the ship was still rocking, and I was certain that there must be some movement. Its almost like “stillness” sickness, the illusion that one is on the high seas at a dead calm.
We had a few hours in the evening to explore Ushuaia a little more, although it’s so small that there wasn’t a lot to see or do. We found some gifts for the grandchildren and then wandered into a pizza place that served us an unusual but tasty version.
The ship was under furious preparations for another departure at six in the evening, and so we were under precise instructions for leaving our bags outside our door and vacating our room by eight in the morning. It’s a very impressive operation to see how it’s all done. We had our last breakfast, left the ship, and were bused to town with a woman, who spoke English, German, and Spanish, as our guide. As usual, I felt humbled that I can only speak a bit of English.
The harbor area near our ship as we returned for our last night.The sky, blue and beautiful as we returned to our ship.
Ushuaia sees only four to five hours of daylight through the winter, a dreary prospect. Many of the locals apparently use their summer to go north to warmer climes and beaches. As we walked through the town, most places were either closed or would only open until later; much of what we saw was arranged around tourism.
Our flight back to Buenos Aires occurred in the afternoon. As we approached the city, swaths of green were a shock to the eye made ever so much more when the doors were opened and we were greeted by hot, moist, tropical air.
We soon found ourselves ensconced in a “HoJo” type establishment that Marsh found near the EZE airport. HoJo stands for Howard Johnson, a hotel chain I cannot more highly recommend against. We drank cheap wine, sitting on our bed, and waited for a restaurant to open. The Argentinians don’t believe in dinner before eight. The morrow would find us aboard a flight to Iguazú Falls where this adventure would find its end.
FEBRUARY 4
The HoJo didn’t disappoint, a toilet that had to be coaxed and cajoled, a shower that dribbled and spat chunks of lukewarm water, and a droning sound that only stopped after we rose. There was no coffee and we left before an included breakfast, but I’m confident that all we missed were Corn Pops and stale Wonder Bread. We used Uber, an ancient vehicle driven by a very large woman who was barely able to slide into the driver’s seat and who seemed to tip the vehicle precariously to the left. The ride was interminable, taking us through large swaths of older parts of Buenos Aires.
By early afternoon we arrived in Iguazú Falls to be greeted by an oppressive heat and a driver who took us to our accommodations, a resort where we had access to a restaurant, pool, and help to see the falls. If local legend is accepted, a deity planned to marry a beautiful human woman who instead ran off with her human lover in a canoe. The deity, in a fit of rage, sliced the river in two forming spectacular falls that the lovers were forever consigned to fall over. They are located at the northern confluence of the borders of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay. The waters of the falls together form the largest waterfall system in the world forming a huge J, with the longest part of the letter being on the Argentinian side of the border.
We were by then at about 25° S, just below the Tropic of Capricorn and in a subtropical zone. It was dreadfully hot. We sat near the pool where the thong ruled and we surrendered yet again to a bartender who promised he knew how to make a martini. As near as I can tell, it was some kind of vermouth with a splash of gin topped with a pretty little lime. Will we ever learn?
FEBRUARY 5
We rose to a glorious sub-tropical morning, most of the heat having dissipated over night. I almost believed that would be the order of the day.
The falls are some distance away, requiring another long taxi ride that left us at the entrance to the national park. We were greeted by hordes of tourists who, like us, were struggling to understand what had to be done to gain entrance. There were interminable lines, a lot of shouting in a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese, and technology that seemed to work at the level of my teenaged daughters’ game boys.
Iguazú Falls from the Argentina side.Iguazú Falls from the Argentinian side.
Once in, we walked nearly six miles, first at an upper level that followed the falls from the lower part of the huge J up to a point at the very tip, and then at one at a much lower vantage, each providing stellar views of these magnificent falls. They are truly a wonder of the world. It was also, unfortunately, a perfect venue for the selfie, the artificial poses, those intent on capturing themselves as the focus of this extraordinary vista. One should be enough but for most people in that frame of mind, dozens were required. It was annoying, entertaining, and endless.
By mid-day, the temperature was in the 90s, insufferably hot, and my memories of the ice and snow and calm of the Antarctic seemed distant and unreal. Our day neared its end near the pool. There was a cloud of heat that baked everything, weighing heavily when I walked anywhere in the sun. It was ideal for pool lovers, those who worship the sun, or those like Marsh who believe that the body must be immersed in any available body of water. I turned to gin and tonic as a possible alternative, only to learn that this too was beyond the reach of our bartender.
We had all of our meals at the restaurant on site, and while the food was acceptable the menus were limited. Our last meal was a six ounce T-bone steak, something neither of had eaten for years. It was a huge (for us) piece of tough meat lined with gristle and bone.
FEBRUARY 6
We rose early on our last full day to be taken across the border into Brazil where we had a much shorter but more spectacular look at the waterfall system. We began at the top and followed a trail ever downward to a point under the top of the J where a platform extended out into the mist and drama making it possible to get thoroughly soaked in immense clouds of mist and spray. It was awe inspiring, another testament to the power and grace of Mother Nature, and yet another illustration of people of all ages who can’t focus on anything but that image of themselves throwing their arms dramatically into the sky. The cell phone and all it can do has not contributed much to the maturity of humankind.
Iguazú Falls from the Brazilian side, spectacular, misty, overpowering.
Large flocks of these carrion eaters were everywhere for reasons I couldn’t ever grasp.A playful Coati peered at us as began our descent.
END OF OUR JOURNEY
I try not to dwell on the travails of travel because there will always be something that makes it difficult. It can discourage all but the intrepid, and it only gets more difficult as time passes and age encroaches. We had to cross the border into Brazil and fly out of the airport in Fox do Iguaçu to São Paulo where we were to catch our main flight to Atlanta. Between our required checkout time and our departure, we arrived at this somewhat small airport several hours before our departure and found uncomfortable seating and inadequate food. As our departure time approached, a furious rain storm descended that brought even the locals to the windows. It forced our aircraft coming from São Paulo to divert. We were left with little information, a lot of Portuguese, no gin, and a delay that threatened our connection in São Paulo.
After a lengthy delay, it was time to board but it seemed to be a process that no one in this part of the world had yet encountered. When finally airborne we were still hopeful, but when we landed in the midst of more heavy rain there was no bus to meet us and we sat with the doors open but no way to exit all the time looking at the time and knowing that it wasn’t going to work. And, it didn’t because when we finally got into the terminal, our flight to Atlanta was gone, and we were confronted with mass chaos, all in Portuguese.
At some point after mid-night we eventually found a very nice young man who spoke English like I speak Portuguese who assured us that we were booked on a flight the following night to Atlanta and who gave us strips of paper that got us into a taxi and a hotel of sorts that catered to the stranded. It had an “American Bar,” a 24 hour buffet, a poor example of a gin and tonic, a shower with soap and shampoo, a bed with a sheet that didn’t fit, and an ambience that rivaled the HoJo.
There was quite a lot more, but it’s all the boring detail of travel gone slightly awry. We have been through worse and we’ll encounter it again because we will travel again. While all of our trips (except one to Orlando) have been immensely rewarding and enriching, this one was special. We will not soon forget all we saw and experienced. We are lucky that both of us love to travel and that we are still young enough to do it.
