Sailing the Forgotten Continent | An Antarctica Travel Blog

2011-12-17T00:22:00.002-05:00

Made a video a while back of this trip:

Antarctica at a glance

2009-04-30T03:14:00.001-04:00

As a very quick summary of the trip, here are my photos from Antarctica. For those interested in the stories behind and between the shots, please read on.

A lot could happen in 24 hours

2009-02-24T12:06:00.006-05:00

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

What a singularly hectic day. The plan was to buy sunglasses and an adapter, then head to the domestic airport for my flight to Ushuaia. No sweat. I even confirmed my new flight details the night before with the travel agent. What could possibly go wrong?

Lesson One: Murphy always wins.

Poking about the street next to the hostel, I did indeed find an adaptador. After some impromptu Pictionary I manage to explain the exact type of pin I need,and the guy actually gives it to me gratis. When was the last time I walked out of a shop with something completely free? Heading back to home base, it felt a little surreal with the early morning sun shining down the alleys. Indeed, it felt a little Cairo.

I rush to the airport, once again callously ignoring the "did I forget something" feeling-- only to realize at the airport that I'd left my thick down jacket back at the hostel.

Lesson Two: There is always something in that "did I forget something" feeling.

Lesson Three: One does not leave for Antarctica without a jacket.

In a bizarre twist (or not, since the "star" airline of this story is Aerolineas Argentinas) just 1.5 hours before the departure time the flight has been moved to the OTHER airport that is one hour drive away. Who does this?!! 160 flights and this is certainly a first for me. Murphy must be gloating right now.

As Providence would have it, the flight has now been delayed by 1.5 hours (buying time for all the poor lost sheep to make it to the other airport, I suspect) and there's my chance to go back to the hostel to grab that warm, life-sustaining jacket of mine.

I storm through the hostel's main entrance to a very bewildered receptionist. Then, it's the third taxi ride in the past one hour. "Rapido, por favor," I plead, and rapido we go indeed, beelining the international airport in two-thirds the usual time.

After much hassle, the flight finally takes off on a most frightful journey in which I questioned my mortality on several occasions. The flight attendant announces that the flight cannot land in Ushuaia for reasons beyond my Spanish proficiency, and we are re-routed to Rio Grande instead. An extra 15 minutes' flight translates into 3 hours' bus ride from Rio to Ushuaia. And so it came to be that a 3 hour flight turned into an 8 hour ordeal. I haven't even seen Antarctica yet and already I understand what they mean by it being "remote".

Strangely enough, I wasn't even aggravated or tired by the time we were hustled on board the coach bound for Ushuaia. There was a strange sense of adventure amid the flight passengers. We craned our necks left and right to take in the new landscape outside-- it felt like we were on a tour! When we finally do arrive in the big U, it's a delightful little town that looks like southern Skagway (as confirmed by a bona fide Alaskan I meet later on).

Ushuaia at last

The hotel is gorgeous, with split level lobbies and a handsome Christmas tree still sparkling bright and a restaurant with a view of the Beagle Channel, which opens up to our path to Antarctica.

Dinner was a plain pizza affair turned into a wonderful conversation with Shane, an Alaskan who was solo travelling through the regions. He was done with his pizza by the time I got there, but we managed to discuss everything from death, religion, bringing up children, and burial methods (cremation or coffin?). We spoke of the turtles of the Galapagos and the monkeys of India, the Dalai Lama (who apparently has body guards with machine guns), the "live and let live" attitude, and how the bucket never seemed full... we spoke effortlessly and endlessly until the sun went down (this being no small statement as the summer Ushuaian sun doesn't set until 11.30pm). And when at last we shook hands and introduced ourselves and bade farewell, I understood the Y ("why") in "fly".

I travel for the worn down pedestrian stripes on a scorching Buenos Aires road; I travel for the beautiful conversations with strangers at unsuspecting moments, I travel for the simple beauty of a plait curtain tied up in a knot inside a pizza restaurant.... I travel for the common and the not so common, for the sights and the stories, for the people and the places; to hear the heartbeat of the world, and to beat in tune with it.

To travel, in short, is to understand the meaning of Life and all that's in it.

And so it begins

2009-02-23T12:59:00.001-05:00

Ready to set sail onboard the Orlova

Location: the Beagle Channel

Today, led by our awesome expedition leader Jill Baxter, we made one of the coolest toasts before we set sail:

"To the family and friends back home who, when we said we're going to Antarctica, said 'What?' then 'Where?!!' and finally 'Why??' -- cheers."

This is going to be fun.

Day 2: The Dreadful Drake

2009-02-22T13:03:00.002-05:00

Two photos above courtesy of the lovely Lori Gibson.

We all know that Antarctica is the highest, driest, windiest, coldest continent. Unsurprisingly, it is also the most remote, and to get to it, one has to brave the furies of the infamous Drake Passage, where waves can reach 4 storeys high. It is not known as one of the world's roughest seas for nothing.

They say that there are several versions of the Drake-- the calm "Drake Lake", the moderate Drake Passage, and finally the merciless "Drake Shake". We were told by the expedition staff that our first day across the Drake was, on a scale of 1 to 10, a mere 2/10. The Drake Lake, in other words. Lucky us.

Lesson Four: No matter what they tell you, any crossing of the Drake is going to be a Drake Shake.

The porthole of my Deck 3 cabin is at turns completely submerged in water, making it uncannily like a churning, foaming washing machine, and at other times completely filled with a cloudless sky. Left, right, left, right... the MV Orlova rolls endlessly from side to side like a giant cradle (only I don't think cradles make you lose your breakfast quite as much). If the nauseating motions or the sleep-inducing seasick pills don't take you out, the flying objects in the cabin will.

Day 2: reloaded

2009-02-19T13:22:00.000-05:00

The clocks on this ship are well hidden. If you want the time, you would have to ask for it. That there is still light out at 11.30pm and that there is nothing but deep blue sea in every direction as far as the eye can see add to the timeless quality of our journey. We are a lonely little ship making our way across the ocean without any company save for the occasional albatross.

Suddenly, a line from Makoto Shinkai's 5cm Per Second comes to mind:

"... a journey so dark and lonely as to be beyond all imagination. To exist so earnestly in pure darkness without meeting even a single [soul] by chance... to absolutely and wholeheartedly believe that somewhere in the abyss you are getting closer to the secret of the universe..."

Shinkai's 5cm is a breathtakingly beautiful animated short movie, by the way. Take a look if you get the chance.

---

Random facts we learned today in lecture: a blue whale (the largest of whales) is the equivalent of 25 elephants in weight; its arteries are the size of drainpipes, and it can hold a whole football team on its tongue. A wandering albatross has a wingspan of 3 metres (that's the length of two Janes lying down, for those who know me), and flies 1,000 miles to hunt for food.

Nature finds a way.

The notion of sea voyage...

2009-02-17T13:52:00.001-05:00

... is always more romantic in theory than in practice.

Sitting at the stern and gazing into the endless blue, for instance, is not quite as idyllic for the subject as it is for the observer. The Antarctic Ocean wind, whipping relentlessly from ever changing directions, hits the face like (for the want of something more eloquent) a giant mosquito swatter. The chill first seeps through the boots into the tip of the toes, creeps up the ankles, calves, and then to the rest of the body. Finally, the disillusioned traveller would leave the bench and resolutely head for the ship's library for a nice hot cup of tea instead.

So much for seafaring adventures.

Day 4: Antarctica at last

2009-02-15T14:34:00.001-05:00

Zodiac cruising around Cuverville.

Prizes for those who can spot the Blue eyed Cormorant (a bird) in this picture.

To jump or not to jump, that is the question... there is a Leopard seal in there somewhere after all...

Gentoo penguin up close! (Thank goodness for zoom lens)

Gentoo penguins on an iceberg

The Orlova anchored at Cuverville

Massive icebergs

Surely, this is another planet altogether.

The human memory is so fragile. After two and a half days at sea, I am already beginning to forget how it feels like to be standing on dry, still land. The days of going for meals in the ship's dining room where the table cloths are deliberately wet to prevent anything from sliding around, where chairs are bolted down (because occasionally they really do tip over on one side, even when you're sitting on it) are beginning to feel routine.

But just as the memory of stationary land begins to fade, icebergs the size of football fields rise from the horizon, heralding the arrival at the continent proper. Since crossing the Antarctic Convergence the air has become colder, crisper; the rolling of the Orlova (lovingly dubbed the "Rollover") ceases as we leave the open sea for more protected waters.

We pull on our landing gear for the first time, the tedious procedure of donning sunscreen, coat, hat, life jacket, gloves, sunglasses, waterproof trousers, bulky boots and camera gear is physically demanding enough to replace an entire session at the ship gym. (Who am I kidding? I never once went to the gym onboard throughout the 10 day cruise.)

Location: Cuverville Island

Our first landing in the Antarctic Peninsula is Cuverville Island, a Gentoo penguin rookery just off a bay full of the most fantastic icebergs. Let me just say one thing: every picture you see of Antarctica is pristine and white; the penguins are adorable and very huggable. What they don't tell you is that they smell-- a lot. In fact, you smell 'em before you see 'em. Technically, it's the guano that's causing the stench-induced seizures. And as the zodiac brings us closer to shore, we see that the snow is not in fact all that white, but is tinged by the guano into more of a salmon shade of pink. Where there isn't snow, bright orange lichen and green moss cling to the bare cliffs. A couple of stray whale bones are washed ashore. A Leopard seal is patrolling in the shallow waters. David Drummond, our ornithologist, tells us to watch out for it because it's going to "make a real mess out of one of these penguins". Skuas are nesting further up the hill, pouncing on Gentoo eggs and chicks whenever they get the chance.

The Gentoos amble along their "penguin highways" etched out in the snow, narrow paths that lead between their nests on higher slopes down to the rocky beach. Having a comfortable nest is critical during this nesting season when both the mother and father penguin have to take turns sitting on the egg/chick for protracted periods of time. So the penguins shuttle industriously back and forth the nest and the beach, meticulously picking one stone at a time and carrying it all the way back home. But it is a tedious task and good stones are on shortage, so "borrowing" between neighbors is common. Once researchers did an experiment by building a fake nest with little blue stones. By the end of the day, the nest was gone and every penguin nest had a blue stone in it. :)

Penguin Highway

2009-02-13T16:36:00.000-05:00

The penguin highway shot above is courtesy of Kim Toker.

I formally conclude that Shackleton was a little nuts

2009-02-10T16:43:00.001-05:00

Weathered by the elements, glaciers tumble like fallen Greek temples

Deep cracks within the glaciers

To put things into perspective, the black bit on the sea to the left is a zodiac

The tiny little dots by the red huts on the far left are people. How far we have come.

Sailing through the Lemaire Channel

It had been, without our realizing it, an exhausting afternoon-- not necessarily in the physical sense but in an experiential sense. Earlier in the day, we had already braved the aforementioned guano stench, navigated the jagged, slippery, guano-covered rocks most awkwardly in our rubber boots (looking uncannily like overgrown penguins as a result), and trudged up the snowy/icy hills.

The penguin highways in themselves are worth hours of entertainment. Once every so often, when a penguin finds a human standing in the way ahead of them, it would pause and hesitate in the middle of the highway, intimidated by the imposing figure. Inadvertently, an Antarctic traffic jam builds up as other penguins pile up behind the first penguin. The 5 or 6 of them would crane their necks left and right, trying to see what's causing the hold up at the front. On one occasion, the second penguin took decisive action after a while and simply whacked the first fellow aside with its fins and carried on its merry way.

Fast-forward to this afternoon, when we landed at Paradise Bay amidst brooding, gathering clouds. Paradise Bay is exciting in several ways-- it's attached to the Antarctic continent proper and so marks our official landing in Antarctica and there's a hill to climb. The adventurers in us rejoice-- after all, we've all been cooped up for the past few days with nothing but drowsiness or seasickness for company. Hurrah! We plow towards the hill with Gustavo our geologist in the lead.

"This can't be too hard," I think to myself. We follow a tight trail, the threat of falling into crevasses quite soberly real if we stray off the path. At first, I am the ever enthusiastic Explorer of the Last Frontier, the Brave Soul of the South, Ernest Shackleton Reincarnated. But on and on we climb, around one corner and then around the next. The will begins to waver and the temptation to climb the hill on all fours becomes stronger (if the penguins did it on their bellies, why can't I? As they say, when in Rome...)

Then, suddenly, comes the breaking point and I am mumbling less impressive things about the great polar explorers of the past. "What was Scott thinking? And how did Shackleton and his men scale the mountain of St. Georgia? Those men just weren't right in their heads!"

* * *

As the snowflakes turn into heavy rain, the initial gratefulness of getting a taste of the famous explorers' journey turned into muted horror. I turn around and balk at the steep hill we had (unknowingly) scaled and again at the path ahead that seemed like nothing but precarious loose rocks on jagged cliff edges. There is no more snow to cushion our fall, and my rock-related acrophobia begins to manifest itself. At long last, with a helping hand from fellow "expeditioners" (because heck this is no cruise in any rational sense!) I reach the top.

And the sweeping vistas below is breathtaking, making it suddenly worthwhile.

We go back down Libe Slope Style, surfing through the snow on our bums, veering sharply to the left and right because there isn't that wide of a berth between the edges of the impromptu snow slide and the vertical drops down the hill.

We tumble back into the zodiacs for a zodiac cruise around Paradise Bay. The wonderful hotel team surprises us around the corner in a zodiac of their own, passing out hot chocolate and rum! Back up on Paradise Bay, Steven proposes to Krista and of course she says yes. (You'd have to be pretty certain on an Antarctic expedition that the girl's going to say yes, or else it's going to be pretty darn awkward in their cabin for the next 8 days.)

On a more serious note, we sail through the Lemaire Channel today! Though it's not all sunny and bright, the low hanging clouds create another type of magical atmosphere. The water is so black it is almost as if we are sailing through liquid coal. The mountains play hide and seek behind the mist, and our whole group falls silent as we take in the scenery at the bow. Tonight, only imagination can tell how tall the mountains really are.

Day of Reckoning

2009-02-09T18:21:00.001-05:00

Mushroom iceberg

Ship iceberg

The day is off to a miserable start. Correction: it is off to a Classic Antarctic start. Specifically, it was cold, windy, and wet. (Antarctic tour operators have it easy. If the weather's bright and sunny, they tell us we are lucky; if the weather is bad like today, they tell us we are experiencing Antarctica in its true form.)

In a masochistic way, this was fun. We saw the strangest, most beautiful icebergs in every shade of blue imaginable. There was one that looked like very familiar (see above) and someone exclaimed, "It looks like a ship!" to which someone retorted half jokingly, "Maybe it is a ship!" Everywhere we go, we are dogged by stories of cruises gone wrong (the Titanic, MS Explorer which sank in Antarctic waters in 2007, MV Ushuaia which ran aground in Antarctica and got stranded in ice just one month before our trip, etc).

For the rest of the morning our otherwise lovely marine biologist Pat Lewis drives the zodiac like a maniac and we are generously pelted with salt spray. To add on to the festivities, the heavens treat us to some healthy hail, which hits like strings of frozen needles. Ah, Antarctica.

Lesson Five: Antarctica cannot be claimed nor can it be captured, on camera or otherwise. But for those who are able and willing to brave the Drake to see it, it is there in all its glory for you to experience in person.

Ironies and felonies

2009-02-08T18:36:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, even the natives get a little lost in the vastness of this land

A introspective moment on the rocks of Petermann Island

Adelie penguin

Gentoo hurrying along to find the Perfect Pebble

Mission accomplished!

Too lazy to walk, the little Gentoo body surfed its way back home.

Obligatory tourist shot of 10,000 year old ice in my drinks

Petermann Island is the second landing of the day, and what a visual treat it is! It's our first sighting of comical Adelie penguins, who, if you look at them straight on, seem a bit cross eyed because of the white circles around their eyes. The vast hills are a blanketed with thick white snow, though a shear cliff in the distance has been carved into the snow by wind erosion. A simple cross stands upon a rock commemorating the three British researchers who, in 1982, disappeared from Petermann Island under the cover of winter darkness, never to be seen again.

At the end of the landing, the expedition staff carved a piece of ice right off a 'berg and we all had drinks with a couple of 10,000 year-old ice cubes floating in them. Of course, I chose to have it with Fanta. What a fantastic waste of grand old ice.

The Southern Most Bar in the World

2009-02-07T19:22:00.001-05:00

The collection of past "alternative payment". I don't believe the size of that thing.

When you start getting into Ushuaia, lots of random things like "The Southern Most Irish Bar in the World!" start popping up. (I tried it; it was rubbish.) It gets to a point where it's mere commercial cliché. Still, there is something to be said about the fact that you've danced and partied in the southern most bar in the world. This bar happens to be located in the Antarctic research station, Vernadsky. Presently owned by Ukraine, this was a British station that was sold to its current owners for the grand total of £1 ($2) back in 1996. There's a backstory for this sale, but I'd much rather tell you about THE BAR.

Now, there is an Antarctic saying that goes, "In Antarctica there's a woman behind every tree." And we all know how many trees there are in Antarctica. The rarity of the fairer sex is probably why the Vernadsky bar is so... creative in its forms of acceptable payment. The bar sells homemade vodka shots for $3. If you don't want to pay that, ladies have the option of giving them their bra instead. This research station also claims another fame-- this was where the Ozone layer was discovered back in the '80s! Yay for homemade vodka and important scientific advances! Oh randomness and happiness!

Once the seed is sown, there is no telling how far we will go

2009-02-06T13:14:00.003-05:00

The task ahead is... steep.

Slowing making the way up

The end of the hike

"One thing about trains-- it doesn't really matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on board." -- The Polar Express

Ideas are sneaky little things. They start in a whisper, prickling your ears like an innocent dandelion. But before long, they take on a life of their own, and the sheer possibilities from that one seemingly innocuous suggestion spread like a wildfire in the mind's eye. Soon, you are planning and plotting the next big adventure as if it would really happen. The next thing you know, you are on a ship heading due south with nothing but carry-on luggage.

My trip to Antarctica began most innocently. Visiting The Ice was always at the back of my mind-- but as is the case for so many people it was nothing but a little fantasy, just crazy enough to keep myself sane, to keep life interesting, to keep the options open. Then, one day, I came across a traveller's website about her trip to Antarctica. The pictures were small, and the selection of photos somewhat limited. But she spoke of the land and of its ethereal beauty, of the icebergs that were bluer than the most electric blue. She spoke of the timelessness of the continent where the summer sun never set, of how the rest of the world had simply faded away between the blue and the white.

Then I walked out of my dorm room and plopped one of my most well-travelled and open-minded friends down on a couch. "Tell me, Ben, on a scale of 1 to 10 how adventurous do you consider yourself to be?"

* * *

And so what began as an idle weekend surfing online ended with my packing bags, camera, soul and all to head to the last frontier on Earth, Antarctica. Though it would have been nice to simply report that the rest of the world did indeed fade away as Sharrie had promised, I think I owe it to you, my dear readers, to tell the truth: the rest of the world did not fade away down in Antarctica and, if anything, had become more vivid.

It is the strangest thing, but at the end of the Earth where life is scarce and precious, friendship blossomed between people who may otherwise have never met in life. We were a random ensemble of passengers from 15 countries, united by our sense of adventure and our desire to see the White Continent. Every person has a story of why and how they are here, and every story is as fascinating as the next.

To reach the southernmost city in the world where we boarded the Orlova, a family from Mexico had driven all the way from Mexico City. An American woman had lost her husband several years ago and had been devastated. This is her first solo trip since her loss. Another deceptively young-looking woman is in fact 39 years-old. She chose to spend her 40th birthday onboard with us, visiting her seventh and last continent. A newly-wed Belgian couple is here on their honeymoon, except the wife had no idea she was going to Antarctica because it was a surprise gift from her husband. She did not find out until she saw the ship.

Someone decided to propose here; someone else decided that, at the grand age of 82, he would finally go see the White Continent. Someone decided to bring pastels, while another brought watercolours. All these decisions, big and small, brought us together onboard the Orlova to create a journey that was uniquely our own.

And I will never tire of the stories.

One night, sitting in the library as the Orlova rolled on through the dim hues of the twilight hour, Luis told me of his family's road trip from Mexico all the way to Alaska. He spoke of the Aurora Borealis that streamed from the heavens overhead, and of another couple's cycling trip that took them from Fairbanks, Alaska to Ushuaia. It had "only" taken them a couple of months to get from the northern most tip of North America to the southern most tip of South America. And to think that my month-long Nile River cycling trip was epic. As the Chinese saying goes, there is always a higher mountain.

The world is a large and endless place, and I understood this most vividly onboard the Orlova, listening to the tales of fellow travellers and to the tales of others they had met along the way. Somehow, in floating past the glacial peaks of Antarctica I had also come to understand the true strength of Humankind.

As a child, I was raised on the notion that if you set your heart and mind to something enough, there is nothing--nothing-- that you cannot accomplish in this world.

The human spirit is one of the most awespiring things to witness and to experience first hand. While we cannot outlive the mountains, we can scale them while we are here, and the question of how far we will go is limited only by our own imagination. A task that once seemed so grand as to be virtually impossible to fathom is often unraveled one step at a time. And when at last you turn around and look back at the path you have trekked, you will find that you have climbed further than you had planned, and higher than you ever thought possible.

To gaze into the face of Purity itself

2009-02-05T00:38:00.001-05:00

This entry is mostly meant for fellow Orlovans because if you hadn't been there this will very probably come across as melodramatic and sappy. It's just one of those things in life.

Humans are champions at adapting. I guess that's how we got to the top of the "food chain" so to speak. But I digress. What I'd really meant to say was that "we are now soldiers!" What had been a clumsy, sorry act of dumping various pieces of clothing and survival gear on ourselves just two days ago ("Mary, you forgot your life jacket again") has now turned into a military operation. Oh, we would make a fine study in Precision in Execution indeed.

Location: Port Lockroy & Jougla Point

Jill bullies us into a another 7.30am wakeup call with her trademark "good morning, everyone, good morning" and we are trooping off to the British base station, Port Lockroy. We meet two young women working at the base, and they were apparently travelling with one of the Quark cruise ships just one year ago themselves. After their trip, they looked for a job with the British Antarctic Heritage Trust and got what they wanted: a stint here in Antarctica during the summer. Yes, ladies and gentlemen! Apparently you can quit your life and job and just come hang out with the penguins for a bit!!

But Port Lockroy was overshadowed by what unfolded later at Jougla Point, a little rock outcrop with a cool collection of whale bones. Just as I was hurrying into the last zodiac back to the ship, a Leopard seal rolled up to us. She was a young one, not yet fully aware of the dangers of the world, and had simply wanted to explore this strange rubber boat and those ten very excited figures on it.

Allow me to just say that prior to this encounter I would say seals are nice animals. They're sweet and plump-- what's not to like? But they are, in person, magnificent. For ten blissful minutes, our Leopard seal cast a spell upon us as she swam around our zodiac, sliding in and out of the water in silence. Someone had once said that Antarctica is "impossible to imagine beforehand, and impossible to remember afterwards". I cannot think of a more fitting phrase to describe this moment, for I cannot recall how the seal looked but I remember the emotion every time the seal surfaced near us: awe-- sheer awe and near disbelief that a creature could, in its 6 foot frame, come to embody the very essence of Purity.

When they said Antarctica is pristine, I had always taken it to be more of a reference to the landscape than to the wildlife. And indeed the sweeping vistas of endless white are pristine, but more so than the calving glaciers, life here is what is truly pristine. Stranded in our hectic schedules amid the mind numbing drone of a crowded city, we have forgotten what it even means to be pure, to be innocent, to be truly content. Gazing at this gentle creature, I realized deep down that in my ambition to achieve more and even in my curiousity to see more of the world, I could never hope to attain that level of contentedness.

But, because there was a boatload of people about me and because it is highly embarrasing to cry with an audience, I tucked that memory away and pressed the camera shutter instead. Later, there will be a time to quietly reminisce and to be finally overwhelmed.

Day 6 in Action

2009-02-01T04:02:00.000-05:00

Location: Port Lockroy & Jougla Point

The iridescent hues, the endless gradients of blue, the curves that rise and swell at the command of an invisible conductor... the Antarctica waters have their own symphony to play

Nesting Gentoo making itself very comfortable right by the entrance to the base station

A splash of water by the zodiac on the way to Jougla Point. From the largest to the smallest of scales, Antarctica is incessantly beautiful.

Little sailboat by Jougla Point

Artistically assembled whale bones

Day 6: reloaded

2009-01-31T23:51:00.001-05:00

Sailing through the Neumayer Channel

This iceberg I like to call "penguin and chick" :0)

The Neumayer shrouded in mystery

Glaciers about to calve at Neko Habour

Panorama of the stunning Neumayer (click on image for full view)

Oh, glorious day! After the incredible encounter at Jougla Point, we sailed to Neko Harbour where there were active glaciers that were constantly calving. The highlight there, of course, was the hike up what seemed like an impossible mountain. I have never seen anything like it-- the entire slope was at first glance covered by snow but when you take a closer look you realize it's all small lumps of ice! I felt like I was walking on a huge pile of transparent Nerd Candy.

Location: Neko Harbour

The Neko landing was, for personal reasons stated in the previous entry, my favourite place in Antarctica thus far. When you climbed to the very top, you could perch on a rock outcrop and take in all that was around you. Once every so often a piece of glacier would separate from the rest, cutting the absolute silence with a booming crescendo. The ice would crash into the placid waters, sending a mini tsunami that fanned out into the mirror-like sea. We also witnessed a terrific avalanche that sounded like the very belly of the mountain was growling.

I could've stayed up there on the mountain forever, had that been an option. But all too soon we had to get back on board for dinner. As a reward for our efforts going uphill, we slid down the massive slope a la Paradise Bay-- except this time round it was legitimately terrifying because there was a massive vertical drop that you couldn't see ahead of time. Before you even realize what hit you, you are either crashing through the ice like a human spinning top or, worse yet, tumbling downhill head first which, as you can imagine, is painful on ice. In my panic after the vertical drop, I dug my elbow and fingers into the ice to try to slow down. Even through the gloves, the pain of the stinging ice from those brief seconds of contact could be felt for the better half of an hour afterwards.

Back on board the Orlova, we celebrated our third day of hard work with a barbeque out on the ship deck, right in the middle of all the glaciers! There is just nothing quite like downing good food and wine when you are the sole ship in a breathtaking glacial bay. During the BBQ, Julian, one of our (more sane and reassuring) zodiac drivers even showcased his impressive juggling skills! How one practices juggling on a ship like the Orlova is beyond me.

After the important business of filling stomachs had been wholly addressed, we set sail once more through the Neumayer Channel, spotting a humpback whale and some minkes. At the risk of sounding repetitive, they are truly magnificent. It's such a cliché, but there is something inherently awespiring to witness that moment when a humpback flips its tail in mid air.

I love my life.

Of Polar Plunges and Imaginary Flights

2009-01-30T17:00:00.001-05:00

View of "Deck 8"

The Orlova entering Deception Island

Penguin A: Ahoy, matey! There be a ship yonder!
Penguin B: Pillage, I say!

This is the only way you'll get to see lions on this continent

Chinstrap by the beach

Location: Deception Island

Day 7 was a day of wind. Of the many, many unforgettable things that happened today, the bellowing winds that swept the bow where we stood was the one element that carried the day. But I am getting ahead of myself.

This morning saw us sailing into Deception Island, a semi-dormant volcano just off the Antarctic Peninsula. It had last erupted in 1969, a blink of an eye in volcanic terms. Our geologist Gustavo jokingly told us to be careful, although come to think of it when a volcano suddenly blows in Antarctica, what are you going to do? Run up the highest hill and hug a tree?

(This is impractical on several levels. First off, said hill is the caldera, the mouth of the volcano from which lava will be spewing. Secondly, there are no trees in Antarctica.)

Anyway, the journey into the caldera was gorgeous; having left the Antarctic Peninsula the weather was wonderful again with broad strokes of clouds streaking a perfectly blue sky. What a view, to be able to turn towards the stern and see white landmass of nothing but snow and ice and then, standing in the very same spot, to look towards the bow to see a perfectly brown island. Dirt! Well, ash and cinder. We have not seen this volume of unadulterated brownness for a while.

(Side note: Deception Island is so named because the opening into the caldera is so small that back in the day sailors often had to sail around the island twice before they could find the entrance.)

Steam rising on the beach with Neptune's Window in the background

We landed on a black beach of silt billowing with white steam, evidence of geothermal activity beneath that was continually evaporating the water. Although the wind was still chilly at near-freezing temperatures, the ground was perfectly warm to the touch and one would inadvertently leave footprints in the soft, bouncy soil. If you were young enough, you could pretend you were on a massive bouncy castle. Also entertaining was "the Flight Experiment". If you stand by the edge of the beach where there was the most steam, spread out your arms as if you were flying, and fixed your eyes on one spot on on the ground just staring at the steam blowing by, you would very suddenly feel like you were truly flying through clouds. Amazing. I taught the trick to Laurie, and her smile was just gold.

Four Chinstraps heading into the cold, cold sea

In the mist, two pairs of penguins were diving in and out for their morning swim. We poked around the houses that once formed the whaling station here. How strange it was to be walking amongst the towering tanks and hollowed houses, each of them telling a tale of the damages done in years past by both Man and Nature. The lopsided tanks were scrawled with graffiti and sat partially submerged in the now solidified lava of the 1969 eruption.

Submerged whaling tanks and wheel

Ultimately, Deception Island was a just great landing where I was able to get some solitary time snapping seaweed photos and walking up to Neptune's Window, the spot where they first saw Antarctica.

Seaweed masquerading as seashells

The highlight of the morning was the POLAR PLUNGE! I didn't even know there was such a tradition on Antarctic cruises, and so came sans swimsuit. Thankfully, my cabin mate had hers and kindly lent it to me so that I could "represent the cabin in The Plunge". And represent I did, dashing into the 1°C water after doing a little dance on the hot, hot sand. Ohhhh, frigidness be mine. As I said about my Nile River cycling trip, "that was fun; let's never, ever do it again."

Still, the certificate we got for doing The Plunge was more than worth it:

"This certifies that XXX did most sturdily enter the invigorating waters of the Southern Ocean at Latitude 62° 56' South and Longitutde 060° 36' West... We do solemnly acknowledge that this was an act of indubitable courage (as well as extraordinary, incomparable foolishness). Based on the Expedition Leader's observance of this act of absurd heroism, and the Ship's Doctor's confirmation of said person's temporary loss of any common sense, we consider the bearer of this certificate a key member of the Antarctic Polar Plunge Club."

You only live once.

On a ship, the smiles come easier

2009-01-29T20:31:00.001-05:00

Melted ice cream?

Ships are such wondrous worlds. They cross the wildest of seas and the furthest of horizons, bringing the world to us while we sit snuggly on the library sofa indulging in light-hearted chit chat. But even as we carry on with our seafaring adventures, there is this very definitive amount of space to call home for a week or two. On a ship, travellers bond in ways that humans typically cannot when there are roads and schedules and Blackberries between us. Before you know it, everyone becomes your makeshift family. I could casually catch the eye of a stranger across the ship deck and, though I may not know your name, we are quite literally "in the same boat" and therefore a brethren in our own right. We share a simple smile and the moment glides by quietly, almost uneventfully. But the thing is, that smile is eventful. For travellers to the Antarctic in particular, that smile is the quiet acknowledgement of our common awe of this land, a simple salute to the miracles we witness everyday. "Isn't this quite an adventure we are having here?", the smile almost seems to say.

Click on image to see it in full size

I was knee-deep in a game of chess with John today in the library when Luis popped by. "There are some beautiful mountains out there. You should take your camera and go take a look," he tells us. Then, breaking Chess Rule #1, I leave in the middle of the game after apologizing to John. "I'll be back soon," I promise. Just after I go see a bit more of Antarctica.

I don't blame John for not heading out; with strong headwinds and a sun that is all too merciless on cloudless days like this, it takes a brave and somewhat wreckless soul to dare battle with the elements outdoors. Indeed, once I step on deck the UV rays begin their relentless attack like invisible pins and needles. The sunglasses can only do so much.

Alas, Antarctica is a sly one; she hides her beauty far from the realms of the six continents, and will only let you in on the Secret if you are willing to make the journey to see her. The moments and the miracles are there, but you have to endure the elements to discover them. And so, standing at the bow on the highest deck, I brave the raw, bitter cold and snap away.

And it is all worth it.

Final Landing: Half Moon Bay

2009-01-26T01:05:00.001-05:00

There really should be a legal limit
as to how cute one is allowed to be.

Sometimes, you just have to stop and take it all in.

A song to the heavens

Pre-mating ritual

As Antarctic landings go, Half Moon Island is just about every traveller's wild fantasy-- Chinstrap penguins abound the very minute you land, Weddell seals and fur seals napping on the beach like giant sausages on rocks, beautiful snow capped mountains all around.

What isn't so nice, but is nonetheless a good peek into the circle of life, are the penguin skeletons. As a fellow traveller called it, this was "Massacre Bay". Here you'd see a sliver of a penguin fin, there a hollowed out penguin with the feathers and body shape still intact. Of the more horrific things I saw was a bloody penguin skeleton; there was no meat attached at all save for the webbed feet, but the entire spine was a deep red. Oh, spare me.

On the brighter side, I am so, so glad I chose this time to visit Antarctica. They weren't kidding about January being prime time for seeing penguin chicks. And as penguin chicks go, the Chinstraps are hands down the cutest of chicks after the Emperors. Lacking some restraint, you could well end up kidnapping one as a souvenir.

After much running around and making our cameras happy, we bade farewell to dry land for a few days again and headed back to the Orlova... but not before someone literally stumbled over a slumbering seal. Good camouflage has its drawbacks sometimes. But I suppose that's what the blubber is for as well.

Fur seal being deliberately cute. Pat was right; they are such cheeky creatures.

This is precious simply because neither is smeared with guano.

Do these come in Christmas hampers?

The single Macaroni at this Chinstrap rookery looking like a lonely monarch, hailed by its "trumpeters"

Two for a nap

Kelp Gull Jr. tries its wings

A well-camouflaged Weddell seal blissfully napping away

I wonder what they're talking about?

Kelp Gull

Kelp Gull Jr.

This is why fur seals are endearing: they pose for you.

Deep in conversation again.

The Twilight Zone: Round 2

2009-01-24T23:15:00.001-05:00

Leaving Half Moon Island to prepare for our trip back to civilization had been a less traumatic experience than expected. Perhaps the gorgeous weather and stunning scenery had helped ease the pain, but I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I was leaving in peace, having gained the knowledge and understanding of Antarctica that I had come to seek.

Back onboard, seasick bags popped up ominously around the ship again and we all pulled out our survival tools of choice (read: seasick pills and ear patches). The forecast for the Drake crossing was not good: 36 knots and big swells. And to think the 10-12 knots we had on the way to Antarctica was bad. Due to unfavourable conditions in the Gerlache Strait, Captain Karavaev opted to take us through the English Channel instead.

We gathered in the Main Lounge for a briefing, but soon we hit open sea and the waves began to do their work. The ship pitched forward and rolled sideways, and the up/down motion in particular created the surreal sensation that one was being forced to go on the freefall ride over and over again at the amusement park. (Except in this case there was no screaming for fear of legitimately losing your dinner if you tried to so much as open your mouth.)

That night, trying to get some shut eye yielded some interesting results. The ship was rolling so heavily by now that, even lying flat on my back, my whole body would shift up and down a few inches every now and then.

This is one of those times you just wish life had a Fast Forward button.

Farewell, my dear

2009-01-23T22:25:00.002-05:00

You will be missed.

Leaving Antarctica doesn't happen in any obvious way. It is not that you see icebergs and snow one minute, and green earth the next. No; the Continent trickles away bit by bit. By the time you realize what is really going on it is far, far too late to catch one more glimpse of her ethereal beauty.

It must have happened in those moments when I was floating like an enervated ghost between the library and my cabin; I had been locked in battle with a terrible cough/sore throat/flu/seasickness. The general grogginess brought about by all the above had robbed me of any energy I had left after the exhilarating trip. I knew I should have tried to attend more wildlife lectures, spent more time watching for the last of the albatrosses, played one more game of chess with my friends. But to be honest all I could think of doing at the time was sleep. Whenever I wasn't sleeping, I was either performing involuntary ship ballet as the Orlova cut across another big wave or dozing off with an unread book in my lap.

And so it came to be that in a fog of general fatigue and denial, I let Antarctica slip quietly from the horizon.

Perhaps being in such a groggy state was for the best-- it dulled the pain of realizing what I was leaving behind, of knowing that I may not see Antarctica for a long, long time to come, if ever again.

Do I have any regrets? Sure I do. I regret missing Jamie's lecture on South Georgia, I regret the missed breakfasts and the loss of beautiful conversations with fellow travellers. I regret having foregone all social activity in the name of sleep. But I really shouldn't be complaining. After all, it had been the most fantastic journey that was every bit as remote and rejuvenating as I had hoped it to be. This was, truly, Earth's last frontier. Antarctica was a pristine world where even the tentacles of our technology could not reach. This, from beginning to end, had simply been a voiceless dialogue between us and Nature.

And as all things must come to an end, so did our Antarctica expedition. In the span of a few days, the world began to change before our very eyes. The days became shorter, the sunrises and sunsets more pronounced. Then, without warning, the Orlova simply ceased to pitch and roll: we had arrived back in the calm Beagle Channel.

Everyday, forever

2009-01-20T05:36:00.003-05:00

What is Antarctica to you?

When I set off for the South Pole, my daughter Magdalena could not yet talk. When I returned, she asked me lots of questions:
"What did you find down there?"
"Infinity."
"What's infinity like?"
"White, peaceful, still."
"So is that like Heaven? Did you look for Heaven in Antarctica?"
"No, I wasn't looking for anything. But I discovered white infinity there."

--R. Messner, Antarctic mountaineer

They tell you that Antarctica is gorgeous and awespiring, that it is stunning and beyond compare. Indeed, it is all that. What they don't tell you, however, is the aftermath. And it is a very private grief that each and every traveller to the Antarctic must face.

When my flight took off from Ushuaia, I craned my neck to keep my eyes on the Orlova until it turned from a ship into a mere speck of grey in the distance. Now that I am back home I can say that I am utterly gutted.

Surely someone had taken a spade to me and dug a huge hole when I wasn't looking? How else to explain for this raging emptiness within?

God, I miss Antarctica.

Perhaps the worst thing about this case of withdrawal symptoms is that it must be endured alone. Your fellow travellers -- and in essence the memories of a trip that was uniquely yours -- are now dispersed all over the world, never to appear collectively as one again.

And I miss it; I unequivocally miss it.

I miss the camaraderie, the collective awe and disbelief, miss the sun that blazed with such ferocity it was as if your eyeballs were being burnt into oblivion. I miss those mountains that were blanketed by wind-swept blue snow, so smooth in their gradients that the very hills began to resemble melting, buttery ice cream. I miss the innocence of a contented seal, a sea so dark it seemed like liquid coal, the silence that seemed to have a voice of its own.

I miss it all, and I think I know why: if a child had visited Antarctica, he/she may not return with the same burning desire to go back. Children, in their pure and delightful ways, would not realize what was missing from the rest of the world that Antarctica still possessed. Only one who has grown into the ways of society would find the near unbearable regret of having left such a place.

To carry such a burden and regret, however, is a privilege. It is the privilege of experiencing Nature in her rawest form, to have her touch your soul and have every fibre in your body resonate.

And now at 5:30am on a random day one and a half months since the trip, my blog is complete and I feel like I can adequately lay the ghost of Antarctica to rest. I had put off writing this last entry for the longest time, not knowing how to properly say goodbye to my Antarctica.

But in the end, this is all that I really want to say:

To my mother whom, when informed of some crazy notion of a solo Antarctic trip, had the grace to calmly say, "sounds good": you know your daughter well; thank you.
To my fellow dreamers and explorers onboard the MV Orlova: the trip was a dream morphed into reality because of you. For having the honour to experience Antarctica in such good company, I will be forever grateful.
To everyone around the world who randomly found this travel blog and have followed my journey to the end: I know the journal entries were loquacious, so I thank you for your patience; these writings would have been nothing without your audience.
Finally, to the future explorers of the great Antarctic: you have heard my story, its joys and miseries; now go and seek out your own Antarctica, for in whichever form she decides to reveal herself to you --

I promise she will be beautiful.