Cold as Ice...Antarctica - the Final Part


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January 3rd 2011
Published: January 3rd 2011
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From Vanilla Ice to Pink Floyd and now finishing up with Foreigner. If you have no clue what im talking about then i shall leave it for you to work out...!

So my third and final part of my Antarctic voyage starts here. I feel a bit like Darwin may have felt when he started to write the end of Voyage of the Beagle. So many wondrous times....i hope you have enjoyed so far and this last instalment leaves you wanting to book yourself a trip immediately

(and with Aurora http://www.auroraexpeditions.com.au/ !). Go on.....life is short and you never know when you’re going get hit by a bus. On that prosaic thought...if you cant face another update from me and simply want to look at photos, here are the final batch:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=317837&id=691995235&l=2021e30ce3

I last left you having staggered to my cabin after our BBQ and Glühwein fiesta….well as you can imagine did my head hurt the next morning…ouch. The Glühwein was delicious and moreish and of course used the cheapest wine in the whole of Tierra del Fuego. In fact Gray showed me the offending boxes the following day. Note the word boxes not bottles. This wine wasn’t even deigned worthy to be put inside glass!

Suffice to say I nearly passed on the morning landing as I felt as rough as the proverbial penguin’s arse but I kicked myself into touch, got layered up and armed with my hot water bottle explored the glaciers of Cierva Cove.

Under grey skies and snow we paused back on board the Polar Pioneer for 14 utterly mad individuals to do an Antarctic Polar Plunge. Donning swimwear, each took it in turns to dive, jump or gingerly step into waters recorded at 0.4 degrees. Believe it or not, I was seriously contemplating doing this yesterday when the skies were blue and the sun shining and I wasn’t experiencing the hangover from the South Pole. Muchos respect to those that officially were inaugurated into SOPP (Society of Polar Plungers)…from age 21 to 67 years old, those gutsy Expeditioners took my breath away (and Im sure their own as well!).

The weather continued to deteriorate and though the Captain had tried to anchor in Mikkelson Harbour, the wind had picked up to 30 knots and horizontal falling snow was covering the boat and settling on the decks causing potential lethal conditions. The afternoon landing was abandoned but with a comfy bunk to snooze the hangover away in and a screening of Happy Feet for those who weren’t as wrecked as others, none were hugely disappointed.

Christmas Eve – An early start today with a 615am wake up call from Judd singing Silent Night through the PA system. Lets just say, as an Expedition Leader this guy has talent…as a chorister…..some practice is needed!

We are celebrating Xmas a day early as we enter the mighty Drake Passage later tonight and there is not one person on board who wishes to toast Saint Nick whilst trying to traverse one of the roughest sea crossings in the world. If you think I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect then feel free to check out any of the evidence on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=drake+passage&aq=f ).

After a fairly rough evening crossing of the Bransfield Strait, to enter the sheltered and calm waters of Port Foster at Deception island was a relief on the stomach. The centre of the Island is a caldera, formed by a gigantic volcanic eruption and later flooded. This has created a 5 mile long, 3 mile wide basin-like harbour where we anchored and went ashore by Zodiac. The low cloud cover swirled around the mountains, blowing across a vista more reminiscent of the surface of Mars or some post-apocalyptic Mad Max hell.

Port Foster was a huge whaling and seal-hunting station for the first 30 years of the 20th century and evidence of its horrific past still remains. Abandoned and ruined timber buildings with collapsed roofs dot the harbour. Huge red rusty iron oxidised towers which were used to store the extracted whale oil line up at right angles to the shore reminiscent of something out of Auschwitz. Behind these lies a graveyard for whalers who lost their lives at sea. Elsewhere, unidentifiable chunks of twisted metal and wood lie embedded in the black volcanic sands and a derelict rusty corroded whaling dock sinks into the beach. The remains of wooden whaling boats, rotting as green and yellow lichens grow over the damp hulls rest at the shore. All around the wind blew and the fog created a desolate eerie atmosphere.

We all entered one of the cavernous whaling tanks to sing Christmas Carols, making use of the outstanding acoustics but there was something incongruous about such joviality in such a somber place. I crept away to soak the ambiance up alone…the singing gradually dying out as the breeze carried the sounds away. With 2 hours to explore this stark and brutal caldera, everyone appeared quite taken and moved by the reality of this historical place and we all dispersed into the grey miasma.

It was a most apt final landing – a place to make you reflect on the vileness of humanity. Having witnessed such beauty in nature in the past week, Deception Island was a place to contemplate the arrogance and mercenary humans who hunted and killed whales to the point of almost extinction. The insatiable, avaricious people who systematically rounded up hundreds and thousands of seals and penguins and boiled them down for their oil.

Oil….. a dirty word the world over.

Here in Port Foster, I reflected on the splendour of the past few days. To do so in such a sordid, ugly place with its despicable history was particularly poignant. The wind drove the cloud lower so it cloaked the whale bones scattered on the shoreline and engulfed the tiny figures of individuals who had climbed up to Neptune’s Window, a gaping chunk in the side of the caldera looking out to the turbulent ocean on one side and the bay on the other.

A solemn mood as we shuttled our way back to our home afloat and our Xmas celebrations. The dining room was now bedecked with tinsel and we all tucked into an awesome lunch. Gray and Dave, the chefs onboard have repeatedly served delicious dishes for every meal. Today was traditionally turkey and all the trimmings but soft succulent turkey with an awesome stuffing and mini sausages wrapped in smoked bacon. This was preceded by salmon roulade and finished with lemon tart. Bubbles, wine and even a visit from Father Christmas to dole out the Secret Santa we had all contributed too. Poor Judd…. Over and beyond the call of expedition leader duty. Silly games followed in the bar afterwards with Terry continuing to provide cocktails to those with strong stomachs as we started to enter rough water. Gradually people peeled off to retreat to their cabins for a siesta or just hang on for dear life as the Drake Passage made us repentant.

I like to think I wasn’t unique, as many vanished from sight as soon as the great Southern Ocean made her presence known. Dosed up to the eyeballs on “fuerte” Sturgeron (that’s 75mg a pop and like horse tranquilizer), I took a hasty retreat to my cabin and disappeared for about 2 days appearing only to indulge in Grey & Dave’s delicious Pasta with Smoked Salmon and Asparagus on the 25th itself.

Apart from a few seabirds accompanying us as we rolled our way, undulating like a caterpillar across the Drake there is very little to see. Some intrepid souls found their way down to Cinema 1 to watch Ice Age 2 (I slept). Some enthusiastic souls found their way to the lecture room to listen to Keith discuss seabird mortality (I slept). Some inquisitive souls watched the Around Cape Horn documentary (I slept). You’re getting the pattern….

Every so often a pallid, queasy looking passenger would emerge from their cabin grimacing and stagger down the corridors clutching the well-placed grab rails (bit like an old people’s home!), swaying and groaning.

However, despite the riotous waters in the 2 days sandwiched on either side of the main body of the trip, I would fare the worst seas in the world again to experience more of the White Continent. My words and photos can only attempt to capture this life changing time. As I sit with a glass of whiskey cooling with a huge chunk of glacial ice, i cannot but wax lyrical.

Everything about the experience was perfectly organised and presented.....

The initial meetings with the Expedition staff who remain enthusiastic and passionate (as well as knowledgeable and committed) though they do trips back to back....
The exquisite food from the kitchen...and even the macrobiotic, gluten free, lactose intolerant vegans were catered for....
The delightful daily Penguin Posts that summarised our adventures.......

But it was the little things as well, touches which add to the overall experience...

Sick bags laid out lining the corridors in case of emergencies when crossing bumpy bits...
Huge bowls of fresh fruit available in the dining room at all times as well as tea, coffee and Oreo’s (!)...
Beautiful photos from past voyages adorning the walls of the ship...
A fantastically well stocked library...

And the little extra that got me every day was the daily quote on the noticeboard.....

The one that i take away with me is this

“...A first walk in any new country is one of the things which make life on this planet worth being grateful for...”
- Charles William Beebe

Disembarking back in Ushuaia, farewells and hugs all around...between passengers and staff. I’m sure the staff all heaved a collective sigh of relief as we finally departed. They had approx 3 hours of time to themselves before psyching up for the next voyage. The Aurora New Year Trip left later that day so little rest or respite was possible.

I cannot recommend and enthuse about Aurora enough. I now have my eye on the Arctic (!!).

This has been an experience beyond my wildest imagination. So, now I finish my Antarctic blog with my entry for the Boat Log.....a book we were all encouraged to contribute to....through stories, poems, photos, anecdotes, etc. I think this will resonate with my fellow passengers who were lucky enough to be in Antarctica with me.

The cacophony of a colony
The crack of a splintering berg
So many layers, you feel like an onion waiting to be peeled as the zodiac skims the pancake ice
Brash ice clinking underneath the hull
Pink wind whipped faces
Smiles the size of a watermelon slice
Unruly corkscrew curls
The snort of a minke
Sploshing penguins in the shallows
Huffing humpbacks in the distance
Oreo’s
The undulating rock of the boat
Nonslip surfaces – everywhere
Any condiment a discerning traveller could need
The repeated banging of a cupboard door not shut as you sleep
The acrid smell of rookery guano blowing on the Antarctic winds
Swivelling dining chairs bolted to the floor
Scrubbing gumboots
A daily Penguin Post from the scribe of Maggie
Tag off, Tag on she shouts
The curtains on your bunk sliding shut in the swell
Enigma (or Russian Rave) playing on the bridge
The Captain’s slippers
Dr John’s and Keith’s glacial blue eyes
Icy toes and noses
A firm Russian handshake
Glacial ice in your peaty whiskey
The dulcit tones of Judd waking you up and bidding you goodnight
Dreams…such dreams that feed your soul at night.

What memories!
What a trip!
I am privileged to have been on an adventure of a lifetime with a fabulous group of Expeditioners.
This majestic place has intoxicated me.
I am humbled by its beauty, its life, its grandeur and its aloofness

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