The Ace: Antarctica

Advancing to Antarctica
It took three days to get to Antarctica from South Georgia, with a stop in the South Orkney Islands. We saw Pintado nests off to the left of landing at small beach, then pink, pink, pink from the small Adelie penguins. There was a pediatric ward off to right where hungry chicks chased after mom at maddening speed, at least for penguinos. I spent some time drawing the Adelies, finding how difficult it is with a moving target. We spent the afternoon at sea watching huge icebergs, some very blue. Since wild life was the theme of this trip, Fin whales had the right to interrupt our afternoon lectures.

We left early from South Orkneys given a stormy weather forecast of 45+ knot winds. It was a good decision. The crossing was uneventful, no butterflies in the stomach on this passage. Now there was extra time for Antarctica, the real reason for the trip, though I’d become very enthralled with the Falklands and South Georgia. We were seeing more and more icebergs, bergie bits and growlers—very small chunks of ice. Now there were humpback whales in the scenery—fluking and broaching, maybe this is where the term used in sailing came from, or is it the other way around. We were in search of other whales—Minks, Blue, but they alluded us for the most part. We did see orcas, also known as killer whales, but they are not whales. They are in fact porpoises.

Wet landings. That’s what we’d heard about, and what we’d become used to on the northern part of our journey. No one thinks about this when getting out of a Zodiac in warm weather. In near freezing water, one does, especially when the winds and waves are working against you. Being agile helps get from Zodiac to shore quickly, minimizing the chance of getting water over knee high boots. We were trained to scoot to the front of the Zodiac and look back before swinging our legs over the side and working our way ashore. “On my own” was what we were supposed to say when preferring to get out of the Zodiac by ourselves, but this never came out of my mouth as I hopped to shore. Oops, my apologies to the land crew. Sometimes it was too rough to do the landings. After seeing one Zodiac being unloaded from the Polar Star and watching it pitch and surge before the crew heard the call to pick it back up, we knew the Zodiac drivers were calling off a landing for good reason. By now 45-knot winds were becoming commonplace. We missed seeing Heroina Island and Paulet Island because of rough seas.

Teeming Life in Antarctica
Antarctica. How can one really describe it? In some ways, it could have seemed like Minnesota in the Winter along Lake Superior—lots of white, waves crashing boulders along the waterfront, still sometimes, sometimes windy, but the the pink snow (from regurgitated krill), the reconnoitering of penguins, skuas surveying penguin and shag nests, elephant seals along the beach, an occasional leopard seals surfacing close to shore, and of course, icebergs, all mean that Minnesota is far, far away. Looking closely, one would quickly realize that the white was not merely old snow, but glacial rock, yes rock, with a tinge of blue, maybe more, depending upon the age and concentration of the ice. The bluer the ice, the old and denser it is, more like rock. That’s why it takes so long to melt.

Our introduction to Antarctica was Devil’s Island. Hmmm. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t land here. We arrived on a beautiful sunny almost windless morning. The temps were around 30 degrees, while we were getting reports that Minnesota had minus 30 degree temps, and minus 60 degree wind chill. We motored in Zodiacs around Devil Island for about five hours, getting great photos of Adelies and icebergs, despite numb toes. It was just too exciting of a day to go inside before it was necessary. Now we were more than anxious to get to the peninsula.

Later that afternoon we finally landed at Brown Bluff on the Antarctic Peninsula. Icebergs had to be pushed away from shore for our landing, then we had to climb around them to get beyond the beach. Here we saw crevice nesting birds—the Snow Petrels uphill, tucked away out of the wind. Below was the Adelie colony, messy as usual with the regurgitated krill, and noisy, with the chicks wanting more and more food as they were growing in size. Gentoos were surfing onto the icebergs along shore, sometimes making expert leaps, and sometimes sliding down the sides of the slippery icebergs back into the water several times before sticking their landing. Several penguins mistook the Zodiacs for the beach, landing in unknown territory—on or in a Zodiac, and probably wondering what was going on when they were then thrown back into the water.

We rerouted our trip to take in Paulet Island as it was a favorite of the crew. Though we’d seen Adelies before, this was the New York City for Adelie Penguins, though they shared some space with Rock Shags, Snow Petrels and a Crabeater Seal. One has to be careful not to confuse the sleeping Rock Shags with penguins. Their coloring is the same—black and white. For penguins this is their disguise when in the water from both above and below. I’m not sure how this disguise works with the Rock Shags. One of our leaders, Ted, usually offered a hike, so today we did a 4 hour hike up to the top of the hill in the snow, hoping it would dissipate so we could take in the view at the top, but sun never really cooperated until we made it all the way down. Oh well, we did get to see Minke Whales and Orcas back at the boat.

At Ciera Cove we cruised around in Zodiacs for five hours in the morning, experiencing brilliant icebergs at close range, and Minke and Humpback whales. Back on board the Polar Star, we had to stop for a pod of humpbacks fluking. They were feeding on a swarm of krill, while we were flashing our cameras at each and every fluke they offered. In the evening, we landed at Cuverville’s Gentoo colony where I finally took videos of the chick chases. We zodiaced afterwards and as we were looking at leopard seal, we saw an arched iceberg collapse, glad that the Zodiac that had just been beside it had moved. Little did we know how close they were on the opposite side. As if this wasn’t enough for an evening at sea, we then saw beautiful fluking of humpback whales before heading back to the Polar Star in the twilight of dusk, around 11 p.m.

Our next stop was Wiencke Island, where we saw a configuration of whale bones, just to make us feel humble in size compared to these giant water mammals, and small Gentoo chicks at yet another Gentoo colony. We then zodiaced to Port Lockroy to see the one and only museum and gift shop in Antarctica. Just outside the front door, nature was taking its course. A skua had managed to snag a Gentoo chick from its nest. Though a local from the store put it back alongside the nest, the mother didn’t seem to acknowledge it, so the skua nabbed it again. It was rather large, so the skua was having difficulty carrying it. With all its squawking, other penguins were now coming to the defense of the young chick, though as soon as the skua moved out of range, the adult penguins started to go about their own business, leaving the chick to fend for itself. It was only a matter of time before the skua won its battle.

We went out later that afternoon in cloudy, snowy conditions—just perfect for a photo workshop. We stayed by the shore, trying to figure out how to get the perfect background. Since these penguins don’t stay in one place long, this was a challenge. We did traipse around the slushy snow, having to cover up our footprints when our feet punctured the snow. This was to prevent the penguins from falling into the holes and not being able to climb out of them. I started walking like a penguin to fill in the holes others had left behind. It can make one feel seasick from the head moving so much from one side to the other.

Lemaire Channel was another day for the Zodiaks with the focus being icebergs and what they might feature artistically, and with wild life. We saw a leopard seal basking in the cool air and a Minke whale far off. We wet-landed at Neko Harbour, where I tried to draw an iceberg. Why I like to challenge myself so much with so little practice at drawing I have no idea, but try I will. After a while though, I packed it in and took a zodiac tour of icebergs and leopard seals.

Our last day, and the weather wasn’t cooperating, not with Beaufort Scale Force 8 winds. We planned for a very early landing on Deception Island but couldn’t land where we wanted to. Instead we went around to the inside of a caldera where a former British station had been demolished by the volcano. There was a steamy black sandy beach. Some have taken steam baths here, but that would have been a little chilly this cloudy, wet morning. I hiked instead to the eye of the needle then walked along the steaming black beach, talking with another passenger about where we would go next, now that we’d managed to step foot on all seven continents. Maybe in eruption from the volcano would have given us some answers, but it remained silent.

Our lasting landing. Chinstrap and Gentoo penguins, elephant seals, Antarctic terns and skua. So much life in this barren land. It was as if all the “locals” purposely gathered together to say goodbye, a farewell salute to send us back to our respective homes. The last of the sweepers were telling us it was time to go. Yes, as on most other landings, the last and final Zodiac for passengers on this voyage was waiting to take us back to the Polar Star for the cruise through the Beagle Channel and Ushuaia. Farewell Antarctica.

On to South Georgia

Icebergs—massive rocks of white as big as our boat, tinged with blue and brown, and that’s only the 10 – 15% of the berg that we can see. I’m in the Southern Ocean where it’s bluish-grey as far as one can see, with a little white foam spewing from the pleasantly rolling seas. Occasionally, Gentoo and King Penguins as well as Fur Seals pop up. Wandering Albatross, Blackbrowed Albatross, Antarctic Prions, Giant Petrels, and Subantarctic (Brown) Skuas span the skies and dive into sea. In the distance is Wilson Island, off the starboard side at 2 o’clock. It’s our first sighting of South Georgia. We’re seeing snowed covered mountains, mountains that were actually part of the Andes mountain range centuries ago. That’s when Antarctica and South America used to be part of the same continent. Millions of years ago, Gondwana land was comprised of Antarctica, South American, Australia, Asia and India.

The Southern Ocean from the Falkland Islands to South Georgia has been calm, unlike our first crossing from Ushuaia, Argentina eastward to the Falkland Islands almost a week ago. On that passage, I choose to get reacquainted with the sea using only my trusty grey bands, the bands the folks at Cheeseman’s Ecology Safaris nixed from the packing list in lieu of high tech pulsated wristbands, or other remedies for seasickness which most other passengers were using. Maybe having recently been on the Pelegian in Sulawesi Indonesia reminded my body what it takes to be at sea so I didn’t get sick. Winds were getting up there on the Beaufort Scale—to number eight.

Ushuaia & The Falkland Islands

29 December 2008, the day I boarded the Polar Star in Ushuaia at the southern tip of the South American continent, bound for Antarctica. After stopping briefly in Buenos Aires, we took a day tour of Tierra del Fuego National Park, where we were introduced to some South American wildlife and some of our soon-to-be shipmates. We anxiously returned to Ushuaia to board the Polar Star. Our little ship, roomy enough for about 100 passengers and 40 or so crew, looked small compared to the two cruise ships behind her. Our mission was different: to spend the maximum time on land with penguins, albatross seals and maybe even break some ice with our reinforced icebreaker hull. There was some anxiety in seeing how small the Polar Star looked, knowing the seas are prone to be rough down here, but the smaller number of passengers is key to having the ability to spend more time on land. Many landings are limited to 100 or fewer visitors.

Our first day at sea on our way to the Falkland Islands was spent listening to lectures by the various “-ists” as I call them—the naturalist, the geologist, the botanist, the ornithologist, the biologist and even an artist. Then there’s the photographer, the photo- computer wizard, and the historian. We were being seeped in information about the area we were to encounter over the next four weeks and the best way to capture it on camera. It was sometimes difficult to hear the presentations as the rows of chairs would slide from one side to another, the lecturers hanging on to the podium as the boat rocked to and fro. Yet the information was so rich we kept at it, plus we wanted to be able to identify all the new species of birds (yes, penguins are birds), seals and whales we were going to observe in their pristine, natural habitat. Only 30,000 or so tourists visit the Antarctic Peninsula annually, and the code of ethics is quite high, even as far as not being able to bring snacks ashore for our hikes, scrubbing our boots after every landing, and vacuuming our clothes before entering South Georgia (signing a pledge we’ve done so).

The Falkland Islands

The first of our early wakeup calls found us at an overcast, misty New Island in the Falkland Islands, some 800 miles east of Ushuaia. There we saw our first colony of Rockhopper Penguins, funny little birds no more than ten pounds that nest in and around tussock grass and hop on rocks (which other penguins also do) to get to and from the sea. These are distinctive penguins that have thick yellow eyebrow and chin feathers. It’s amazing how far up they climb/hop up rocks/cliff from the sea to reach their home, making me think of some of the climbs around the north shore of Lake Superior. After lunch ashore, we weaved our way for 4.5 miles through waving fields of grasses, seeing burrows of the much bigger Megallanic penguins (up to 17 pounds), the only penguins that have stripes—a few across their chest, and one across their back. It was like seeing prairie dogs peeking out from the holes to see the passersby. What’s so nice here is that the wildlife are not afraid of humans, but when we reached the beach to watch the Megallanic Penguins, we did see fear. A leopard seal was lurking in the shallow waters, waiting to stalk out a penguin for dinner. Penguins swim faster than leopard seals, so the seals are not a threat to them in the water, but they are a threat on land. The penguins move in mass on land farther up the beach. Harm comes to the one that doesn’t move with the crowd. A second’s delay is all it takes. While both are awkward on shore, leopard seals do move faster than penguins.

Devil’s Nose at Westpoint the next day was to be our only dry landing of the trip, dry as far as dry feet, but our rain gear protected us from the mist. We hiked several kilometers to the other side of the island to observe another colony of Rockhoppers playing along a small stream. The mist let up enough for us to sit along the tussock grasses to draw, hoping the Rockhoppers would stay still long enough to record them in a rough pencil sketch, but that didn’t seem to be their desire. We hitched a ride back to the landing with one of the locals (hired to do this) where we had tea in a lovely garden before getting back to the boat. After lunch we visited Carcass Island to see Gentoo and Rockhopper penguin colonies, learning how gentle the Gentoos were, their curiosity getting the best of them, coming up to you, then running away. The Rockhoppers weren’t that inquisitive. I hiked to the other side to see a second colony of Gentoos on a vast flat beach. I was doing this solo, having lingered with the first colony of penguins, so was the only human on this side of the island. Taking a picture of a low flying Johnny Rook, I realized he wanted to dive-bomb me. After following me for a while, he must have realized I was no threat. It was odd behavior because I hadn’t come near a nest to he might have been protecting. Having seen a movie about the Johnny Rooks the previous night, I knew they could do harm if provoked, so was glad to be left alone.

Steeple Jason was spectacular. It’s a small Island with several high hills to hike around—up one side and down the other, with the largest colony of nesting Brownbrowed Albatross. These are among the largest Albatrosses, having a wingspan of up to eight feet. They build their two foot high pedestal nests of mud with a few pieces of grass in the center. While the Johnny Rooks had become my least favorite bird, the Blackbrowed Albatross quickly became my favorite. The mothers are exceptionally caring and gentle with their recently hatched chicks, caressing them with their finely chiseled, magnificent orange beaks. My concentration was so focused on the Brownbrowed Albatross that it was quite a while before I realized Rockhopper Penguins were pitter-pattering between the nests. We humans had to tunnel our way through the dense sea of tussock grasses that surrounded the albatross colony, much like one would tunnel his way through a corn maze at Halloween. We spent hours watching these huge yet elegant white and black birds, with their swan-like necks bending so that their beautifully curved orange beaks could ever so tenderly caress their young.