In the last two days I developed the typical 'explorer' tan, after being muffled up to the eyeballs in six layer of upper clothing, a scarf, two woollen beanies, 2 pairs of gloves, and two pairs of pants (one of arctic fleece) and thick socks and boots: the nose and upper cheeks are almost black, and the rest of the face remains icy white.
Although being summer, and having reasonably balmy weather, for Antarctica that is, things are still very very cold when exposed to the biting winds, sometimes increasing to 40-60 knots, when the katabatic effect of mountain funnelling kicks in and cools down the blast coming from the ice cap and glaciers. But, downwind - glorious in almost any weather.
The second day presented us with less sunshine, but clear vistas, lots of wildlife and breathtaking scenery. Hovering in front of research stations, passing a few other ships and a few intrepid sail boats, dodging icebergs cluttering passages, gulping hot consommee or hot chocolate on the outside decks did not leave room for any temptation to return inside to a stateroom and missing this experience.
There were, however, a few jaded souls aboard, who stuck their noses out into the bracing air, shuddered, muttered something like 'are you seeing anything yet' and returned promptly to their bingo, jewelery unveiling or card games somewhere in the heated - but view-less - interior of the ship. To each his own. It is hard to understand, that anyone can remain unmoved or unchanged (for life sometime) by an experience so otherwordly, as Antarctica proves to turn out for most, who have the rare privilege to see and feel and hear it.
The third day here, 2. Feb. 2010 descended on us with something more of a typical Antarctic summer day (after all it is the equivalent of 2. August in the norhtern hemisphere).
The wind had risen to gale force, seas had mounted up into streaked swells, visibility was almost zero, and iceberg alley loomed ahead half hidden in the black, grey and white surroundings. View: Zilch!
Almost 6 a.m., the ship hovered at a relatively safe distance from the entrance to Antarctic Sound, our planned passage to visit Erebus and Terror Gulf. Between Iceberg Alley (the bergs all seem to congregate in the narrow exit from the icy expanse of the Weddel Sea) and the pummeling winds, there was no room to maneuvre for the ship. Even if we should snake and wiggle our way into the Sound, there was hardly any way to turn or wiggle back out again. Being the Shackleton kind of explorers (keep safe and get out) instead of the Scott explorers (don't get out) the Captain and Ice Pilot decided not to put all of us into peril, and turned the ship northwards, heading to Kind George Island, part of the Southern Shetland Island Archipelago. Conditions were such, that ship, passengers and crew could have been ice trapped for an unpredictable length of time.
We steamed across to King George Island, no longer through iceberg alley, but through a heaving sea covered with bergs, bergy bits and growlers, emerging and disappearing with the rise and fall of the mountainous swells. And then a real Antarctic blizzard made things even more exciting, visibility down to a third of a mile, ship speed reduced to almost stand still, to avoid hitting any of these uncharted moving, heaving, ferocious obstacles out there. They were hard to spot in a sea covered with white caps the size of houses, and spume colouring the surface of the water the hue of icefloes and bergy bits.
The Indonesion and Philipino crew came out in force on the aft swimming pool deck, the rest of us followed 'orders' and stayed off the walk around deck (except for a couple of secret spots, where one actually could open a door against the pressure of the storm outside). The crew, some of which never had experienced snow in their life, came out more or less warmly dressed, some with towels around their heads, one with a surgical mask over his nose, some with cook's uniforms, some in warm gear inherited from guests. All were playing like kids, making snow eagles, photographing, having a snowball fight, building a mini snowman beside the outside bar (with marashino cherries for bloodshot eyes, a pink scarf, a bottle of warming Burbon on the side, and a green twig in his 'hands'), catching snowflakes with open mouth...fun.
I saw my first Antarctic 'bum-crack', when one guest , dressed down for the occasion, decided to go for a dip in the aft open air pool,which steamed in the cold. He padded around on bare feet, armed with a newspaper, a bottle of whisky and a couple of stuffed penguins, and headed for a swim.
We finally crept across the strait between Antarctic Peninsular and King George Island, only to find that conditions there were just as bad. The local researchers in Esperanza station (Contacted by the bridge of Amsterdam) had battened down the hatches as well, and told our officers that conditions in Admiralty Bay on King George Island were atrocious.
Now to Plan D....
We headed out again to set course for Elephant Island, where Shackleton was stuck with his crew for a very long time, after his ship sank. He managed to save all his crew, after he and six of his men set out in a small boat from Elephant Island across the Southern Ocean to South Georgia, a distance of about 1500 gruelling miles to get outside help. He indeed got help and returned to pick his remaining crew of Elephant Island - not exactly a vacation spot - without loss of a single man.
Around 18:00 hours we arrived. The blizzard had stopped, and visibility had lengthened to a couple of miles. We approached and circled the southern and eastern part of the island, marvelled at the seeming impossibility of landing on those inhospitable shores, never mind surviving an Antarctic winter on not much more but penguin meat. The island is quite large and mostly covered by glacial ice. The little shore that is not covered in ice consists either of black rocky outcrops or black steep mountains and cliffs - not much to make camp.
Then we headed north into the falling night, for the most part out of ice berg zone. We encountered one humdinger of a berg, though, big as a city block. Curiously, it carried a whole bunch of penguins halfway up its steep icy sides. How the heck they got up there is anybody's guess. Penguins don't fly, at least not in air. They do fly - just in a thicker medium...water is their equivalent of air, and they fly through it with grace and speed, jumping out like a pod of dolphins ever so often.
These little guys on the huge iceberg gave no explantion - they may still be there on the frozen behemoth.
We are off to the Falklands, which at last report are bracing for winds up to 80 knots, and waves around 25 feet.
It does not look good for our scheduled stop, might have to go to Plan B there as well. Warnings are already out, to store everything laying around in any staterooms, no deadly flying missiles wanted.
