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The ship's intercom crackles into life. "Well, folks, we've got orcas feeding off the bow." Coffee, bacon and eggs are abandoned as we grab cameras and binoculars and scramble upstairs to the bridge. Jane, our naturalist, has spotted fins of several orcas (killer whales) cruising among the ice floes of Paradise Bay. "Orcas hunt as a team," she explains. "One tips the icefloe to pitch the unlucky seal or penguin into its mate's waiting jaws." Enthralled, we watch the black-and-white shapes weaving among the ice.
Steaming south, we watch for albatrosses from the bridge and mingle with our travelling companions. Most are Australian, many are retired and several are well into their seventies. During the crossing, singles who have opted to share become acquainted with their cabinmates. Antarctica offers something for everyone some travellers are keen photographers or artists, others plan to kayak, hike or climb mountains, and many are happy to sit quietly, absorbing the aura of this raw and humbling wilderness.
By the time we reach the highest, driest, coldest and windiest continent, on board lectures have given us an overview of Antarctic geography, history and the diverse habits of penguins, sea birds, seals and whales. Though only 2 per cent of Antarctica is exposed rock, free of ice, much of this territory is in the Peninsula area where a wildlife breeding frenzy occurs during the short Antarctic summer. Donning gumboots, waterproofs and buoyancy vests, we go ashore by inflatable zodiac at Aitcho Island in the South Shetlands, where Chinstrap and Gentoo penguins nest among vivid green moss beds. Elephant seals snort and grunt in muddy wallows as Weddell seals blink lazily at visitors, grin benignly and snooze off again. Next day, we visit Esperanza, an Argentinean base. Antarctica is generally the domain of scientists studying climate change and polar ecosystems, but families are posted here at Esperanza to support Argentina's claims to Antarctic territory. Local schoolteacher Alfredo, whose commentary provides insights into life in this isolated community, gives us a tour here. Beside Esperanza is a bustling Adelie penguin rookery. Leopard seals are in food heaven as penguins venture into the water for fish and krill. As we explore by zodiac, a massive head rises from the water beside us, its powerful jaw curved in a sly smile. Eventually the fierce predator catches a penguin and tosses and thrashes it about. It disappears, then surges from the water again with the bloody penguin between its teeth. Fascinated, we are nevertheless relieved when it eventually swims off. At Bailey Head on Deception Island, a penguin superhighway leads to a natural amphitheatre that is home to tens of thousands of Chinstraps. Some bicker and steal stones from each other's nests; others regurgitate fishy puree for tiny chicks nestling under warm bellies. The pungent odour is overpowering. We have been told that we must remain at least 5 to 10 metres from wildlife, but clearly no one has told these inquisitive penguins the rules. Sailing through Neptune's Bellows, we enter Deception Island's flooded caldera. We pass an abandoned Norwegian whaling station at Whalers' Bay, and the remains of a British Otter aircraft rusting among ash and mud from volcanic eruptions dating back to the 1960s. In Telefun Bay we stroll across a volcanic moonscape. Icecliffs and distant peaks glisten against a piercing blue sky as red and yellow kayaks glide over the aquamarine water below. Antarctic waters can be surprisingly calm. Neko Harbour is a photographers' paradise as we float on glassy waters among sculptured icebergs, keeping our eyes peeled for Leopard and Crabeater seals. At other times, however, the inclement conditions conjure up images of the privations endured by early Antarctic explorers. When remnant winter fast-ice bars the ship's passage through the Lemaire Channel, we battle a buffeting blizzard to stagger over frozen sea towards some landmark or other. But our enthusiasm wanes as rumours of warm gluhwein brewing in the bar spread, and budding polar explorers soon abandon ambition to the gale, stumbling back to our cosy cocoon aboard the Polar Pioneer. Near the historic British research station at Port Lockroy, Kapitan Kostusev, who once captained massive Russian icebreakers, moors the Polar Pioneer against more fast-ice. Taking to kayaks, we glide among floes in nearby Peltier Channel. Only the quacking penguins bobbing like corks around us, the rumbling icecliffs and the occasional avalanche high in the mountains, disturb the silence. Later, we mail postcards at the local post office, arguably the most isolated on the planet. Over dinner on board ship, Port Lockroy postmasters Dave, Ken and Jo describe research into tourist-penguin interactions, though weather variations may affect breeding more than human disturbance. This year the snow is unusually deep and penguins struggle to find bare ground on which to build their stony nests. Some adaptable individuals, oblivious to regular tourist visits, opt to raise their families on the post office roof instead. The intercom interrupts the banter of our newfound friends. "The cloud's lifted and it's a beautiful evening. Jabet Peak's in front of the ship it's 546m high. If the climbers get their gear together, we'll head out after dinner." It's expedition leader, Greg Mortimer, and he radiates enthusiasm. As you'd expect, considering that among Greg's mountaineering achievements is the first Australian ascent of Everest. As the climbers gear up, other travellers don snowshoes to commune with penguins and watch the sunset. Later, we watch the climbers' steady procession up the Peak under a starry twilight. Around midnight, six dots carefully traverse the final steep ridge to attain the summit. Revived by bowls of hot chilli, they later celebrate their climbing achievements in the bar throughout the night. Later, sailing past Livingstone Island, the bridge is crowded as we watch glaciated peaks pierce a sapphire sky. Our Antarctic experience is drawing to an end. Our final landing at Half Moon Island is home to Elephant, Weddell and fur seals, an ideal spot to find solitude and reflect on our Antarctic experiences. We're sad to clamber aboard Polar Pioneer for the last time. Greg's voice comes over the intercom. "Hello, folks, it's stormy out there make sure your cabins are well secured. We'll roll a bit once we leave the shelter of Antarctica." Quickly, we peel off our waterproofs and stow our gear. This time the "roughest ocean in the world" may well live up to its name. |
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Fancy
frolicking with seals, penguins or killer whales? Kayaking among
the icefloes? Perhaps climbing a frozen peak at midnight? Elaine
Prior explores the coldest continent on earth.
Our
12-day Antarctic Peninsula voyage takes place aboard the ice-strengthened
Russian boat, Polar Pioneer, which carries 54 passengers. In early
December, 2003, we sail from Ushuaia in southern Argentina, once
known as the "uttermost end of the earth". With the help
of a good wind and kind seas, we cross the notorious Drake Passage
in under two days; fortunately the so-called "roughest ocean
in the world" doesn't live up to its name this time.
Adventures
aren't the prerogative of youth: some kayakers are in their fifties
or sixties. All that's required is some paddling experience and
a good level of fitness. Al, our guide, remarks, "Last year,
70-year-old Ruth was one of our stronger polar paddlers she paddles
regularly at home in New Zealand." Age is no barrier to climbing
either, though once again fitness is important.