Date of Entry: February 11th 2016
Date of Writing: March 17th 2016, Yagan House Hostel, Puerto Natales, Chile
So we’re in Antarctica, or technically the South Shetland islands, and as you’ll recall our day of arrival featured whales, beautiful blue skies and impossible to imagine icebergs. It was a perfect day. Today… Today is not that… and yet it kind of is. In fact, Looking back today’s adventure really does seem like the perfect first landing.
We wake up around 7 am and enjoy a slow breakfast as one by one we join the group around the breakfast table. It’s a tight fit for all nine of us to sit at once but considering the size of the boat, it’s downright impressive such a thing is even possible. When Darrel first bought the boat it was set up with sleeping space for one, a giant chart table and not much else, now it’s a reasonably comfortable, if slightly cramped, home for 9 people for month long voyages.
As the coffee and tea wakes most of us up a gentle buzz of excitement fills the cabin as Darrel tells us what he has planned for the day. He’ll be staying aboard the ship doing lots of maintenance work, while Josh leads us on a coastal walk along the caldera towards an Argentinean base some 3 hours away. There Darrel will pick us up and we’ll see what the afternoon brings.
A light snow is falling gently and small wind gusts make it swirl in delightful ways as we climb aboard the zodiac in two groups and head to shore all very eager to take our first steps on land in this isolated island just north of the Antarctic peninsula.
Many people do not know this but Antarctica has the highest average elevation of any continent so it seems only fitting that as Darrel drops us off and we take our first steps on the strange black earth of deception Island our path takes us straight up a decent size hill away from the beautiful green waves of the Ocean.
Looking back down the hill at our lonely yacht anchored in Telephone bay is a special sight but we continue on and soon enough Josh leads us back down to the coastal beached, walking along the narrow strip of black sand. People aren’t moving particularly quickly though I can hardly blame them, a mix of decently cold weather for those not experienced in that, being sick for the past 4 days, and just a general sense of awe at where we are is likely responsible. Tash and I are up ahead and chat as we walk through the unforgiving but beautiful landscapes. It’s the weird thing, despite all of us crossing the drake together, conversations were somewhat brief since no one felt much like talking for hours in the open seas, so really, we know very little about each other, though of course that changes for all of us over the next three weeks.
A few fur seals dot the beach as we walk and we give them a wide berth as they can be quite aggressive on land, though thankfully we’re not in mating season, so while they sometimes growl at us, there’s no real threat as long as we respect their space.
The snow and wind both start to pick up slowly as we come to some impassible cliffs blocking the beach and have to head back up some steep black sand hills, the white snow proving a strong contrast to the dark earth. The winds are gusting now and I’m again glad I bought a buff in Ushuaia. Antarctica in the summer isn’t that cold, but it’s the windiest continent and that wind can make things feel much colder than they actually are.
The climb is a lung burning one if, like me, you’re not in the best shape as we head diagonally up the huge hills, stepping carefully in the growing amount of snow. When it gets to coming down things get a little bit more adventurous as we slide and crab walk down the steep and slippery inclines trying to get back to the beach. Everyone makes it okay but there are some definite struggles for those not accustomed to dealing with snow and ice.
Back on the beach the walking is easier though the winds and snow both continue to grow stronger. But as we walk along past intriguing walls of ice and dark earth beside us, the waves start getting a little bigger to our left, and the weather continues to worsen. We pass a few Skua’s on the beach but have not seen any of the penguins that were dotting the shoreline the night we arrived. Still I feel sure they’ll be penguins soon enough, I mean I’m in Antarctica.
My instinct is right as we round a point and come to a huge stretch of beach covered in strange red seaweed. The mix of red seaweed, black earth, white snow, and green water feels like it belongs in a fantasy novel and I’m having to hold back a gleeful manic laughter at the strange and rugged beauty of this place. I’m in awe a feeling which drives my travels.
Then, as we climb a little hill to avoid more fur seals we get our first glimpse of penguins up close, as three gentoos lurk in an alcove, perhaps seeking some shelter from the driving wind. Behind them on the beach fur seals spar and do battle as the waves keep rolling in and the snow keeps falling. I have to be careful to keep my camera dry under my raincoat, but the snow adds something to this whole scene and I’m glad when more and more of it keeps falling.
The entire scene is rugged and rough perfection and serves as an ideal opening scene of our journeys on land this far south. The penguins eventually seem to give up on shelter from the storm and head out to a ledge looking down at the aggressive seals and considering their next move. We eventually carry on, as we’re not sure how far we have to go before making it to the Argentinean base. Still I snap lots more photos of the beautiful animals before putting my camera under my coat and hurrying to catch the group. Already I’m thankful for the freedom we have in such a small group, not to mention the unscripted nature of this adventure. Small boats like the Spirit of Sydney are certainly the best way to visit if you can afford the trip and handle your share of the work.
As we continue along this magnificent stretch of beach we pass rugged rough hewn black mountains crested in snow to our right, fur seals everywhere, some back in the valley between mountains, and then come to group of several varieties of Albatross sitting on the water riding the waves. I’m not sure if it’s our arrival or the worsening weather that gets them up in to the air, but watching these birds take off is fun, webbed feet splashing against the water as they spread their huge wings.
We also come to a small vent on the beach where hot sulphurous steam rises. Deception island is where a lot of people cheat and take their polar plunge on a different beach with lots of these vents. I’m told it doesn’t quite render the water warm, just a bit less cold. Luckily there’s no cheaters allowed on board the Spirit of Sydney.
We continue along the beach into the driving wind, Tash and I ahead of the rest as the base comes into view through the white flecks marring our vision. Two lakes stretch inland from the ocean and we forge ahead to see if there’s a bridge over the perhaps 10 meter wide opening. Darrel’s heard rumours but wasn’t sure and alas we find no bridge and the water is too deep to cross. An Argentinean man notices us looking and comes out to kindly tell us we need to walk around the lakes to the base so Tash and I double back, tell the others and start around the lakes. As we walk notice tons of krill lying on the ground, and examine these tiny shrimp like creatures closely. They are a key food for both whales and penguins and it’s amazing how small something can be to sustain such massive life forms. Antarctic waters are home to countless species of whales including humpbacks, orcas, and even the great Blue well, the largest creature on this planet.
My scariest moment of the day comes just after spotting a beautiful baby bird I think was a skua. It scrambles away as I redirect my path to avoid it but even after giving it a wide berth and passing it I find both it’s parents in the air at head level just a few feet behind me squawking and making a move for my face. I take off running much to the amusement of the others close enough to witness the event.
Thanks to my cheetah like speed though I escape unscathed and we reach the base where we are warmly greeted by the Argentine’s invited into their living room and told to make ourselves comfortable.
Inside the base we find roaring wood stove fire, a big flatscreen tv and lots of friendly Argentine’s who take time out of their duties, which vary widely but include seismological studies and meteorological ones too, to welcome us.
We take off some layers to try to keep their furniture clean and that’s when my leg is pointed out to me. I don’t think I’ve been down to my shorts since leaving Ushuaia and apparently my boots have been cutting off a lot of circulation. That plus a long walk has left my calf area a mottled and swollen mess. I’m worried but tell everyone it’ll be okay and eagerly anticipate getting my compression stocking on to find out if I’m right or not. A blood clot can be a frustrating thing to overcome, and yet going through that 4 years ago in Scotland and England on my first solo trip definitely made me a stronger person, and a more determined solo traveler.
After some lovely conversation and refreshments gifted to us by the friendly Argentines Josh gets on the radio to Darrel who has pulled up anchor and sailed solo over to try to come to pick us up. But the snow’s only falling harder and the winds are not following the forecast weather, picking up instead of dying down. Josh is setting out to try to find a place for Darrell to land the zodiac to pick us up, and, having seen penguins down on the beach, I volunteer to go with him.
We get dressed up and head back out into the cold driving wind and snow together. I thought we’d be heading down to the beach right beside the base but instead we go back around the lakes and out to the beach we’d walked along to get to the base as the wind and snow continues to crescendo. Darrel is barely visible out there in the white wrath of Antarctica on rough green seas, the boat appearing in a moment and disappearing just as quickly as the snows shift in the rough winds.
As we walk along the black beach, trying to judge the force of the waves and wind Josh and Darrel eventually decide there’s no safe way to get us back to the boat, which means we’ve got a three hour walk back to the sheltered waters of telephone bay in much worse conditions than we had on the way here. Josh radios Tash back at the base and tells her the bad news that she needs to get everyone dressed up and walking back the way we’ve come. We keep moving in order to stay warm, but our pace is much slower and we’ve got lots of time to take some fun photos, including some of a fearless gentoo penguin who stands proud in the cutting snow just 5 meters away from us.
As the weather picks up the strange world around us only grows more beautiful, endless flakes of white snow in the air and the seas to our right turning a brilliant almost turquoise green, though entirely distinct from the better known shades of the Caribbean sea. Combine this with tons of active seals and a dawdling pace until the others catch up and you’ve got these photos.
After what seems like a long time the others come into sight in the distance behind us. It takes squinting into the snow to see them but we’re glad to know that soon we’ll be able to increase our pace as it’s been colder work ambling along the beach as if it were summer. Before they can join us though we do find a lone Weddell seal making his bed in the black sand, squirming around and rolling in it until he finds a comfortable position.
As the others approach I take more shots of this strangely beautiful beach with all it’s seemingly nonsensical colours and the aggressive fur seals who call it home. Once our group joins together again Josh and I point out the Weddell before continuing along and finding that the three Gentoos we first saw have become four, though they are still hanging out in the same general area as before and have paired off.
Before rounding the point and trying to ascend where we first made our troubling and difficult descent we decide to go up the back of the mountain which might take just as long but offers a less steep incline and much safer path. At least that was the idea, but as we come near the top the wind strengthens even further gusting with incredible force. A plastic bottle falls from someone’s pocket and despite burning lungs I chase after it and pounce on the snow to prevent it from getting too far down the mountain. We all want to keep a place that is so beautifully pristine free from human trash.
This brings me to another advantage of a small ship over a cruise ship, As a cruise ship passenger you are not allowed to bring any food on landings, we can take most foodstuff with some notable exceptions like chicken, eggs and seeds, though obviously you follow the number one rule of hiking, don’t leave anything behind.
As we crest the hill and leave behind any shelter standing at the summit the winds reach a fever pitch and I feel close to be blown away despite my best efforts and sizeable mass. Mariana, the smallest of our number, drops to her knees and crawls down the first section of the hill to avoid a sudden and unwanted flying lesson. It’s a beautiful feeling in some ways, and a lesson as well. We’re in a harsh difficult place, weather changes fast here, and we all need to be ready for lots of adventure. Really, though uncomfortable at sometimes, I couldn’t have asked for better weather on our first landing. It just fits with where we are.
As we head down this pesky range of big hills and back onto the beach the weather doesn’t seem to calm though at least we’re a little more sheltered from it. The seas have turned a truly incredible shade of green and I walk ahead of most of the group, though we do take turns acting as windshields for each other for a while. alone up ahead I find myself lost in the incredible beauty of this place, with only a few idle thoughts going to my throbbing leg. First order of business back on the boat will be digging out my compression stocking and putting it on. Then Ill try to jury rig the boots to avoid any more circulation problems.
As I round the final corner of the beach and come back to where this all started at Telephone bay I see the Spirit of Sydney anchored in a slightly different place out in the electric green waters. While we’ve all had an incredible adventure battling the elements to make it back I can only imagine what Darrel’s been dealing with, sailing alone through rough waters and having to find a good place to anchor again without any help. It must have been hell, though probably an exhilarating hell.
As I wait for the others to join me and for Darrell to come grab us in the zodiac, which is a simple enough task in the extremely well sheltered bay I see something floating in the water and approach. Sadly, it’s a dead penguin, some of its guts ripped out and it’s head hanging by a thread. We can’t know for sure but it looks like the work of a Leopard seal.
We take some pictures with the poor creature and take notice of one last reminder of the harsh nature of the frozen continent we’ve worked so hard to come to.
Back on the boat we’re all eager for warmth and good food, and we get both in spades as the heater is blazing and we enjoy a tasty pasta dinner, sharing stories from the day before heading off to bed one by one. Darrel tells us tomorrow’s plan is to sail to whaler’s bay on Deception Island and hope for good enough weather to walk to Bailey’s head, the biggest Chinstrap Penguin rookery in the area.
That night I get the wonderful but rare feeling of closing my eyes and being treated to a living slideshow of moments, reliving little vignettes from the incredible day as I drift off to sleep a smile on my face, rightfully excited for all that tomorrow might bring. there’s no doubt about it anymore. Antarctica is a special place.
