Tag: Antarctica

A Whale of a Tale

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It was 5 p.m., and the last of us was being checked in at the Aula foyer on Deck 2. As I waited, it gave me an opportunity to photograph the creepy albatross dangling from the ceiling.

Leah and I were among the lucky dozen chosen for Octantis’s last outing—a Special Ops Boat (SOB) trip—prior to our return to Ushuaia.

Our guide was informed by the science support team that recent drone surveillance revealed significant wildlife activity near Jonassen Island. This discovery prompted our pilot to alter our planned route, with the understanding that Octantis would forgive our tardy return in the interest of scientific discovery.

We jetted into open water toward Jonassen Island for 15 minutes or so, until our pilot suddenly killed the throttle. Our guide had spotted a couple of humpbacks in the distance, worthy of a closer look.

Passengers were abuzz with excitement at the possibilities as we maneuvered into position. And then a voice rang out, “Did you see that at 3 o’clock?”

The pilot responded quickly, steering starboard toward the sighting. I spun to orient myself, when it became apparent that we were not alone; there was company on our portside,

and on our starboard side!

We were in the midst of a feeding frenzy.

In fact, we were surrounded by a pod of a dozen humpbacks…

swimming around us and under us!

I didn’t know which way to turn. Whales were breaching…

and diving all around us.

Penguins were unphased by the playful display.

They were content to share the water and krill, filling their bellies without concern,

while humpbacks continued their elaborate feast.

We idled in place for nearly an hour, witnessing the spectacle around us. But a radio transmission from Octantis woke us from our enchanted trance and indicated that we had overstayed our welcome.

We returned to Octantis for dinner plans of our own, and bragging rights to a whale of a tale that was the icing on the wake.

The Best of Brown Bluff

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After a week of island-hopping along the Antarctic Peninsula, Leah and I finally set foot on the continent of Antarctica.

And because this was Viking’s sole continental visit, the expedition team was particularly busy transporting the remaining 352 passengers to Brown Bluff while overseeing a range of other outdoor activities throughout the day.

Our group was instructed to report to Deck 2 during a celebratory luncheon on Deck 10 that was briefly interrupted by a cloudburst of sleet and snow. Leah managed to cross the slippery deck with aplomb while balancing her surf and turf, but we had other fish to fry.

Once we were appropriately outfitted, our Zodiac pilot whisked us from our Trepassey Bay anchorage…

avoiding packs of drifting ice while also keeping an eye on an evolving sky,

which transformed a distant glacier into an enchanted wonderland of swirling smoke and mirrors.

And then, as if on cue, the veil magically lifted as we approached the coast, revealing its rich, red brown, tuya characteristics.

We ambled onto shore, across the moraine…

where three impressive, moss-covered boulders at the western edge of the snow slope…

reminded us of Brown Bluff’s subglacial eruption one million years ago.

A majority of the landing groups headed east towards the rookery.

However, it proved quite difficult to maintain a 5-meter distance from the gentoo penguins–perpetually parading along the beach.

So, I ventured westward, over an icy reef, beyond nesting kelp gulls…

where I spotted an opportunistic leopard seal lying in wait…

for unsuspecting dinner guests,

yet every penguin on Brown Bluff had reservations elsewhere.

Had our continental landing marked the end of our dramatic voyage, I would have been wholly satisfied with our Antarctic experience. However, following the decontamination of our outerwear aboard Octantis, Leah and I learned that we would be among the final twelve returning to Brown Bluff via Special Operations Boat.

And what a finale it would be!

The Tip of Antarctica

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On our penultimate day at sea, Captain Cardestig skillfully navigated the Viking Octantis around the peninsula’s northeastern tip for an early morning view of Joinville Island’s glacial headlands and ice-capped peaks.

We anchored outside a dense track of pack ice that can make it challenging to approach landfall at Tay Head.

Those fortunate enough to be scheduled for daily excursions experienced a thrill ride from the 10u Zodiacs piloted through floating ice blocks momentarily stranded on rocky shallows.

I, however, was stranded aboard Octantis with my camera at the ready. The closest I could get to the Adélie penguin colony this day managed to swim across my viewfinder as they indulged in a krill feast.

Travel resumed at noon, dodging islands of sea ice across the Antarctic Sound,

when a call came across the P.A. system, “There’s a humpback sighting, portside, and it’s following the ship.”

It was as if the paparazzi had stumbled upon Taylor Swift adrift in the Southern Ocean. Passengers leapt to their feet, fervently capturing the moment (predominantly with cell phones) from every deck, eager to commemorate our initial humpback whale sighting,

albeit from a distance beyond any reasonable recognition or resolution …

Nevertheless, there were cheers all around, as if to encourage an encore performance. And to our surprise, it circled back for a curtain call with crisper results!

Although my pixelated version offered its own reward.

By late afternoon, we arrived at Paulet Island, a round volcanic rock characterized by its prominent cinder cone and almost complete absence of ice due to geothermal activity.

Once again, the requisite transport toys were hauled from the hangar for the fortunate 182 passengers who walked among the tens of thousands of Adélies on the island’s congested shore.

But alas, not with me. I, for my part, was chasing an opportunistic snowy sheathbill that had fled Paulet Island, seeking the solitude of Deck 10.

By 8:00 PM, the majority of passengers were savoring their dinner as Octantis sailed southwest towards Brown Bluff, in anticipation of our singular continental landing—a prospect that held high expectations for everyone and ultimately left no one disappointed!

 

Kayaking in Antarctica

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Leah and I wrestled our way into pricey polar drysuits in preparation for kayaking in Chiriguana Bay, a protected inlet on the southern end of Brabant Island in the Palmer Archipelago.

We strained to pull our heads and hands through unforgiving latex gaskets that promised to seal in our body heat while preventing icy water from infiltrating our suits, effectively turning us into human buoys in the event of a capsize.

We boarded our Zodiac, and raced around a steady stream of bergy bits,

before reaching a string of tandem kayaks already moored in the bay.

Each of us performed a precarious “shoehorn” transfer into our kayak seats without incident. At once, Leah and I fiddled about–making adjustments to our outfits and gear–until we reached a level of comfort to maximize our paddling efficiency. Surprisingly, at 32o F / 0o C with clear skies and sunshine, it felt warm enough to remove my gloves.

After safety instruction from Stephanie, our kayaking guide, we glided through the bay in unison for a closer look at our surroundings,

all the while following Stephanie’s lead.

The stretch of blue ice,

and white serenity–occasionally interrupted by the distant thunder of calving ice–left us breathless.

Before we realized, our 45 minutes of paddling had come to an end. Drifting on the Southern Ocean, time seemed to stand still, as if the rhythmic waves that rocked us held the secret to eternity.

Coming up: a journey to the depths of the ocean floor…

Cuverville Island, Antarctica

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The journey continued beyond our early morning detour through Lemaire Channel. Viking Octantis set a course for nearby Cuverville Island, a protected rock lying between Arctowski Peninsula,

and the northern tip of Rongé Island, west of Graham Land.

Leah and I were keen to arrive at our first landing zone–originally scheduled days earlier by Pamela, Viking’s program director, who coordinated the excursions and edutainment events throughout our time at sea.

In accordance with Antarctic Treaty visitor site guidelines, Pam’s team launched a staggered fleet of Zodiacs to Cuverville Island capped at 100 visitors (excluding  guides and scientists) for a closer look at the estimated 6,500–7,000 breeding pairs of Gentoo penguins–making this the largest colony of this species on the Antarctic Peninsula.

Despite the pristine vista, we were forewarned by our Zodiac pilot/naturalist to expect an unpleasant smell on our approach to the island.

No joke. As if on cue, the stench of penguin poo was so sudden and overwhelming that  a couple of old-timers dared to let go of the  gunwale lifeline to hold their noses.

In a matter of minutes, we reached the landing beach, distancing ourselves from the eastern edge of the cobble, where the colony accessed the sea. It was no surprise that the guano-stained beach proved to be ground zero for foul fowl.

Eventually, we landed on the northern edge of the island. Before disembarking the Zodiac–a drill we perfected within the ship’s hangar–we were instructed to stay a minimum of 5m from wildlife whenever possible and avoid the penguins’ highway lanes.

Strolling the penguin highway

Easier said than done. These critters seemed especially curious of us when they weren’t preoccupied with preening,

impressing their future mates with the perfect selection of nesting stones,

or incubating on nests of captured stones.

Occasionally, an adult would sound the alarm for an invading skua,

whose interest in Gentoo eggs and chicks is always a threat to the rookery.

Leah and I hiked to the top of the promontory,

for an overview of Cuverville and the channel.

Sadly, we worked our way back to catch the next available Zodiac bound for Octantis, but the stories and adrenalin from the day carried us to sunset (11:25 PM) and into tomorrow.

Next stop: our kayaking adventure in Chiriguano Bay.

Behold, the Lemaire Channel

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A familiar voice woke us from the public address speaker above our bed. I checked my watch; it was 6:45 AM:

“Good morning, everyone. This is your captain from the bridge. We are approaching a special spot along the Antarctic Peninsula known as Lemaire Channel, and after discussing with my officers, we will be cruising through this waterway because today it’s mostly free of large icebergs that can sometimes block the entrance or exit and bring us too close to the cliffs.”

I jumped out of bed, grabbed my camera, and ran to the Nordic balcony to power up the blackout blind. I didn’t want to miss a thing! Leah sat up in bed to supervise because she already knew what to expect.

“What are you doing? I hope you’re not going to open that window,” she growled as I was already lowering the window.

“Come see this! The light is perfect, and I’m trying to get a clear shot before it disappears,” I argued, talking over Captain Cardestig’s continuing announcement:

“But today, all of you are in for a treat because the sky is clearing, and the seas are calm.”

“And while there’s still some hazards to consider when sailing through this beautiful channel, much of the small ice has already broken up from the warmer weather,

and we can easily guide Octantis around the bigger ice.”

Leah clutched the blanket around her in surrender while I braced against the window in my birthday suit, capturing unimaginable views with little concern for the crisp Antarctic air.

Captain Cardestig continued, “But best of all, the kitchen staff is serving breakfast buffet at the bow of the ship. So please dress warmly, and join us outside for this remarkable voyage, and don’t forget to bring your cameras and binoculars.”

“I guess we’re getting dressed,” Leah lamented. “And could you shut that window! It’s fucking freezing in here!”

Lemaire Channel is a narrow strait of glossy water that traverses 11 km between Booth Island in the Wilhelm Archipelago and Graham Land–shrinking to 600 meters at its narrowest point. With views of stunning snowcaps atop dramatic cliffs, Lemaire Channel easily earns its moniker, “Kodak Gap.”

It was all hands around the bow deck. Leah and I joined the crowd, hopelessly jockeying for a position at the rail, until we found solace on the upper deck away from the fray,

where we were content to enjoy breathtaking vistas,

and watch the world float by.

There were penguin playgrounds …

and a pod of Orcas along the way,

but for now, the real star of the show was the scenery.

When Octantis eventually reached open water…

with captivating views of the Argentine Islands,

Captain Cardestig turned the ship around, allowing us to enjoy the approach from the opposite direction.

And it was just as impressive as the first pass!

Next stop: Cuverville Island

Fournier Bay, Antarctica

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It was a dramatic crossing from Ushuaia to the Antarctic Peninsula, and the reward was visceral.

When seas had finally calmed, relieved passengers emerged from their cloistered cabins, looking refreshed and revitalized, with a “what’s-for-breakfast” look on their faces. There was a literal pep in their step as they attacked the buffet on Deck 6.

I attended the 10 A.M. daily briefing in the Aula, a two-tiered, smartly equipped, and fashionable auditorium,

while Leah live-streamed the event on the wall-mounted, flat screen TV in the privacy of our well-appointed Nordic hive on Deck 4.

At the briefing, our Program Director confirmed that our first destination would be Fournier Bay, a picturesque sanctuary located in the Palmer Archipelago, and situated on the northeast coast of Anvers Island, a mountainous coastal enclave just above the Antarctic Circle.

Our flexible activity assignments were previously distributed in anticipation of our arrival, although none of us would be scheduled for a landing, as deep water and rocky surroundings were among deciding factors.

However, it was a perfect opportunity to board a Zodiac for a closer inspection of the coastline. According to our team schedules, we gathered in the hangar, all of us outfitted and overheated in our complimentary expedition jackets, and waited patiently …

until the next Zodiac became available.

The water was calm as our pilot dodged floating chunks of ice,

and weaved through more formidable icebergs on our approach to the Anvers Island.

It was nearly impossible to contain our giddiness as we cruised closer to shore,

where we reached an outcropping of volcanic granite.

That’s where we spotted a solitary chinstrap penguin–identifiable by the telltale line that runs under his helmet–who was posing on a puddle of penguin poop for our benefit.

It was our first Antarctic wildlife encounter, but judging from the penguin’s apparent apathy, probably not his first photo shoot.

The excursion was brief and memorable, but easily topped the following day by an early morning sail through the Lemaire Channel, featuring breathtaking views of mirrored mountains standing against azure skies.

Stay tuned.

Sailing the Drake Passage

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While Leah and I enjoyed a gourmet buffet lunch aboard Viking Octantis, Captain Bo Joergen Cardestig and crew readied our ship for departure. The gangway was pulled while we were docked across from Celebrity Eclipse with capacity for 5700 guests,

and I was instantly grateful that we’d be cruising with 350 like-minded wanderlusters aboard a Polar Class 6 vessel that was purposely engineered to cut through Antarctica’s summer ice …

replete with a hangar full of aquatic goodies, like a dozen kayaks,

a fleet of Zodiacs,

two 12-passenger, high speed special operation boats (SOB’s) with a 26-metre (85 ft) custom stern slipway,

and a dive boat supporting 2 Cruise Sub 7-300 yellow submarines named “John” and “George.”

The Octantis quietly slipped out of Ushuaia harbor and into open water, offering pristine views of Argentina from port side,

and Chile from the starboard side, as we glided through the Beagle Channel.

This was also a time for briefings–from safety instruction,

to practical training for many of the aforementioned expedition activities, especially when transferring between watercraft, and executing shore landings.

Once Octantis rounded Cape Horn, we had officially entered the Drake Passage, a dangerous waterway prone to strong ocean currents, huge rogue waves, and violent storms.

The 700-mile voyage to Fournier Bay–our next land mass–would take two sea days.

While we were protected by an expedition vessel intended to improve stability and mobility and lull us to sleep in Nordic luxury inside our 215 sq ft cocoon, it was hard to ignore outside conditions. Beyond our retractable blackout blinds, we were being whipped about by 45 knot winds accompanied by 30-foot swells. This was categorically the “Drake Shake” queasiness that many guests have dreaded but vowed to overcome.

Leah indulged in anti-nausea medication, while other guests relied on motion-sickness patches and pressure-point wristbands. I opted for none of the OTC remedies, and without consequence. Seasickness was not an option. Instead, we kept ourselves hydrated; we took naps; we ordered complimentary room service, and distracted ourselves by keeping busy with lectures, movies, conversation, and ship business.

A ready team of naturalists had assembled to micro-inspect all of our outerwear and camera gear before we’d be permitted to go ashore. A biosecurity check was warranted to rid our belongings of all foreign organic material (e.g. dirt, crumbs, seeds, insects) that might be secreted in our sleeves, seems, cuffs, pockets and hoods, which could potentially sully an Antarctic ecosystem. Our adventure team took their work very seriously, peering through magnifying glasses with high intensity lights. Tweezers, toothbrushes and hand vacuums made worn apparel fresh again.

Afterwards, all of us were outfitted with proper-sized rubber boots, waterproof pants, and a snake-shaped life jacket.

During the crossing, I had managed to overcome my sea legs by sprinting and pausing against the sway in a zigzag pattern as I’d make my way through the ship’s long corridors. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective.

During our second day at sea, Captain Cardestig’s voice bellowed through the P.A. for all to hear, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching our first ice!” Rather than stagger through the common space with a hundred other camera jockeys, I powered down the Nordic balcony window in my cabin, and welcomed in the blustery snow showers that offered a prismatic backdrop to an ice mass resembling a sinking ship. Not exactly the best of omens!

Two hours later, the hangar toys were lowered into the icy bay and a scouting team was dispatched to assure a successful expedition.

We had made it to Fournier Bay!

The Antarctic adventure continues …