Antarctica — sailing to a world of sculpted ice and captivating wildlife

by Mairlyn Lutzker, Sunnyside, NY

Time does not change the ocean currents, and since its discovery, the Drake Passage, a turbulent body of water connecting the tip of Argentina to the waters off Antarctica, has been giving ships and their passengers a hard time.

The magic patch behind my ear prevents seasickness; it does not keep the ship’s floors and walls from constant motion and from never being on their appropriate horizontal or vertical plane. I move around cautiously, doing a double-handhold on anything fixed in place. Each of my fellow 54 passengers seems to have developed a personal variety of stumbling, lurching, staggering and grabbing for handholds. We look like a Marx Brothers comedy act as we start our Antarctic adventure.

An unusual introduction

We are still in the Drake Passage the next morning, and the tablecloths at breakfast are wet. We speculate: someone spilled a pitcher of water because of the rough seas? The electric dryer was not working and they didn’t have any more clean cloths? Someone had left a window open?

None of the above. The cloths are wet on purpose; cups and plates don’t slide on a wet cloth.

Icebergs

There are many kinds of ice in Antarctica: there is anchor ice and bay ice, fast ice, old ice and pack ice. But it is icebergs I have come to see, and as we leave the Drake Passage and approach the Aitcho Islands I begin to see them.

They are in the distance — carved, contorted shapes of shimmering white accented by unexpected slashes of deep turquoise blue. With pinnacles pointed toward the sky plus deeply cut niches and tunnels, they could be a city out of “Star Wars.”

Although the oceans surrounding Antarctica are vast and in constant motion, there are also secluded harbors, peaceful bays and some exceedingly narrow channels and straits. All is serene at 6 a.m. as we sail through the Gerlache Straits on our fourth day.

Bitty bergs (little icebergs) float like soapsuds all around the ship. Mountains of snow and rocks close in on us from all sides. I am awed by the reflected images of towering black crags shining up from the water but a bit uneasy as I speculate how our seemingly trustworthy Russian crew is going to get the ship out of the straits.

The Zodiacs

Floating black rubber behemoths, Zodiacs take us on our daily landings to the peninsula and its surrounding islands. Designed for safety and mobility in rough seas, passengers’ ease in getting in and out is not a priority.

There are graceful ways to get into a Zodiac, but I am incapable of learning them. I stand, partially paralyzed, on the wobbly platform at the bottom of the very long and shaky gangway which connects the ship to the Zodiacs. I allow two burly Russian sailors to firmly grasp my arms while I hesitantly put my large, flat-surfaced foot onto the rounded edge of the Zodiac.

Once seated and underway, the wind in my face, the spray, the speed, the throb of the motor and the alert, semistanding stance of the driver maneuvering the craft through the waves with the bow high over the water are so exciting that the discomforts of boarding are quickly forgotten.

Getting out on shore is a snap: swing one leg over, swing the other leg over and step down into water almost a foot deep!

Getting to know the penguins (and some seals)

Antarctica is home to 23 million pairs of breeding penguins. The first ones I see are in the Aitcho Islands on a speck of rock so small it doesn’t even make it onto a map.

Here, chinstrap penguins, the characteristic black line below the beak giving them a perpetual grin, parade and preen and squat like overstuffed pillows on their pebbly nests.

Even with that grin, they look majestic and serious when standing still. But that pose dissolves into an ungainly, awkward side-to-side waddle as they walk, hurtling forward, sometimes with wings stretched out as if to steady themselves.

Penguins build their circular nests of small pebbles and stones, which they carry in their beaks up from the shore. But it’s a long walk for their little legs; much better to improve one’s nest by taking a pebble from the nest next door. I’m not sure who to root for as I watch this great penguin game of “steal the pebble.”

The waters between our landing spot and the ship are scattered with floating islands of ice. Several of these have become home to leopard seals, each resting majestic and alone on its personal ice floe. We are able to get close enough to look directly into the eyes of one young seal as it peeks around the corner of its icy home.

Three British scientists and hundreds of gentoo penguins summer at Port Lockroy, our Zodiac landing the next day. The scientists have reconstructed an early research station, evocatively called Station A, and operate it as a small museum for close to 10,000 visitors a year. They sell stamps and souvenirs, operate a British post office and talk about life in the early days.

The gentoo penguins at Port Lockroy are the largest colony we see. Yesterday’s chinstraps are forgotten as I am enchanted by today’s gentoos. Like a photographer’s dream, a group of three pose elegantly on a small iceberg while a larger group struggles to fit even more picturesquely onto an even smaller piece of floating ice.

Gentoos, like other penguins, move about in groups. Some line up chorus-line fashion and waddle single file up the hill; others dissolve into a noisy horde, flopping onto their bellies and tripping over themselves and each other.

There is much noise and confusion as dozens of little black-and-white bodies follow each other, jumping and diving into the surf. It looks like a water ballet choreographed by a clown.

The scientists at Port Lockroy count penguin eggs and try to ascertain the effect of all these humans on penguins. The penguins seem to do what penguins do — nesting, swimming, climbing, playing — and they seem totally undisturbed by our presence, even when spoken to directly.

Floating sculpture garden

Adventurers in our very small, black rubber boat, we cut through the bitty bergs floating on the mirror surface of a becalmed Paradise Bay.

The silence surrounding us is palpable as we glide through a floating sculpture garden of complex shapes in blue and gray and green and white. Small, flat floes lie alongside huge edifices of towers and tunnels.

We move about to vary our view; the icebergs seem to move about also, as if they want to see us. I knew that we were seeing “only the tip” of each iceberg. I didn’t know that our Zodiac drivers kept the motors going as we approached the bergs because of the danger that at any time, without warning, an entire structure might turn over.

The ship and the staff

The Orlova is a comfortable ship. Designed to carry 110 passengers, it books a maximum of 100 for its Antarctica trips. (There were only 55 on our sailing.)

The cabins are reasonably spacious, the crew is efficient and attentive and the food is good. Breakfast features a full buffet. At lunch and dinner there are always three choices plus a salad bar. If you find the proffered dessert too rich or fancy, you can always request homemade ice cream in a variety of flavors or opt for the fruit-and-cheese basket. Everyone eats well on the Orlova, and at the same time.

The expedition staff, which included a prize-winning nature photographer, a geologist, a biologist, a historian and a decorated mountaineer and polar explorer, was an unexpected and unforgettable part of my Antarctica experience.

The size and informality of the Orlova allowed me to eat dinner with the expedition leader, who has skied from Russia to Canada (across the North Pole), and have drinks with the historian, who spent two years at an isolated research station.

The formal lectures and slide shows, prize-winning videos and historic films which filled the hours on the ship were always interesting, but none could match the excitement of talking informally with men who had themselves experienced the conditions described in the videos and books.

What is it really like to be in Antarctica?

Although Quark Expeditions and the staff of the Orlova keep us comfortable, warm and well fed, there are reminders that Antarctica is still one of the most remote places on Earth, with unpredictable weather and an extremely hostile environment.

There is the uneasiness which arises in my stomach whenever the ship is out of sight of our cruising Zodiac. There is the thought of those icebergs which might suddenly turn over. There are the sealed blue barrels with emergency supplies of tents, sleeping bags, food and water which the naturalists sometimes take ashore with us. There are the landings canceled because the water is too rough, the itinerary changed because the ice is too deep. There is the strangeness of a harsh and desolate beauty. And there is the isolation.

I’m not ordinarily a “news junkie,” but it is unusual to be so out of contact with the world. Information about far-off wars, earthquakes and political upheavals did not automatically reach us.

The ship’s radio communicated only with nearby ships and research stations; it didn’t receive CNN, and although the operator could usually establish telephone, fax and e-mail connections it was clear that these were not to be used casually.

We learned about the capture of Saddam Hussein several days after the event from the operators of a small Polish research station where we landed briefly.

But beyond the strangeness and the isolation, the excitement and the beauty, was the overwhelming sense of privilege and opportunity. Fewer than 200,000 people have ever visited this continent. In the early 1990s there were only six or seven tourist ships a year; in 2003 there were still only 35. I am fortunate!

If you go…

Quark Expeditions (980 Post Rd., Darien, CT 06820; phone 800/356-5699) provided comfort, safety, education and excitement at a reasonable cost. My 11-day “Classic Antarctica” trip on the MV Orlova in high season (December ’03) cost $4,395 each in a twin cabin on the lower deck. (Triples were available for only $3,595, and all cabins cost less for November sailings.) Airfare was additional.

I booked the trip through Natural Habitat Adventures (2945 Center Green Ct., Boulder, CO 80301; phone 800/543-8917), which helped me choose a trip tailored to my needs and budget.