Antarctica: Terra Incognita

After a tempestuous crossing of the Drake Passage, we awoke on the third morning of our voyage in Terra Incognita, the unknown land of the South.  The seas had calmed and the clouds lifted to reveal the white continent.

Our first glimpse of the Antarctic scenery.  We took this picture of our boat, the Plancius, while on our first shore excursion.   

I was left speechless as I stepped onto the deck and took in the scenery which was laid out in front of me.  The grandeur of the snow covered mountains was staggering.  All sense of scale was lost in the white blanket that covers the mountains and I struggled to grasp the sheer magnitude of the landscape.  Antarctica, isolated from the rest of the world, feels as if it belongs on another planet entirely.  First seen by humans less than 200 years ago, Antarctica still retains a shroud of mystery.  The continent, which is about twice the size of Australia, only reveals 2% of its land to visitors.  The other 98% is covered in a thick blanket of white ice, on average, a mile deep.

We had to leave early as pack ice started to surround our boat.  The penguins stayed behind.  

A seat with a view.

We first made landfall at Mickelson Harbor which is where we were first introduced to the Gentoo Penguin.  The silence that normally engulfs Antarctica was broken by the loud vocalizations of the penguins.  This is clearly an animal that fears no land based predators.  The penguins within the colony would slowly and awkwardly amble around the beach.  They had no fear of the tourist snapping photos and would walk right by you as if you were just another rock or lazy seal.  They provided us with hours of entertainment as we watched the antics of the young chicks chasing their parents in hope of a meal. 

While we are just visitors in this hostile landscape, the penguins are right at home.  

This chick was staying warm beneath its parent and looking for a meal.  

Penguins seem undisturbed by their neighbors, human or seal.  

This group of Gentoo penguins came to shore to greet us as we landed.  

Heading in for a dip.

Adelie penguins with their characteristic blue eyes.  

As we ventured farther south along the Antarctic Peninsula, the scenery changed but the magnitude of the landscape did not.  Every new location was a different perspective on the incredible vastness of the frozen landscape.  The crystal clear water which provided mirror images of the towering mountains was only interrupted from the ripples of breaching penguins or the occasional whale. 

Cold, flat, and uncontaminated water create the perfect mirror.  

Ahead of us lies the Lemaire Channel.  

Penguins swim just like dolphins, breaching the water and swimming in groups.  

A Minke whale among the icebergs.  

A humpback breached with glaciers looking large in the background.  

While on a shore excursion, Lesley and I opted to join the ranks of the polar plunge club.  A tradition among the slightly insane, we stripped down to our underwear and hopped in the ice bath along with the penguins.  Actually, penguins seemed to be leaving the water as we were getting in, not a good sign.  Because of the salinity, the water is actually several degrees below 0°C.  We decided once was enough and have checked that one off the list.

So cold!

The person taking our picture actually apologized because a penguin walked in front of the camera.  

On the third night of our voyage in Antarctica, I managed to secure a spot for an overnight camping trip on land.  I know many would question my sanity for actually paying to sleep outside, on the snow, without a tent, and in Antarctica no less.  But, for a camper like me, it was a once in a lifetime chance and I was lucky to have it.  The camping trip had booked up far in advance but someone cancelled last minute.  I know that both Lesley and I had been hoping to go, but she very graciously let me take the spot.  So I put on just about every layer of clothes I had, jumped on a zodiac with the other campers, and set off to make camp on the snow.

Antarctic moon-rise.  

Taken from our campsite around midnight.  After the sun had set, I took this 15 second exposure of the moon. 

As the sun went down, an almost full moon popped out over the horizon, illuminating the snow covered mountains.  Falling asleep to the sound of penguins and calving glaciers was incredibly unique and serene.  While the Antarctic night only lasts a few hours during summer, it was not one that I will forget soon. 

Just before sunrise and the landscape turned purple.  

As the glaciers fall into the sea, the create the sounds of rolling thunder.  

Goodbye Antarctica   

Antarctica: Sometimes half of the fun is getting there.

Zach and I have always been drawn to sights and adventures that are grand in their simplicity, comforting in their remoteness, and perfect in their natural state. So when deciding how to conclude our year around the world, it seemed beautifully fitting to jump on a last minute ship to Antarctica. Spending ten days sailing to and from the most isolated, serene and untouched continent on our planet certainly merits a few of its own posts. I’ll kick it off with the eventful crossing of Drake Passage, a notoriously unforgiving, turbulent and cold stretch of sea that has claimed the lives of thousands of ships and sailors since its debated date of discovery in 1578.

Docked at Ushuaia, excited to take off for Antarctica!

Our adventure began with a routine champagne toast from our character of a captain, whose heavy Russian accent and peculiar phrasings made him seldom understood but exceptionally entertaining. As luck would have it, our ship, the Plancius, happened to be setting sail straight into a storm, to which I think the captain alluded to in his toast with some amusing oratory to the point "da weader is good but porheps da weader get nyet good." Well okay then. Cheers to the storm.

As suspected, the Drake welcomed us to her open seas around midnight as the gentle rocking that we fell asleep to rapidly escalated to violent movement that sent us from side to side and end to end of our cots, and even dislodged a few lucky passengers completely to the floor.

Wave report Zach looked up pre-departure. Headed straight for 6-10 meter waves!

For the next two days, the ship seemed half as full as most passengers stayed in bed in drug induced slumber (except for when they were thrown to the floor). Winds roaring up to 50 knots and swells maxing at 25 feet created a boat experience I thought I would only ever witness in film. Those of us (fortunately this included me and, for the most part, Z) who were able to venture out of their cabins bounced from wall to wall down the halls, stumbled around common areas and tried our best not to crash into absolutely everything, including one another. Mealtimes were particularly eventful. First was the struggle to get from the buffet line to one’s seat without throwing your food or yourself onto the floor. Once seated, you had to eat constantly prepared to hold your plate and glass in place with one hand and grab onto the table with the other to prevent sliding to the complete other side of the dining room. The juxtaposition of the white table cloths, wine service and gourmet food with the chaos of constant spills, crashing plates and shouts of startled passengers created quite the unique dining experience.

Often Zach and I spent time in the bridge where we’d try to eavesdrop for insight on the storm and ask the crew a slew of questions, as well as listen to the odd tidbits and jokes no one really understood from our eccentric captain. Among our many questions were some regarding the storm’s effect on wildlife at sea. We learned that the whales were essentially unaffected—that they were just as present as a clear day, but we simply could not see them in the rough seas—and that the albatross and other large sea birds actually thrived in these conditions—that soaring the strong winds minimized the effort they needed to exert flying. Their ease and elegance with the storm contrasted with our maladroit struggle underscored how foreign, delicate and contrived our presence was in this harsh region. 

A shot of the bow enduring one of many impressive wave hits.

The very capable albeit casually dressed captain flanked by some crew members in the bridge.

After two full days of getting tossed around like toys, I woke early to sun shining in through the window and stillness within our cabins. I felt like a child on Christmas day as I hastily bundled up and went outside for my first fresh air in days and my first magical glances of the Southern Continent. I went to the very bow of the ship where the fresh and freezing wind whipped my face and I could have an unobstructed view of icy islands, dark waters and clear blue sky. Watching the sea birds soar alongside our ship I thought I saw a large fish coming rapidly to the surface. Only when it leaped into the air did I realize it was a penguin. It was the perfect welcoming to the three day dream that was Antarctica.

:)

10 days in Torres del Paine

After making our hasty escape from the tábanos last week, Lesley and I headed south to Puerto Natales.  Puerto Natales is a tiny town catered towards the outdoor enthusiast.  Neighboring Torres Del Paine, considered one of the world’s most renowned national parks, the city draws climbers and trekkers from around the globe.  Hiking boots dominate store windows and you’re more likely to see a woman carrying an internal frame backpack than a purse.   

Torres Del Paine - A star of Chile's national park system.

At the trail head - loaded down with about 50 lbs of gear and food.  

We ventured down to this part of Southern Patagonia to visit Torres del Paine and hike around the Cordillera del Paine, the centerpiece of the trail.  Since we had the time (and were confident that no tábanos were present), we opted to do the entire circuit, a 150 km (~93 mile) long trek that loops through the reserve.  After loading up with soup packets, oatmeal, gorp, and the other camping necessities, we hopped on the bus to the trail head and began the loop.  The first stretch of our journey was through the park's more remote and less used northern section of the trail.  Here we got our first taste of the incredible scenery that draws tourists from around the world. 

Scene looking back from the first hill we climbed.

Grazing horses with a better view than most.

Looking down into the first valley where our first camp sat along the river.  

No shortage of wild flowers and scenery to keep our eyes occupied while we hiked to our first camp.  

On the second day, we crossed the aptly named El Paso de Viento (The Windy Pass).  Neither of us had ever experienced wind quite like this.  At points, we were literally brought to our knees, hugging rocks or shrubs to keep from falling over.  Gentle rain drops were transformed into stinging projectiles.  I shot this video as Lesley was around one of the windier corners of the pass.  

  

The start of day two / the calm before the wind storm.  

The glacier runoff contains particulate which turns the water into a light grey/blue.  

After the first pass, bigger mountains lay ahead. 

Our biggest challenge came on day four when we crossed El Paso John Garner.  Known for occasional whiteout snow storms, even during the summer, the hype leading up to this pass caused more anxiety than the actual hike itself.  When we arrived at our campsite on day 3, we met many of the hikers who that day attempted to cross the pass but were turned back because of extreme wind and snow.  As they walked into camp, drenched, shivering, and demanding whiskey, we grew a bit more anxious for what lay in store.  Luckily, the weather gods were on our side and provided us a storm free day.  

Big mountains with lots of new snow.  Luckily the weather held out on the day we crossed the pass

Day 4, hoping for clear skies.  

As we crossed the pass at 1241 meters, the trail’s highest point, we got our first glimpse of Glacier Grey, an overwhelming mass of ice that fills the valley below and stretches far into the mountain range.  Once at the top, we quickly forgot how sore we were from the day’s climb and were both stricken by the immensity of ice.  

At the top of the pass with out first views of Glacier Grey.

So happy to be at the top that for a moment she forgot how cold she was.  

The immensity of Glacier Grey can make you like a spec on the horizon.  

Once past the most challenging section of the trail, we joined the W, a more popular and accessible section of the circuit. 

 

Camp sites start to fill up, but with views like this, it's hard to complain.  

On day 8, we took a side trip up the Valle de Frances, in my opinion the most spectacular part of the trek.  Hiking up this valley provides incredible panorama views of the mountains that no one picture could capture (so I took a video instead).

Looking up the valley at the start of the side trip.  

Falling glaciers and waterfalls made for a unbeatable spot to sit and enjoy some lunch.  

Valle de Frances

On the last day of our hike, we made our way up to the mirador de Las Torres, probably the most well known and photographed area of the park. 

Looking up the valley towards our last campsite on day 9.

At the mirador de Las Torres.  While the clouds didn't help the view, it did keep the crowds away.

A little sunshine after a rainy day.

After 10 days on the trail, we were ready for a hot shower and a night's sleep off the ground.