So This is What They’re Talking About, February 4 – 6
The dining room on the National Geographic Explorer is near the front of the ship. It has windows that look over the bow. As we had dinner the evening before we entered the Drake Passage, the crew was outside closing the hatches that cover those windows. We had a sense of being closed in. A high seas adventure was on its way. We were literally battening down the hatches.
By the middle of the next day we were in the thick of it. This was the real Drake. The wind was howling and we were crashing through 20 ft seas. While this wasn’t remotely close to the worst the Drake Passage can throw at you, this was plenty. Waves were breaking over the bow. From our cabin window we could look up at the wave crests as they chaotically ricocheted off the ship.
Breakfast was lightly attended and lunch even less so. At dinner, we could see into the galley where the cabin attendants would come to pick up trays to be delivered to passengers who weren’t up to making their way around the ship. While we felt bad for those passengers, we felt worse for the people who had to balance a tray while making their way down pitching corridors and stairways.
But if you felt up to it, it was a great day to roam the ship. Areas that were usually in high demand were deserted. It had started in the morning. We were on the bridge at our usual time to hang out with the naturalists and to spot whatever wildlife might be around. Instead, we found only the watch officer. The hearty and seasoned staff, who have been on mountain tops and below seas, who have been stranded on desert islands and lived in refrigerator crates didn’t want to get out of their bunks. The white board that is filled every day with animal sightings was empty. Usually it would record storm petrels or arctic terns or giant albatrosses, Killer whales or fur seals, but today it was a blank. You would think after being aboard for 10 days we would have learned a few things, but no. Left alone with no birders to identify what we spotted, we had to rely on our own nomenclature.
Some passengers tried to make the best of it and many did quite well. But, still it was a challenge. I couldn’t help but think of one more penguin analogy. Penguins are very adept in their element. Sleek and swift in the water, they are efficient swimmers and hunters. Out of their element, they are awkward and ungainly; stumbling around, slipping, falling and getting covered in all kinds of unpleasant things. They make long and difficult walks just to throw up their meals. Humans are definitely out of their element on a rocking ship. The Drake Passage turned many of the humans into penguins. Maybe some don’t find their antics quite as amusing any more.
But by evening, the worst was over, and when we awoke the following morning the seas were calmer, sea birds were all around and Cape Horn was visible directly in front of us. Staff and passengers emerged into the sunshine from their hiding places with restored energy and enthusiasm. We skirted by the memorial to those lost at sea while making the passage through these treacherous waters. Just the small glimpse that we had of the power of the Drake Passage engendered a different level of respect for those souls.
We followed the coastline to the east and entered the Beagle Channel. By nightfall, we were alongside the dock in Ushuaia. One more night on the ship. A chance to say our goodbyes and thanks to all who gave so much of their time, their knowledge and their companionship in an effort to make this voyage memorable.
By 8 o’clock the next morning we were off the ship and climbing onto busses. While waiting for our plane to come we had a chance to explore a little bit of Ushuaia. We toured the prison that played a key role in the development of the city. We walked some of the streets and visited a few shops. We were back to normal life. After the quiet and serenity of Antarctica, after the special light that only exists in that remote part of the world, after experiencing all that we had over the last 10 days, this was an adjustment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as jarring to me as I expected, and I was less melancholy as I thought I would be. But the contrast between the ancient, seemingly permanent but fragile place we had left and the convenient, protected and disposable place we were heading was apparent. Yet as separate as they appear, it’s also obvious that what we do at home affects Antarctica, and what happens down here affects us up there. Civilization and growth don’t have to be ruinous, but growth without wisdom might be.
On the way down, we had a two day break between arriving in Buenos Aires and flying to Ushuaia. The return is one long marathon. A 3+ hour flight from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires. A 5 hour wait at the airport. A 9+ hour red-eye to Miami. Another 3 hour wait and then a 2 hour flight home. And just like that…..it’s all over.
I said earlier that trying to explain what Antarctica is like to someone who hasn’t been is nearly impossible. Even explaining why you would want to go isn’t easy. Trying to create some dramatic summary here is futile. I had no favorite experience. I loved the sunny bright days and I loved the biting winds, driving snow and low clouds. I loved kayaking and scrambling over ice and rocks. I loved the incredible beauty of the ice, the translucent blue as light passes through it and how it turns the ocean water a different color as it melts. I loved being face to face with nature, the sounds, the brutality and even the smells (sure, them too). I loved sitting quietly and pondering the ancient landscapes that are so alien to our normal, disposable life. I even loved jumping into frigid water and feeling so alive afterward. I loved being there with my family. I loved learning and talking with people who are passionate and enthusiastic about what they know and do, and who are so delighted to share it with anyone willing to spend the time. All I can say is if you have the time and the means, do not hesitate to go. Just don’t all go at once. We don’t need to make it crowded down there.
After being at sea for a number of days and especially rough seas, it’s common when back on land to still feel the rocking for several days. Especially when lying down or sitting still. An inner ear thing I guess. I experienced that after returning home. I love that feeling. To me it means that I’ve just done something that I love. I’ve just had an adventure. In all likelihood it means I’ve been somewhere interesting and maybe exotic. I do love that feeling. I can’t wait to have it again.