My Trips

One Last Time, February 3

The day has come. 

We’ve visited a number of locations.  Research stations.  Various islands.  Continental landings.  Places of historical significance.  We’ve had gloriously bright days and howling winds.  We’ve gotten a taste of this amazing environment.  But today is our last taste.  Today, we’ll make our last landfall in Antarctica before returning north to Ushuaia.  And it’s one more chance for a continental landing.

I’ve always had a bad habit of counting the days on a trip.  How many have gone.  How many do we have left.  I think I’ve been pretty good on this one.  I didn’t want to be doing a countdown…3 days left…..2 left, etc. I’d much rather take each day for what it is rather than fretting about how little time is left.  I think the whole trip has been more enjoyable this way.  But I knew this day was coming soon.

We saved one of the best stops for last.  The ship anchored in a circular bay ringed by steep, ice-covered slopes.  The plan today was climb to the top of one of the ridges to get a last spectacular view of the land and surrounding water.

Since this was our last landfall, we wanted to make the most of it by being on the first zodiac ashore.  Once on land, this was no easy stroll.  Starting at the landing, it was a steep ascent through an ice field that was a little slushy and slick from the sun.  A false step at the wrong place could send you on a long slide.  The ice was only occasionally broken up by sections of scree and unstable rocks.  So we were quite happy to be out in the lead.   

Through a series hairpin switchbacks and long traverses, we found ourselves at the top of the ridge.  Looking down, the bay spread out before us.  The ship was anchored in the middle.  A glacier had calved and a blanket of newly-minted bergy bits was on a leisurely drift across the water.  Zigzagging up the incline, clusters of orange-clad hikers were slowly making their way up.  I’m not sure if the ice or the hikers were moving more slowly.

At the very top of the ridge, a chinstrap penguin and chick were sitting in a nest.  As we eyed each other, I’m sure we were both having the same thought:  What in the world are you doing all the way up here?  I think we were both there for the view.

But, the top of the ridge was a fairly small space, and as other hikers reached the crest, we decided it was time to make room for new arrivals. Heading back down, it was just too nice of a day for it to be over.  We stepped upslope from the narrow trail to allow ascending hikers to pass, we decided to just flop down in the snow.  (Waterproof pants and boots sure are nice.) I don’t know how long it took us to get down.  We’d sit awhile, get up and move farther down the slope, and then park ourselves again. 

When we arrived at the bottom, most of the passengers had already hitched a ride back to the ship.  We explored along the shoreline, marveling one more time at the amazing clarity of the water.  We had a few conversations with the naturalists.  By then, we were the last ashore.  The remaining naturalists were making their way down the slope.  So, we took the hint.  After one last memorable antic (see photo), we reluctantly stepped onto the zodiac and left Antarctica behind.

But we accomplished our plan.  First ashore and last to leave.

The afternoon was a stately cruise north through the Gerlache Strait.  The passage was dotted with icebergs.  The captain showed off his skill by nosing our 300 ft ship against a free-floating berg and deftly pivoting around it.  We encountered a mixed pod of Type A and Type B2 Killer Whales.  The largest Type A was enormous.  The dorsal fin alone on the largest males measures over 7 feet tall.  Seals and penguins were swimming in the vicinity of the pod.  Either they were brave, stupid or blind.  But the whales seemed to be paying them little heed.  Humpbacks also appeared, swimming tantalizingly close to the ship, diving with a display of their flukes, and then re-surfacing a few minutes later.  The whale experts could no longer restrain themselves.  They jumped in their zodiac and were off on one last chase in pursuit of scientific discovery.

As we worked our way north, and as the light dimmed, the channel gradually widened.  I was on the bridge, wanting to keep Antarctica in sight as long as possible.  Eventually the killer whales dropped back.  Now it was just us and the humpbacks.  Humpback whales have a behavior of rolling on their sides, raising their huge pectoral fins high out of the water and slapping them on the surface.  As we were beginning to enter open water, the whales were pec slapping.  The white undersides of their fins stood in sharp contrast to the dark water and gathering gloom.  In the twilight, it looked for all the world as if they were waving goodbye. 

I was keeping my eye on the land and then turned for another wave from a whale.  When I turned back the land had disappeared behind the enveloping mist and clouds.  It was quickly gone but still nearby.  I could no longer see it, but could feel its presence.  On a trip with so many memories, I think this last one of Antarctica will stay with me.

Now, with open water ahead, here comes the Drake Passage.  We’ve already been told it might not be as nice to us as it was on the way down.