THAWING THE ICE
Why it takes discipline to survive a voyage to the South Pole
‘WE’LL eat the vegans first.” That’s the contingency plan my dad, a 67year-old cattle rancher from Montana, comes up with in case we get stuck in Antarctica. We’re bundled up like Michelin men sitting in an inflatable Zodiac bound for one of the most inhospitable places in the world. There are two vegans in our Zodiac. But I’d rather starve to death than eat them. They seem nice. Plus, they have no meat on their bones.
One hundred and eight years ago, Sir Ernest Shackleton’s wooden ship, the Endurance, got stuck not far from where we are.
Miraculously, his entire crew survived for more than a year on a diet that include their dogs. Last spring, the site of the infamous shipwreck was finally located.
But that’s not the reason I’m taking my dad as my plus-one on a 12day Hurtigruten Expeditions cruise titled “Highlights of Antarctica” (from $8,500 per person; Hurtigruten.com). I’m taking him to “thank him” for all the times he used to spank me when I was a kid.
“When timeouts don’t work, it’s time for a paddling,” was my old man’s motto. While it’s been more than 25 years since the last time I got a tear-inducing tough-love tap, I definitely got my fair share. And I earned every one of them, fair and square. As a result, I learned to respect authority, which has come in handy throughout my life. For exinated ample, down here in no man’s land, there are a lot of rules.
For starters, we can’t wear our own shoes ashore because we don’t want to introduce an invasive species to Antarctica. We wear big black muck boots provided by Hurtigruten. We also can’t complain about the weather, despite the fact that Antarctica is at the top of God’s s–t list.
“From now on, there’s no such thing as ‘bad’ weather,’ ” explains our expedition guide who has as much enthusiasm as a cheerleader on speed. “The scale goes like this: Good is a hurricane, better is rain and best is sun.”
Fortunately, January is summer here in the southern hemisphere, so we luck out with decent weather most of the trip. The captain even gives our first crossing of the infamous Drake Passage — where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Pacific Ocean and all hell breaks loose — a 4 out of 10. “You should have seen last week’s waves,” he tells us. Because we have such a tame crossing, most of us don’t take advantage of the vomit bag stations spread throughout the ship. I say “most of us” because I use them as doggy bags so I can take food from the buffet back to my room, just not ashore.
Food isn’t allowed in Antarctica. At least, cruisers like us can’t bring it ashore. Still, my diabetic dad finds a loophole with his sugar pills. And it’s a good thing, too, because halfway through our hike up a steep volcano (in addition to icebergs the size of Costcos, Antarctica has massive volcanoes) on Deception Island, his blood sugar dips so low he nearly faints and falls into the caldera. It wasn’t his only brush with death that day. Half an hour later, he strips down to his skivvies and nearly gives himself a heart attack when he dives into the icy waters our ship is anchored in.
I ask what he’s going to do with the certificate he receives for surviving Hurtigruten’s sanctioned polar plunge. “I’ll probably frame it and put it up in my workshop,” he says proudly.
As for me, I don’t subscribe to YOLO or even FOMO, so I pass on the opportunity to freeze my lady bits off for a piece of paper.
I don’t, however, sit out any pursuit that involves penguins. Every day we visit at least one penguin rookery. While the tuxedoed seabirds stand out against the neverending expanse of ice and snow, we always smell them long before we see them.
According to Jason Orfanon, a science producer at NPR, penguin guano smells like a mixture of rotten shrimp and old cigarettes marin the sun for several days. To make matters worse, penguins don’t delicately dump. Instead, they shoot out putrid projectiles that often land on each other. “Penguins can’t fly, but their poop can fly up to four feet away,” says one of our tour guides who is a walking, talking encyclopedia on all things Antarctica.
On the ice, and in the water, penguins in Antarctica always have the right of way. On day No. 1 of the cruise, we are instructed to stay at least 15 feet away from them. Apparently, the penguins don’t get that memo, however, as they often waddle and slide dangerously close to us. One even jumps into a Zodiac.
I reckon the unsuccessful stowaways are interested in the all-youcan-eat buffet we’re treated to on board. Besides fish, fresh food doesn’t really exist down here in the wilds of Antarctica. In fact, halfway through the cruise our ship’s kitchen donates several boxes filled to the brim with cabbage, tomatoes and eggs to Vernadsky Station, Ukraine’s Antarctic research base.
Personally, I think they should have donated all the stale bread they’re serving, too. I’m one of several conspiracy theorists on board who is convinced we’re eating crusts left over from the previous voyage. Let’s just say it’s so hard it doesn’t need to be toasted.
“Don’t eat anything you don’t want to see again,” warns my dad on our last day in Antarctica. We’re about to cross the Drake Passage again, headed back to Argentina where we’ll catch our flight home.
Unfortunately for us, the sea is more like a 7 out of 10 this time. The 18-foot-tall waves have us all doped up on so much Dramamine we stumble around the ship like wasted zombies.
Not only do we make it back alive, we even come back with the same number of vegans we left with. I make sure to count. But the best part is my dad — a rancher who believes in corporal punishment and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt a fly — actually becomes friends with them.
Whether it’s father-daughter, or carnivore-vegan, there’s something special about the bonding that only takes place in Antarctica.