GREAT WHITE WONDER
A voyage to the Great White Continent and South Georgia calls for an expedition filled with authentic adventure. Lucky indeed is the modern explorer fortunate enough to visit this wonderland of ice and intrigue.
From the comfort of a port-side restaurant in Ushuaia, we wonder which of the three ships at the pier is ours. As it turns out, it’s none of them. When it comes time to board, we discover our vessel hidden from view behind a much larger ship. It’s tiny by comparison, and looks a bit like a tugboat a toddler might play with in the bath.
The Polar Pioneer isn’t fancy – rather, it’s an old research ship built for icy conditions – but that’s what we were hoping for. We’re here for an expedition, not a cruise; we’re seeking an adventure that makes us feel like Antarctic explorers of yesteryear, not tourists on vacation. Titled ‘In Shackleton’s Footsteps’, our 18-day voyage is set to take us to the very places Sir Ernest Shackleton sailed, landed and trekked in his failed quest to cross the Antarctic continent.
There are 46 passengers on board, ranging from a family with three young children to retirees ticking a much-yearned-for destination off their wish list – and then there’s us, a wildlife-loving father-daughter duo travelling to our seventh continent with Aurora Expeditions.
As we head out to sea, Ushuaia becomes a cluster of lights that soon fade to nothing more than pinpoints in the distance. By midnight we’ve made it to the Drake Passage, and I wake to rocking and rolling seas that make me glad I’ve packed seasickness tablets. Mari Fleri, the ship’s doctor, makes her rounds before breakfast, checking on each of the passengers with anti-nausea remedies at the ready.
We have a day at sea, so we spend our time learning about the protocol that protects the flora and fauna that call this vast desert home. Aurora Expeditions is a member of the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO), dedicated to sustainable and responsible tourism.
We enter the South Shetland Islands, a 540km stretch of 11 islands northwest of the Antarctic Peninsula. From the bridge, open to passengers for most of the trip, we spot our first iceberg – a 60-metre multifaceted towering monolith. But this spectacular sight is just the beginning of a trip that far exceeds all of our expectations.
I rise at dawn the next day to watch the sun rise over icecovered land masses on both sides of the ship. We’ve arrived in Gerlache Strait, Antarctica, and the waters are blissfully calm. The sky glows pink, the moon shines bright, and the odd whale flips its tail above the surface of the water.
After breakfast we rug up in thermal layers, waterproof pants, gumboots and the warm Aurora Expeditions jacket each of us has been given. The day is icy cold and blue-sky beautiful when we board the Zodiacs bound for a gentoo penguin rookery on Cuverville Island. Hundreds of these comical little birds toddle about on the rocky shore, and you have to watch where you step lest you disturb one taking a nap. The breathtaking backdrop is all ice and mountains and reflections and icebergs; the pungent penguin-poo pong somehow at odds with the pristine surrounds.
Hours drift by as we watch and wander, mesmerised by penguins as curious about us as we are about them. No touching is allowed, and we’re advised not to get closer than five metres from them – but just stand in one place for a few minutes and our fearless feathered friends come up to us.
Back on the Zodiacs, we take our time heading back to the ship. A leopard seal toys with an unfortunate penguin destined to become lunch, two humpback whales breach a few metres from us, and penguins zip past in search of krill to regurgitate for their young back on shore. It’s exhilarating just to be in this otherworldly land, and the wildlife is so close that it feels like I’m in the middle of a documentary.
The post-lunch scenery from the ship is stunning, and we spill out onto the decks to photograph the ice-laden sea. Then before we know it we’re layering up and boarding the Zodiacs again – this time bound for the mainland. We trek up a snowy hillside for a spectacular outlook over the icy water and the mountains beyond. A couple of penguins race past, one skidding onto its rounded belly to gather speed before easily finding its feet and darting off. With the sun shining above, it’s hard to imagine a better day.
The next day couldn’t be more different; it’s windy and the temperature has dropped to below zero. We still brave a Zodiac outing, though – albeit rugged up in extra layers. Dr Gary Miller, our expedition leader, shows us relics of the whaling industry (a rusted ship half submerged, old wooden
WITH THE SUN SHINING ABOVE, IT’S HARD TO IMAGINE A BETTER DAY
whaling boats abandoned on snowy shores), his moustache turning walrus-like with ice as snow starts to swirl around us and the wind picks up. We spot two fur seals jostling for dominance, and soaring seabirds black against the grey sky.
We enjoy every minute despite the conditions – and although re-boarding the ship is a challenge, our seasoned guides and Russian seamen offer sturdy arms of support as we step from the bucking Zodiac onto the gangway. We grin like mad through it all – it’s all part of the adventure.
EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED
On the days that follow, we’re reminded of just how perilous and unpredictable Antarctica can be. At Gourdin Island, an impenetrable mass of pack ice keeps us from landing. Even zipping over to take a look is tricky; small fragments of ice have turned the water into a thick, soupy slush.
Unexpectedly, a sleek leopard seal almost as long as our Zodiac appears out of nowhere to play a game of ‘guess where I’m going to pop up next’ with us, delightedly sliding under and around our Zodiacs. When he starts having a little too much fun – bobbing up and biting the Zodiacs – it’s time to make our escape. Luckily, the punctures are easily fixed.
The skies clear just in time for us to be deposited on the beach at Brown Bluff – the exposed portion of a glacial volcano. Steep cliffs rise from the penguin-dotted beach, fur seals bask in the sunshine, and icebergs shine bright blue against the emerald sea. At each of our landings, having the space and time to absorb the splendour at our own pace is one of the great pleasures of this voyage.
Two days at sea pass slowly, despite the entertaining lectures on offer, and we’re morose with cabin fever by the time South Georgia appears outside our porthole windows. Spirits rise with the announcement that we’re going to try for a landing at Camp Cove. This narrow inlet was where Shackleton and his five crewmen landed with glee to get help for their men stranded on Elephant Island.
Arriving unscathed and with their boat intact was no mean feat, as we were about to discover. Miller selected the most advanced Zodiac drivers on board to navigate to shore, and warned passengers that landing would be challenging. The swell’s a little bigger than he anticipated on arrival at the mouth of the inlet, but he gives each Zodiac driver the go-ahead one by one to power in to shore in between wave sets. Adrenaline surging, life-jacketed passengers pile out into the wild water at shore with the crew on hand to assist. An unlucky few find themselves submerged in the icy water, while hands reach in to haul them out and onto the shore.
“It was an adventure getting people to shore and we did get a few people wet, but no-one was hurt,” says Miller. “I think the challenge is one reason why people come – they’re interested in going one step beyond their comfort zone.”
The adventure isn’t over once we all make it to the kelp-strewn shore. We come face to face with our first king penguin here, dodge growling fur seals that bluff charge you like cute but angry puppies, and give the great hulking elephant seals a wide berth. These wallowing giants wear a look of pure contentment as they sleep squashed up against one another in blubbery rows. Every now and then, two rear their heads and wrestle with teeth bared, before running out of steam and lying down again to recuperate.
We clamber up a steep hill, jumping from tussock to tussock to avoid the mud. Our reward is a glorious view of ice-capped mountains, icebergs bobbing up and down with the rise and fall of the glacial blue sea, and two albatrosses sitting on their nests just metres away.
Although there’s a loose itinerary, weather and waves determine where and when we can make landings. Our plans to land at Gold Harbour are thwarted by gale force winds. The captain forges on in search of calmer waters and we find them at Royal Bay. Here, we commune with king penguins and watch fur seals frolicking – but by the time we head back to the ship, the winds have increased from 35 to 60 knots.
“Holy smokestacks!” says expedition guide Justin Febey, on seeing the waves crashing into the gangway, where we’re to climb aboard. Our Russian ‘gangway man’ somehow hauls each of us from the bucking Zodiac, while Febey hangs on tight to the ropes tethering it to the ship. Hoisting the Zodiacs on board becomes another feat for the crew, with assistant expedition leader Dr Robyn Mundy describing them as ‘onetonne kites’ being tossed around by the ferocious winds.
MORE TO EXPLORE
We feel like true explorers now, and are hungry for more adventure. So when the ship motors around to Godthul and a ‘sunset cruise’ is offered, the freezing temperatures, snow and stinging ice pellets aren’t going to stop us. Our reward is incredible scenery and a stroll on a whale bone-strewn beach amongst the elephant seals. So worth it.
Bio-security measures are tight on South Georgia. Having successfully eradicated rats, mice and deer, the goal is to let native species regenerate, and to prevent introduced plants and animals coming off the passenger ships. To assist with this, we vacuum, wash and disinfect our bags, clothing and boots before heading to land.
Grytviken is both haunting and fascinating. We lean into the howling wind and sleet to walk from the cemetery where Shackleton is buried to a small museum, shop and post office – our first taste of civilisation off the ship since we left Argentina almost two weeks prior. Passing enormous rusted chains, sheds and water tanks around Jason Harbour, we battle the wind to climb up to a gusty headland where a memorial to Shackleton stands proud.
Fur seals have rebounded with abundance in the decades since whaling ceased operations on South Georgia, and walking around the area means dodging them left and right. Despite the icy wind, the fur seals lie exposed to the elements as if sunbathing on a sunny summer’s day.
A WALK TO REMEMBER
We have one big challenge left – hiking along the same 6km track from Fortuna Bay to Stromness Bay that Shackleton and his crew undertook in search of help for their stranded companions. Once we begin the first stage of the walk, I remark that it’s more mountain climbing than trekking. Up and up we go, gumboots crunching into the scree as we climb. At the top, historian Alasdair McGregor reads from Shackleton’s account of this very walk, adding both context and atmosphere. It was in this very spot that Shackleton heard a steam whistle from a whaling station, signalling that help was at hand. “Never had any one of us heard sweeter music,” he wrote.
While Shackleton and his men ice picked their way down a frozen waterfall, we slip and shuffle our way down the steep and rocky hillside to the bottom – more than a few people losing their footing and sliding 10 metres or more in an involuntary shortcut. Stromness Bay and its now derelict whaling station visible in the distance, we walk the last few kilometres with snow-capped mountains at our backs and a symphony of seal growls, hoots, bleats and cackles all around. The three-hour walk gives us a real taste of the challenges Shackleton faced on his now-famous odyssey.
A fellow traveller, Los Angeles retiree Terry Andrues, had been wanting to visit Antarctica since primary school, when he learned about Shackleton’s exploits. “I finally got the chance to come and see the places he’d been,” he says. Andrues says he appreciates the beauty of nature like never before; that the wildlife has been spectacular. “It’s made me realise there is so much unseen grandeur in the world.”
As far as grand finales go, it would be hard to beat our last day. It’s sunny and bright, and when we land at Salisbury Plain on the north coast of South Georgia, we find no fewer than 120,000 king penguins stretching from the beach, across the muddy plain, and up the grassy hillside. The sound is deafening, and the sight is unforgettable.
I trudge through sludge and mud in an effort to reach higher ground, but when my travelling companion sinks thigh deep into a muddy quagmire and can’t get out without the hauling power of Scott Portelli, Aurora’s guest photographer, we rethink our mission and then head back to the throngs of penguins closer to shore. The sun glints off the snowy peaks and the penguins’ glossy white chests as they strut about, preen their dense feathers, and raise their heads to the sky to sing out loud in a melodic vibrato.
Dotted throughout the massive colony are fluffy brown chicks who look nothing like their majestic parents, but are adorable nonetheless. Some penguins balance eggs on their feet, keeping them warm with a fold of feathers, others march in rows down to the water – where they turn from awkward waddlers to streaks of light zipping through the water. The young fur seals, meanwhile, race up and down the shore, leaping in and out of the water in playful delight. Like us on this fine day, they haven’t a care in the world.