Voyage to the bottom of the world (south pole)

Voyage to the bottom of the world
PURSUIT OF PENGUINS IN REMOTE, ICE-BOUND ANTARCTICA IS SOUL-STIRRING ALTERNATIVE TO CROWDED HOT SPOTS
BY SCOTT WENGER
Special to the Mercury News

ABOARD THE MS HANSEATIC, Antarctica -- It was raining, barely 40 degrees and it wasn't even 7 a.m. as I walked down a staircase outside a cruise ship anchored near the southern end of the Atlantic Ocean.

Though the seas were sufficiently calm for a 400-foot ocean liner headed to Antarctica, the three- to four-foot swells made me anxious as I stood at the bottom of the steps. One man on each side of me grabbed my forearms, the sailor's grip, helping me into an inflatable boat bobbing alongside the ice-reinforced ship.

Envisioning a glimpse of myself -- life jacket, knee-high waterproof boots, waterproof gloves, a backpack filled with Ziploc-bagged camera gear and the only one in my group to decide against a hat -- I was sure I was ready for a sequel of ``The Perfect Storm.''

As I wondered just how large the king penguins we were hoping to see would be, I set my eyes on the island we headed toward. It wasn't easy: The water stinging my face (had the rain turned to hail?) was jarring. I caught the eye of the man across from me in the boat, but he quickly nestled his face in his wife's chest to protect him from the elements. I caught her eye; we both burst out laughing.

After all, we weren't in real danger -- there were as many adventure-seeking 80-year-olds on this cruise as 30-year-olds. And we didn't have to worry about icebergs -- yet.

For spirited vacationers eager to see untouched parts of the planet, who want to avoid the crowds and hassles of tourist hot spots, and hope for a safari-like experience without the dangers of Africa (lions and tigers will eat you, penguins and seals won't), trips like Radisson Seven Seas' 12-day cruise to the Falklands and Antarctica are a soul-stirring alternative.


Best time to visit

By the time winter rolls around again, it will be summer south of the equator. That means now is the time to consider a vacation near the bottom of the earth during the brief window of opportunity -- late December through early March -- that Antarctica is generally accessible.

Most cruises headed to Antarctica start in Ushuaia, Argentina, which bills itself as the world's southernmost city. Getting to Ushuaia almost always means connecting through Buenos Aires, a city worthy of several extra days on your itinerary if you have the time.

About 36 hours after our 150 passengers left Ushuaia aboard the luxurious MS Hanseatic, we anchored near the western tip of the Falklands, West Point Island. Although it was windy, the harbor was calm, making our landing -- one of 11 -- by inflatable Zodiac boat exciting but uneventful. We trekked up a small hill more than a mile. Black-browed albatross, some nesting chicks, hid in the brush and fought the winds overhead, joined by predatory caracaras and turkey vultures.

Then, from 20 feet away, we spotted our first penguin. It waddled off toward the windy, exposed cliffs above the pounding surf -- a habitat that rockhopper penguins prefer. It wasn't even 2 feet tall, had big feet and yellow-tasseled eyebrows. Its back and wings were black and its plump, furry white chest was covered in dirt. It looked tired. It looked like it needed a hug. But the repeated warnings we'd been given about the dangers of contact with the animals (more for them than us) prevailed over my paternal instinct. Besides, many of them smelled. Like packs of self-absorbed teens, the flightless birds rushed about.

At every turn -- practically at every step -- the trip leaders placed great emphasis on protecting the environment and wildlife habitats. ``Leave only footprints, take only photographs and memories'' was a constant refrain. The International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators, ``dedicated to appropriate, safe and environmentally sound private-sector travel to the Antarctic,'' has guidelines stipulating that landings should not total more than 100 people at a time, be shorter than three hours and include at least one experienced guide for every 10 to 20 tourists.

Back on the ship, we rinsed the muck off our boots before our next adventure hours later -- a Zodiac trip to the Falklands' Carcass Island. But we ran up against a prime rule of Antarctic-region sightseeing: Nature always prevails. Wind gusts had reached 50 mph. We diverted to a less-exposed side of Carcass.

Ashore, the Magellanic penguins were clearly different from the rockhoppers, as lecturers had told us aboard the ship. The Magellanics sported a white stripe circling their heads and chests. They lacked the rock-climbing skills of their cousins, preferring to dig a home in the peat. As we departed, I already was eager for the ambitious trip planned that evening to the Falklands' Saunders Island. We would look for king penguins, the second biggest on the planet at 3 feet tall (the emperor is the largest). With the daily temperatures ranging from 20s to 40s, I prepared for a variety of con***ions. Nonetheless, I had forgotten something: Nature always prevails.

The fierce winds grew fiercer. The Hanseatic anchored off Saunders and a scout boat was sent out, but within minutes, the ship's anchor was dragging. The scout boat radioed that Zodiacs would be swamped by waves crashing at the shore. Pathetically, we caught a distant glimpse of the penguins as we passed the island; it was like trying to see an ant from a third-floor window. We were told we'd make one more try for the kings the next morning, on the Falklands' eastern tip. Reading the next day's schedule late that night didn't offer much hope: ``Due to a very exposed beach, the chances of making this landing are quite slim.''

But not impossible. A scout boat out at dawn found the surf rough but not dangerous. Reaching rainy Volunteer Point, I found a crowd: Magellanic penguins racing into the water or keeping single file as they headed away from the surf, others squawking for mates or chicks (penguins rely on sound more than sight to find loved ones). A mile down the beach and over a bluff, we hit pay dirt: several hundred king penguins.


Dressed for the occasion

As if dressed for the royal ball, their shiny black backs and sleek white fronts were complemented by a hint of orange at the neck. Their heads and beaks had patches of black and orange. Like a Broadway production that called for better lighting, the sun suddenly emerged. Our visit even had a grand finale: groups of kings and Magellanics posing on the shimmering white sand for postcard-perfect moments.

At turns regal, the penguins were also capable of brilliant vaudeville. At a teeming rookery of Gentoos -- small, orange-beaked, black-and-white penguins -- on Antarctica's Cuverville Island, several adults were returning from the water, their stomachs bulging with food, some of which they would regurgitate for their chicks. They loudly cawed. But feeding time had taken too long for some hungry youngsters, and they descended on the adults. A minute or two of pleading, prodding, pecking and squawking was all the pestering the adults could take.

They waddled off -- and a Keystone Kop chase was on. Up the rocks, around a boulder, down to the water, back again; the chicks refused to give up their hot pursuit. When one adult stopped abruptly, several chicks were so close behind they all toppled over in a big pileup -- then got up and re-started the chase. I laughed so hard I wondered if I'd frightened them.


A place of adventure

If history is your guide, the most famous place to visit in Antarctica is Elephant Island. This was the foreboding, barren place where adventurer Ernest Shackleton, captain of the wrecked Endurance, left 22 of his men in 1916 in hopes of returning with a rescue ship. Incredibly, he did, 135 days later, and not a single man perished.

Threatening con***ions canceled our landing, unfortunately. The icebergs floating around the island looked like the crown jewels. They were incredibly dense, giving some an extraordinary green/blue tint. Though salt water and sun would eventually lead to their demise, they shimmered like diamonds in the daylight.

A few days later, we visited floating ``iceberg gardens'' by Zodiac boat, although ``iceberg graveyards'' was more appropriate, I was told, because these bergs were steadily melting. Most astounding were the shapes, as if a squad of sculptors spent months preparing each one. But more industrious than human labor is nature, creating jagged columns, dimples, divots, flat tops. Some looked like they had a row of teeth, many had grown top heavy and flipped over, and one even had an enormous ice ``mushroom'' sprouting from the middle.

Some of the smaller bergs served as rest stops for seals. During a visit to volcanic Deception Island, we enjoyed close encounters with a few dozen seals. They were a noisy bunch, whimpering and then growling when I tiptoed too close -- especially one that briefly charged at me.

That day, the expe***ion staffers assured us that a premium Antarctic keepsake was a picture of yourself swimming in the water -- and Deception was an excellent place to get one. They dug a wading pool on the beach, and geothermally heated water bubbled out of the ground. But to be a true Antarctic swimmer, you had to run into the frigid water first. I had read that people at the South Pole research station actually dashed from a sauna to the outdoors on a dare, so this seemed like the vacationer's version. I came prepared by wearing a bathing suit. After peeling off the layers, I figured the go-slow approach was torturous, so I ran in up to my neck. Argh! I ran to the wading pool. Argh! Cold water had overtaken the wading pool! Assured everything was captured on film, I ran out and toweled off -- quietly surprised my fear of the mind-numbing water was worse than reality.

Our next say-you-did-this-in-Antarctica adventure came the following day on the Antarctic mainland near Almirante Brown, an unmanned Argentine research station that looked like a mini-luge run had been built next to it. With an expe***ion staffer accompanying a few of us, we trudged for several minutes to the top of the glacier.

Instantly transported to the carefree childhood adventures of winters past, we sat down and slid to the bottom.

Despair is not Hopeless!​

Được sửa chữa bởi - despi on 13/10/2001 01:43