Antarctica

Cold? For sure.
Bleak? No way.

Argentinian research station

So I was half-right on my assumptions about Antarctica. Yes, unrelentingly cold, windy, icy and with a bit of snow thrown in (believe it or not, snow is a rarity in Antarctica).  But bleak is the not an adjective you use to describe the scenery.  Glowing, illuminated, surreal, captivating--knock yourself out, the colors and terrain are entrancing.  Glistening glaciers, sparkling icebergs and translucent blue waters are everywhere, dominated by the higher end of the color spectrum with any variation of the color blue a writer can conjure.  Cerulean, azure, cobalt, sapphire, turquoise take your pick, they're all there in stunning brilliance.

Antarctica as you would guess is unlike any other place on earth.  It is the coldest, least inhabited, most inhospitable and driest continent.  There are no permanent year-round residents other than a small number of scientists and support staff that stay over through the brutal winter.  Wildlife is less varied in terms of species than any other continent but (at least for now) present in huge numbers.  Penguin colonies of a half-million are present, seals are omnipresent always hunting penguins or crabs and other prey.  Large pods of minke and humpback whales cruise the Southern Ocean, trolling for krill and plankton.

There is a price of admission for all this wildlife and beauty and that is the Drake Passage.  The most viable way to reach the continent is by ship out of Ushuaia, the southernmost town in the Americas. This Argentinian outpost, perched on the edge of the Beagle Channel of the Southern Ocean, is the jumping off point for almost all excursions to Antarctica. And it requires a transit across the Drake Passage, recognized by mariners as the roughest water in the world.  Here the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean meet the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean and these two do not mix well.  Imagine a battle royale between thermoclines, roiling the ocean into massive angry waves.  Add in high winds generated by two clashing weather fronts that often produce winds to 90 knots or more and you have a crazy quilt sea of currents and waves that produces stomach-churning conditions.  The two-day passage that we experienced produced 27 foot waves, 90 knot winds and

enough bumping, dropping, pitching and yawing to reduce even the hardiest to handfuls of Dramamine and commode hugging.  Not a trip for the fainthearted or seasick prone.

But it was well worth the sacrifice.  A week long trip of kayaking, zooming around in Zodiacs, photography, wildlife viewing, hiking and, yes, a polar plunge added up to an exceptional trip.  And you haven't experienced anything until you've walked through an active penguin colony.  Thousands of clumsily endearing penguins squawking and falling, stealing small stones from each other, crapping, vomiting and warding off marauding skuas trying to steal their eggs--it's as chaotic as it sounds.  And the smell is overpowering.  Decaying fish, excrement, vomit; delightful.

We cruised from to a different island or land mass each day aboard the Ocean Adventurer, an ice-hardened 101-meter long ship that accommodates 128 passengers. The ship is comfortable if not luxurious with cozy cabins and a first class dining room with three delicious squares a day. Our daily routine was up at seven for breakfast followed by a short briefing and then a shore excursion; either Zodiac cruising, kayaking or a landing to explore a local penguin colony, scientific base or historical landmark.  Back to the ship for lunch and then another afternoon excursion.  Back to the ship again for dinner and an evening program--photography, geology, history, birding.  Late to bed, early to rise, repeat.

I didn't mention the birds.  They were everywhere; skuas, Antarctic terns, sheathbills, petrels, albatross all in incredible numbers.  They followed our ship everyday, gliding gently off the stern or aside the rails.  Dusky dolphins and Peale's dolphins rode the bow wave, cavorting and surfing alongside.

Everything is so different, so strange that you feel totally disconnected from the rest of the world. There is no frame of reference, no saying this reminds me of...   Because it doesn't remind you of anything, it's all too new, too unique.

Too soon, it was time to go back to the world.  Once again we pay the price of the Drake Passage but our Russian captain sees a storm passing through on radar and slow boats back across, following the storm in on relatively calm seas until we spy Cape Horn and the end of our voyage.

It was, by all accounts, perfect.  It was my seventh continent and although each is unique and wonderful, Antarctica was my favorite.

Thanks to George Lee for many photos!