El Calafate and Ruta 40 North

We left Puerto Natales on a beautiful morning, and as the bus headed north east to the Argentinian border the sun lit up the arid scrub land that was reminiscent of the drier parts of the American mid-West - I remember parts of Wyoming looking pretty similar. We crossed the border with usual due process. Border tensions are quite high around here due to the ongoing dispute between Chile and Argentina - there seems to be around 10km of no-mans land between the customs posts, and I have yet to figure out who maintains the road.

Road here is a loose term - mostly it is gravel tracks, or ripio as it is known locally. In Patagonia almost all roads have this same bone shaking ride - max speeds are 60km an hour for the most part. Places are being surfaced slowly, mainly to allow a smoother ride for the increasing tourist trade in the region.

We arrived in El Calafate early afternoon. The town, built almost entirely on tourism, sits on the edge of Lago Argentino, a vast lake fed by the Southern Patagonian icecap. Close by is the southern part of the Parque National Los Glaciares - a huge park preserving the icecap, it's sub alpine forests and tundra around the lakes that it feeds. The views from El Calafate across the lake are nice but the town felt like, and was, designed for middle class tourism that prices the average backpacker out of the market. I stayed in a new hostel overlooking the town and the lake - it had a lot going for it but lacked the atmosphere of the Antarctica Hostel in Ushuaia, my favourite stay so far.


Sunset from El Calafate hostel

On the bus I met up with 3 French travellers who had been on the Ushuaia, and who I had bumped into in Torres del Paine. We arranged car hire for the following day, to go and see the Perito Moreno glacier (the main attraction of the entire town) at sunrise. Perito Moreno glacier (there is also a town and National Park of the same name) is an advancing glacier that comes off the icecap and into a lake - in winter it can advance all the way across the lake and block it, only for the ice to spectacularly rupture during the summer months as it melts back.


Perito Moreno glacier

After the early, cold start, my hopes for a nap in the car were dashed by the ripio road, and we juddered our way to the glacier, the only benefit in my eyes being that we avoided paying the 30 peso (6 GBP) park entrance fee. The sunrise was spectacular but didn't touch the glacier - lots of deep pink and orange lit the hills behind us as the glacier continually calved small bergs into the lake. It was impressive, even after Antarctica. We left, pleased with ourselves, as the main tour buses started arriving with their payloads of snap-happy gringos and Argentines; our good moods almost evaporated when we had to pay to leave the park, the Guardaparques being more intelligent than we had given them credit for.


Sunrise at Perito Moreno

Back in El Calafate after lunch, and I got my ticket to El Chalten, 220km north in the same National Park, but sitting at the bottom of the incredible Fitzroy massif. I left the next morning, a little disillusioned by the way Calafate had turned out.

El Chalten is a town only 20 years old, built specifically for tourism. It has the feel of a real frontier town - 220km down a dirt track will often do that - but looks much older due to the constant sand-loaded wind. We arrived in driving horizontal rain, and I scurried as fast as my pack would allow to the hostel I had booked. I wrote off the afternoon's planned walk and explored the tiny town instead (pop. 400), getting provisions for my next couple of days instead.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and there was a tangible air of excitement as people prepared to head up to the Fitzroy lookout, 12km away through virgin beech forest. Fitzroy was glowing orange as I departed, and it stayed in view most of the way there, gradually becoming a bright shining beacon in the surrounding country. The two most famous mountains here are Cerro Torre ("tower") and Cerro Fitzroy; Fitzroy is named after the Captain of The Beagle, whereas all the surrounding peaks are named after famous French aviators. I have yet to discover why.


Fitzroy

I was first to the lookout that morning and basked in the sun in a sheltered spot, admiring the view. Predictably (for those who know me) I woke up hour an hour later as more walkers arrived. I left, heading to Piedras Blancas, another glacier ending in a lake, with huge white boulders lying at the terminal moraine. Thoroughly pleased with the day's walk, I made my way back to the hostel with a few other young travellers and shared beer and dinner with them later.


Sunrise at Fitzroy at the hostel

The weather was not as kind the next day.... low cloud, wind and rain made for a pretty unappealling walk. After procrastinating for the morning, I had a long lunch then made a quick round trip to the Laguna Torres. The brief sunshine of early afternoon soon turned into heavy rain and I returned drenched after 19km and 3 and a half hours. Fortunately the hostel was equipped with a huge log burning stove, as almost all buildings are here, and I dried out pretty quickly.

The next morning I was heading up Ruta 40 to Perito Moreno (the town) - 530km on ripio road through highly recommended scenery. If before it was Wyoming, now it looked like Nevada - a very dry environment where the odd farm clung to life admist the dying scrub.


Ruta 40 going north

We only stopped twice in 12 hours, both times emerging into the hot, dry wind carrying inescapable dust that stuck to the skin and caked clothes. The scenery was excellent, but I was relieved to reach Perito Moreno and even happier to organise a trip back down the road to Cueva de los Manos with 3 Irish guys the next day.


On the road


Cave of the Hands.... start counting!

Cueva de los Manos is a 13,000 year old collection of cave paintings - mostly hands but also guanacos and other animals. The hands are negative images, created by blowing a pigmented mixture chewed up in the mouth through a small bone and sprayed onto a hand pressed against the wall of the caves. Often hands were overlaid and in different colours - the effect is a bewildering kalaedoscope of colours that seems to reach out, in more ways than one, to the modern day tourist. There are 800 left hands and 31 right hands, plus a few guanaco, emu and puma prints. The origins if the paintings are still poorly understood - as usual there are a lot of theories and little in the way of proof.



I was really pleased to have made the effort to stay in Perito Moreno to go to the caves - it was well worth the extra effort. And in the process I had bumped back into Ray, from the Ushuaia, and we arranged to head to Coyhaique in Chile together to go to the Carretera Austral.


It had to be done!

Torres del Paine

It's been a weeek now since I left Ushuaia on what felt like a surprisingly short 16 hour bus ride, accompanied by 10 or so people off the Ushuaia. Travelling up through the northern part of Tierra del Fuego was a lot more what I expected of the land - bleak, wet, flat and treeless. We crossed into Chilean Tierra del Fuego - even more desolate - and arrived at the Magellan Straits to leave the Land of Fire. It was sad in a way as I have had an excellent time on Tierra del Fuego, but you have to look forward and ahead the way seems good.
We arrived late in Puerto Natales, a small town that apparently exists almost entirely on tourism, to find our way to one of the many residenciales that cater for the backpacker market. The reason this town has found its way onto a map is Torres del Paine National Park, whose granite spires have become a feature of any self respecting trekking guide, and a must see on the Gringo Trail.


Puerto Natales from the seafront

For all that, Puerto Natales seems like a depressed place - between the hostels, restaurants and internet cafes are empty buildings and open spaces, and the town lacks the kind of vibe I felt in Mendoza and Ushuaia.
With me was Stephanie, a German girl from the Ushuaia, and together we were planning to walk the "W", the most popular trek in Torres del Paine Park. The "W" is basically an east-west trek along the southern edge of the main range, with side trips running north-south up valleys to get views of the mountains. The total distance is around 80km and is normally covered in 5 days - we had to do it in 4 so that Stephanie could get a ferry.
We left Puerto Natales in torrential rain - hoping this was not an omen of weather to come - and covered the 100km or so north to the park to arrive late morning. From the Park entrance it is possible to hike the "W" either east to west, or take a catamaran to the western end of the walk and start there. We took the catamaran - the cloud was so low that I had trouble believing there were any mountains at all, and it was pointless wasting our first day going to look at cloud-covered Torres at the eastern end.
We arrived at our first camp at midday, and in order to do the "W" had to set off immediately on the 24km round trip to Glacier Grey. Without carrying big packs this was quite easy, and in a few hours we were at a mirador (viewpoint), looking out to the snout of the glacier. The glacier is one of many that descends from the southern Patagonian icecap, and it regularly calves icebergs into the freshwater lake. Despite seeing the odd glacier or two in Antarctica, it still made an impression - especially being surrounded by lush vegetation and forrested hillsides.


Glacier Grey descending from Campo de Hielo Sur - the Southern Patagonian icecap

With the cloud as low as it was we were unable to see the glacier as it twisted and climbed it's way back to the icecap - by all accounts a stunning view in the right weather. As it was we headed back after a cold lunch stop in increasingly heavy rain. We returned to camp - fortunately equipped with an indoor kitchen and hot showers - for an early night.

The next morning saw similar weather - constant drizzle and low cloud. I had yet to see any evidence that there were actually any moutains close by; it was rather like walking in Wales on any autumn day, although the vegetation was a lot more alpine in appearance. We walked east to Camp Italiano, a free site with "basic" facilties (i.e. none), situated at the bottom of Valle Frances. Here we pitched camp, and despite advice not to do so, headed north up the valley to try and glimpse some of the surrounding mountains, the eventual target being a mirador just over 2 hours away.


Crossing the river into Camp Italiano - Glacier Frances in background

The way up was not promising; Glacier Frances to the west emerged then disappeared repeatedly from view, whilst north there was just a wall of cloud. We walked through Camp Britanico, just below the lookout, and started up the hill. As if by magic a couple of small patches of blue sky appeared, and suddenly the cloud base lifted enough for us to catch glimpses of Cuerno Principal and Cuerno Norte, in a kind of Lord of the Rings-esque fantasy. There were glimpses of the other hills too - and then they were gone, as if they had never existed, replaced again by an inpenetrable wall of featureless grey.


Cuerno Principal emerges from the cloud

Satisfied with our luck we descended back to our damp camp under the trees at Italiano, and had dinner as the rain fell again. Our tent was now pretty much soaked through, and sleeping that night was damage limitation exercise in stopping things getting wet further.

The next morning dawned brighter and, over our instant porridge with chocolate milk breakfast, some blue sky appeared. By the time we had struck camp and started moving east again, there was blue sky in abundance and the sun began to shine. We headed along the north shore of Lago Norgenskold, revelling in the sun. The third day, from Italiano to Camp Torres, was to be the longest - some 22km with full backpacks, and a fair amount of climbing. We passed through Refugio Cuernos, with excellent views of the north of the Cuernos we had been struggling to see the day before. Lunch was an hour later - and it was becoming clear that we might have to move faster to reach Torres camp.


Views over Cuerno Norte and Principal

Two hours later and it was raining again, and Stephanie's knee was beginning to hurt. It had been playing up a bit the past couple of days, but now it was causing persistent pain. There was nothing to do but bandage it and carry on - the rain dampening our spirits of the morning and our will to continue.
By 5 o'clock we had made the decision to camp at El Chileno, a camp about 1 hour lower down the valley than Torres camp, but at a refugio and hence equipped with decent bathrooms and hot showers. We arrived and set up our wet camp, glad that we didn't have to spend much longer being permanently damp. From the camp there were views of the Torres though, our main objective, and as the sun set they were more visible than they had been for several days.


The Torres from El Chileno camp

The next day we had to be back at the park entrance, Laguna Amarga, at 3pm in order for Stephanie to get back to Puerto Natales to catch her ferry. This meant an early start to get to the Torres viewpoint, ostensibly 2 hours away. The best time to see the Torres is sunrise anyway, but given the weather so far we decided to rise at 5.30am and see if it looked worth it.

At 5.30am the night sky was starry and cloudless - the Torres were silhouetted on the horizon to the north west as faint light grew in the east. We left, excited, at 6am as planned, but we soon realised we would not reach the lookout in time for the first light hitting the Torres. I left limping Stephanie to carry the day pack (her suggestion, not mine!) and ran on, getting to Torres camp after 45 minutes then starting the climb up to the mirador. This I managed in 20 minutes - the last part just about on my hands and knees, and as I neared the top I could just see a magnificent pink light illuminating the tops of the Torres.


First view of the Torres

I got to the top as the spires were glowing a rich orange colour - as good a possible view as I could ever have expected. The three main granite towers sit above a glacial lake amongst bare rock, with pink and cream strata contrasting with the blue sky behind and reflecting off the stillness of the lake below.


Close-up Torres

There were probably 30-40 people there for sunrise, most gazing in quiet awe at the spectacle, although the 15 or so Israelis present were singing, shouting and generally disturbing the peace. Stephanie arrived at 7.30am, by which time most of the colourful light had gone but the Torres were still more visible than they had been for days. We had our porridge breakfast overlooking the Torres and drying out in the sun that had just arrived at the viewpoint.


Reflections


Me and the Torres

Around 8.30am we had to head back down to strike our camp and walk back to the real world. As we packed up the tent we were mostly glad - there wasn't much left in my rucksack that could be called dry - and also thankful that we had had the good fortune to see the Torres at their best.


Stephanie and myself at the bottom

The walk down was easy, and in the sunshine it felt like maybe I could continue for another few days. We reached the Las Torres Hostel and had lunch - drying out all our equipment in the sun in front of rooms for which the better off paid $177 a night. There was a bus leaving at 2pm, and after a quick nap in the sun it was suddenly time to go. Driving back to the park entrance we saw evidence o fthe fire that 3 weeks ago had devasted large tracts of the northern and eastern portions of the park. It was for this reason that I had not done the "Circuit", a 120km walk around the whole Paine massif - about 18km were burnt out in a section not known for it's beauty anyway. We got back to Laguna Amarga with enough time for a quick photo stop; somehow in mountains didn't look quite so impressive at this distance, especially shrouded again in cloud. It was best to treasure the morning that we had, I decided, as we boarded another bus back to Puerto Natales.


Leaving from Laguna Amarga

Back in Puerto Natales, and the race to get Steph on the ferry slowed down when she discovered she could check in at midnight. We enjoyed a huge meal with Mary, another passenger off the boat, before seeing Steph off and turing in early. I was planning to move on to El Calafate, Argentina, in a couple of days, but woke up with a feeling in my stomach that I would be spending the day in bed with food poisoning - maybe the eggs on the steak the night before had been undercooked.

Another day lost, but some things can't be helped. El Calafate is tomorrow now, and another day in Puerto Natales wasn't so bad. At least it didn't rain.


View from Puerto Natales

South with M/V Ushuaia - and the Antarctic

The first of March dawned dull and grey, with low clouds obscuring the hills around the city. Despite spending so long in Ushuaia I had lots of last minute preparations to complete and, heading into town, I caught my first glimpse of the M/V Ushuaia lying in dock having arrived in the small hours of the morning.
As the day progressed the weather improved and by the time I boarded there was brilliant sunshine and a cloudless sky. I was shown to my tiny shared cabin well below decks – the modern equivalent of being in steerage – but all that anyone wanted to do was get outside in the sun, and soon our group were lining the rails to watch the gangway be stowed and moorings untied.


The Ushuaia in dock

The Ushuaia is a 30 year old American ship that started life as an oceanographic survey vessel and Russian sub follower. It is only 85m long and 15m across, and takes 66 passengers plus 30 crew. It has an ice strengthened hull and is, in reality, a supply and research vessel that has realized that Antarctic tourism pays a lot better. Our crew were an especially talented group – we were lucky to have on board a very experienced tour leader with a lot of friends in the region and one of the best ice pilots there is - former commander of the Argentine Navy Antarctic division.

We departed a couple of hours later and headed east down the Beagle Channel, in a flat calm. The Beagle, so called after the being explored by the same boat that carried Darwin, divides Chile from Argentina south of Tierra del Fuego. The channel leads into the Drake Passage after about 7 hours of steaming, the Drake being one of the most ferocious stretches of water in the world. It is the confluence of the Antarctic, Pacific and Atlantic oceans, and the huge swells that can be generated have made Cape Horn a place of fear for mariners over hundreds of years.


The Beagle Channel, looking west


The Beagle Channel, looking east

As the sun set we had an excellent meal – one of many on board – and had our first Antarctic educational film. As night fell we were all called to the bow to watch a pod of dolphins that had begun playing in front of the ship. In the dark there was a stunning phosphoresence that made both dolphins and ship glow a pale green – there was nothing else on earth like watching the show that was created, as the dolphins wove back and foerth leaving shining trails in their wake.

The next morning we awoke to a steady heeling motion, telling us that we were well into the Drake Passage. On the bridge – permanently open to us to satisfy our curiosity – we were informed that there was a 1-2m swell and that this, by normal standards, was a picnic. The 15° tilt to either side had confined a lot of people to their beds however, and breakfast was a poor show. One of the many good things about the Ushuaia was the openess and friendliness of the crew - the only things banned were whistling on the bridge and mentioning the Titanic. The captain, when asked by one tourist how far to one side the boat could roll in the waves, answered with a straight face "180 degrees" - much to the amusment of the rest of the crew.

There is 1000km of open water - the Drake Passage - between Cape Horn and the South Shetland Islands, the island group that lies a little off the west coast of the Antarctic peninsula. This distance was covered in 2 days, during which there were a series of educational lectures on the flora and fauna of Antarctica, run by the on-board biologists. Gradually a few more people appeared above decks, although there were a lot of pale faces and empty spaces at most meals. We were assured that this was the best crossing so far this season - something the sickest in the group did not appreciate.

During late morning of the 3rd we sighted our first iceberg, and shortly after several were visible on the horizon. It caused a wave of excitement and the bridge was full as we crusied by the first one, floating like a huge cathedral on the water. The icebergs were all formed by “calving” glaciers – very different to the huge flat bergs (some the size of countries) created by disintegration of ice shelves.


Iceberg!

By afternoon we had sighted King George Island, in the South Shetlands, and we made our first landing by Zodiac at Bellinghausen and Frei stations, run by Russia and Chile respectively.


Zodiac Landing

These stations were not the Antarctic I was imagining – cold, glaciated, but not the mass of ice I had expected. The bases in these places appear to be very much a flag-flying exercise so that territorial claims, currently forgotten about under the Antarctic Treaty, remain valid when the treaty comes to be renegotiated in 2041. We were given a tour of both bases – I found the post office, bank, church, school, souvenir shop and gym all a little depressing, truth be told.


Frei Station


Russian Orthodox Church

The next morning we made two landings, the first at Halfmoon Island, where an Argentine base shared the land with a Chinstrap penguin rookery and a lot of fur seals. At this time of year penguin chicks are becoming quite large and are gaining their adult plumage; we were able to get really close but I felt uncomfortable about walking through the rookery in such close proximity – a sure source of stress for the penguins.


Chinstrap pengiuns


Chinstrap chick

The fur seals showed their stress at our presence in a different way – they become quite agressive and growl if approached to close. Part of this is because they were all juvenile males, excluded from the breeding colonies at this time of year. They regularly fight each other and it can make spectacular viewing.


Fur seals fighting

Whilst exploring I also had the pleasure of being dive bombed by some Giant Skuas – these birds can become very forceful when protecting their nests and can draw blood after several attacks.

In the afternoon we made a landing a Whalers Bay, Deception Island. This island is a sunken caldera of a still active volcano, and the beach is hot all around the shore. The Bay was initally a whaling station, then abandoned but reopened by the British in World War II as part of covert operation to protect the Antarctic from Hitler’s claims.


View over Whaler’s Bay


Fur seal, Whalers Bay

The base was abandoned after an eruption in 1971 but there are still fascinating remains to be seen amongst the fur seals, the odd Chinstrap and the occasional Gentoo penguin. After exploring the bay the braver members of our party opted for a quick Antarctic swim, followed by a dip in a hot pool, dug out by the crew, on the shore.


Back to the pool, double time!

As the afternoon drew to a close we set sail for the mainland Antarctic peninsula, some 12 hours away. We first sighted land some hours later – a seemingly impossible huge wall of white that stretched as far as the eye could see across the horizon. It took my breath away – there was something unreal about the sight, and for a while there were a group of us spellbound at the bow.

The following morning dawned bright and sunny – this was not the Antarctic weather we had been lead to expect. We made our first landing at Danco Island, another former British base (now removed), and currently home to several thousand Gentoo penguins, fur seals, snowy sheathbills and a few skuas. Around the bay we could see several humpback whales, resting in the surface waters, gently blowing out every few minutes. We climbed to the top of the icecapped island in the perfect still and quiet that had descended on the bay after we arrived. There was something about the silence that seemed to drown out even other peoples voices, and the realization of where we were was driven home to many in silent contempation on top of that snowy hill.


Gentoos chicks, Danco Island


On top of Danco Island

Reluctantly returning to the Ushuaia, we had the good fortune to see a huge leopard seal – top of the food chain around these parts – lazing on a small berg close to the boat. At around 3-4 metres long and several hundred kilos, we made a rapid exit when it made to get in the water close to us.


Leopard Seal

In the afternoon we made our first landing on the white continent proper, at Paradise Bay. Another Argentine base (abandoned), another Gentoo colony, and excellent views over what the first Norwegian whalers here had rightly called Paradise. It’s pretty easy to get blasé about the sights seen – especially the penguins – but somehow the surroundings never lost their charm. The smell of guano was certainley one that seemed to linger everywhere.

View from Paradise Bay

The afternoon was rounded off by a Zodiac cruise around the bay, to see the Blue Eyed Shag colonies on the cliffs around and catch a closer glimpse of small icebergs that had calved off the glacier in the bay. We also caught sight of a crabeater seal (main diet – fish) with a large injury on its side, almost certainly caused by a leopard seal.


Bergy-bit in Paradise Bay

The morning of the 6th provided us with weather slightly more in keeping with the Antarctic. There was a heavy swell that prevented us landing at Orne Island, home to a Chinstrap rookery, and instead we landed nearby in the more sheltered waters of Cuverville Island. As we departed from the Ushuaia in the Zodiac a couple of humpbacks surfaced close by, and we spent an excellent (if freezing) half hour following their slow progress across the bay. On the island there was a Gentoo rookery with very friendly and inquisitive chicks – my hands and jacket were thoroughly pecked by a couple of curious fluffy creatures. It’s pretty easy to lose interest in the smell of a penguin rookery quickly, but the young were as interested in us as we were them. On this island there is also one of only 2 species of flowering plant found on in the Antarctic region – and it looked very much like grass from a lawn.

A curious Gentoo chick tries kate's mittens

More Gentoo chicks

That afternoon we cruised into Andvord Bay and made a landing at Neko Harbour – our second landing on mainland Antarctica. Here there is an extremely active glacier surrounding the harbour, and it regularly calves huge chunks of ice into the sea. In the bay there was a lot of ice in the sea, and unusually it was of 3 types – glacial ice, calved from glaciers into the sea; sea ice forming on the surface, and finally pack ice that had broken up further south. There was a Gentoo rookery, a large number of fur seals, and two Minke whales cruised into the harbour as we were on land. We witnessed on section of glacier calving – the tremendous noise and waves generated are not done justice by my poor photos!

Glacier calving

As we left Neko it began snowing and the cloud dropped low. There was no wind and the image of an eerie Antarctic that I had imagined took shape. We left early due to increasing amounts of ice and the fear that we would not be able to get back to the Ushuaia in the Zodiacs if we stayed ashore for longer.
That evening, as was the norm on the boat, we had an educational film after dinner and afterwards most people turned in. Around midnight a small group of 10-15 were still up, and one of the on-board biologists appeared with his guitar to start the almost nightly singsong that everyone enjoyed. There was light in the sky when we finally got to bed.


The Ushuaia in Neko Harbour

The following morning we attempted to pass through the Lemaire channel, a stunning 7 mile long, mile wide channel through rocky, icecapped scenery. The view that morning was exceptional – a pale golden glow lit the sky and earth in a kind of heavenly light, and in the dead calm we made our way through forming pack ice and remnants of ice shelf. Almost the entire boat turned out to witness the awe-insiring spectacle, the Ushuaia crunching through small sheets of pack and knocking small bergs out the way. After an hour it became clear we were unable to pass through due to the quantities of ice, and with sadness the boat turned around to head to the Neumayer Channel, an alternative route that took us through a wider and more ice free channel.

Morning light, Lemaire Channel - part 1

Morning light, Lemaire Channel - part 2

By this point it was becoming clear that the usual cruise routes, further to the south, were impassable due to ice. Part of this is due to the break up of an ice shelf further south, but winter also appears to be coming 2 weeks early this year,and the ice is forming fast. We had to adapt our route to remain further in the north, and visit some areas more than once.

Morning light, Lemaire Channel at our further point of entry

The Neumayer Channel was beautiful in a different way. Huge glaciers descend from the mountains of Anvers Island into the sea, contrasting with the rocky moutains that surround the Lemaire. The highlight of the morning was coming across 2 humpback whales that were only too happy to play in front of the boat for around an hour – lots of fin slapping, tail slapping, and one breached directly in front of the boat.

Humpbacks playing

In the afternoon we made the landing at Orne Island that we had failed to do the previous day. Giant skuas added fun by dive bombing most people in the group, and the chicks of both the Gentoos and the Chinstraps proved irresistable as ever. The sun was shining brightly again, and it was hard to believe again we were in Antarctica. We took a group photo and the realisation dawned that soon our cruise would be coming to an end.

Blue Eyed Shag, Orne Island

The 8th was our last day in Antarctica. The forecast for the return crossing of the Drake promised a fierce head wind that would slow us down considerably, making leaving slighlty early a necessity. Because of this, we made only one landing in the morning at Port Lockroy, British Antarctic Territory. As with many other places, the skeletons of whale bones from kills past littered the beaches, whilst Gentoo chicks huddled under the bones waiting for their next feed.

Gentoo chick amongst whale bones

Port Lockroy is a former British base that was also established in the Second World War, then abandoned in 1962. It underwent a huge facelift and cleanup in 1996 and is now a living museum, where 3 volunteers live for the winter months in 1950 conditions – no electricity, no radio, precious little to cook. After the base was abandoned a rookery of chinstraps took over the island, and remained when the island was "restored" up 9 years ago. Nowadays it is a popular tourist spot, with post office, souvenir shop and an excellent museum. Once again, the highlight was being pecked by a young, curious Gentoo chick.

Please can I peck you?

All too soon we had to board the Zodiacs to get back to the Ushuaia, to start back across the Drake for her namesake city. As we cruised back up the Neumayer Channel and then between Anvers and Brabant Islands, there was an unspoken sadness on board, and more than a little anticipation about what the Drake might throw at us. A hardcore Brtish contingent sat out on the front of the boat, in the freezing cold, watching whales, icebergs and mountains of ice, all disappearing slowly in the distance. At around 4pm we finally entered back into the Drake and headed back for home.

Leaving Antarctica

The return Drake Passage was a little more like it's reputation - 25 knot wind, 2-3 metre swell, horizontal driving snow. It was still childs play by normal standards, but enough to put over half the boat to bed having lost their sea legs. Life on board was quiet for 48 hours, although many of the late night usual suspects seemed not to suffer from the steady rocking. The more experienced seafarers on board agreed that the Ushuaia, whilst being a nice boat, wallowed like a pig and had a very strange pitching motion.
On the evening of the 10th we pulled back into the Beagle Channel and anchored for the Captains evening dinner and party. There were a few well received sketches (it has become apparent that I can do a good David Attenborough impression) followed by dancing until the small hours. At some point we weighed anchor and started for Ushuaia again, and when we emerged bleary eyed in the morning we were alongside, waiting to disembark.

In a very sad way the voyage petered out - people drifted away in small groups, saying incomplete goodbyes. The group had been exceptionally fun, and able to create it's own entertainment and mischief on most nights - a range of 21 nationalities, and ages ranging from 22 to 82.

Things move on though, and tomorrow I'm going back to Chile to Puerto Natales, with the aim of reaching Torres del Paine in a few days to go trekking.



So what about Antarctica? $2500 for 4 days of steaming in open water, only 5 and a half days there, plus seasickness and small cabins... was it worth it?

The simple answer is yes. It's a cliche, but words can't do it justice. The sheer size, beauty and desolation brings with it a kind of blanket of serenity that makes you want to sing, write poetry and gaze in silence all at once. When I think about it, a shiver runs down my spine, and I want to go back.