Us and Them

AFTER A ROUGH CROSSING we are safely back in Ushuaia, Argentina.

It seems only fair that after such a smooth run we should get a taste of Drake the Dreadful, but it’s a relief to be able to shower without hanging onto the taps as the rubbish bin slams into your ankles. The photograph below (only slightly exaggerated) illustrates the difficulty of doing anything on a cork-screwing, lurching ship.



The Professor has docked and will leave as soon as she is ship-shape and stocked; it is strange to think that in less than ten hours she will be heading out to sea with another tour group.

Towering over her is a large cruise ship that reminds me of the one we caught up to on the last few days near the Peninsula. This ship did not land any of its 500 or so passengers, and when anchored in the bay at Deception Island they would have seen us exploring the beach in the rain. They may have even heard the laughter as we dug holes in the sand, on our hands and knees in hot thermal water.

Earlier on I asked Dan Zwartz, who with Peter Barrett had sown the seeds that Andrea Cochrane and others then grew into a logistically-viable Antarctic study tour, about his ambitions for the tour.

The idea was conceived in 2006 and at that time, Peter and the Antarctic Research Centre were planning for the 50th anniversary of Victoria University Antarctic Expeditions. They decided that a tailored tour to the Peninsula would be a fittingly adventurous way to reach out to people who had their eye on the Antarctic and an interest in science and the environment.

After five years in the guiding industry and as a former research scientist, Dan knows that the larger expeditions - such as the ship just ahead of us - often lack adequate scientific and environmental guidance.

The tourism model that prioritises education and a conservation mindset, and that sees the employment of geologists, zoologists, naturalists and historians (such as Peter, Dan, Lynn and Rinie) as lecturers and guides is one that Peter and Dan endorse strongly.

As I grew to know my ship-mates I realised just how many among them had chosen this tour, of several advertised in New Zealand, for the opportunity to learn from its leaders. The lectures were diligently attended, some in adverse conditions, and they prompted healthy debate and discussion. Being able to turn to our guides with questions, on location and in the thick of it, was invaluable.

I’m aware that over the next few days my ship-mates may get around to reading these pages - written in snatches between landings, lectures, whale-sightings and meals. They will find occasional inaccuracies, and a level of subjectivity, but I hope they will find this blog a useful and entertaining record of our trip.

Of all the things I’ve read relating to Antarctica in the past months, a quote by Ernest Shackleton from his 1908 Nimrod Expedition eloquently describes the Antarctic blogger’s dilemma: “Tongue and pen fail in attempting to describe the magic”

And a song by Wellington band The Phoenix Foundation nicely captures the colour of the days we spent on the water surrounded by ice. The unique landscape and quality of the light is difficult to describe, but as Samuel Flynn Scott sings – “The world is bright grey.”

I’d like to thank everyone who made this inaugural tour so successful – it has set a high standard for the tours that will follow - and to the Communications and Marketing team at Victoria for their support.

If you have any questions, would like to discuss this tour, or would like a copy of a photograph, please drop me a line: Stephanie.Gray@vuw.ac.nz

Homeward bound,
Stephanie

Cold, cold, warm, warmer…hot!

PICTURE YOURSELF stripping off the thermals and plunging into the ice.
No takers? Then paint in the warmest of waters in the form of a steaming pool one leap away.



Most New Zealanders will be familiar with thermal energy and the bliss of soaking in hot springs. In Antarctica, Deception Island’s hot water beach is not unlike that found in the Coromandel.

Entered via the narrow stretch known as Neptune’s Bellows, Deception Island’s sea-breached volcanic caldera is known as one of the safest natural harbours in the world - quite a reputation considering the active volcano last erupted in 1970, and the eruption preceding that destroyed both British and Chilean bases.

On the morning of our last day out and about in this part of the world, we sailed through the Bellows to a landscape largely devoid of wildlife but rich in history and geology. Replacing the pong of penguins was that of sulphur dioxide.

Through the rain the remains of the British base lurked rustily - the boilers, aircraft hangar and skeleton of a boat providing a human foreground to the steep cliffs stained with ivy-like runs of black volcanic ash. Poised in the gap of Neptune’s Window we peered at the cove below and broke the silence with a hearty “Happy Birthday” for Sue.

Back on the beach, Peter had dug through the black sand to warm his
(gum-booted) feet in the thermal water. Before long the pool had widened to accommodate a crowd and we found that by banking up sand at its edges we could sit and warm other parts as well.


The paddling was a mere precursor the main act however, when Viv and Bridget splashed in the shock of icy ocean before lying down in the hot currents. Jane then ran full-tack into the tide into water over her head, perhaps getting more of a dip than she had counted on. Wide-eyed and gasping she leapt for the hot pool and then out again in a flash to join a widening line of people lolling in the warm surf like strange seals.
I took a few photos before wriggling out of toasty clothes and into the tide to wallow in the coarse and cushiony sand. On our fronts facing the hot-pool with our toes pointing ship-wards into the sea, we could reach forward to scrape sand from the pool’s edge and luxuriate in the influx of hot mineral water.

Now, shedding a small mountain of snow-clothes is one thing, but working your way back into them with damp sand-encrusted skin is quite another.
With bare feet in boots, and every layer bar the lifejacket inside out, I threw myself at the next zodiac. Within four minutes I was in the shower, and within the next ten, sitting in the lounge with a cup of cocoa and tell-tale pink skin.

Soon after, a call from the bridge alerted us to a pod of four humpback whales. With or without binoculars and telephoto lenses we watched them curve and arch above water until the last whale breached, the white undersides of its tail suspended like the last word before slipping under the surface.

That afternoon we waited for the captain’s call to confirm our last landing. The wind had picked up and the half-dropped anchor was dragging. But the call came, and before long we were at Hannah Point on Livingstone Island in the South Shetlands. Ashore, the clouds melted and we basked in the sunshine of what seemed a different day from the morning.

Lynn had forewarned us about the skittishness of the nesting giant petrels, but the curiosity of the gentoo penguins was a nice surprise.
By the way they were nibbling at our trousers, I don’t think they’ve read the Antarctic Treaty clause requiring a 5m distance from wildlife.


The chinstrap penguins, looking like little policemen, kept their distance as did (thankfully) a wallow of elephant seals. Absolute whoppers, the seals gaped and groaned and scratched their bellies with incredibly dextrous ‘fingers’. Every so often one would heave and hump several feet forwards - blubber shuddering – to scatter gentoos in its wake.

We weaved through the colonies and patches of vivid green grass – the island is home to both Antarctic vegetative species – and made our way along the beach to a deposit of fossils. It was lovely to see penguins in the surf, clean and shining brightly in comparison to the ones stuck moulting in the muck.

What a pleasant final daytrip!

Tonight, Dan will follow up Peter’s lecture on climate change and geology with one on what Antarctica can tell us about modern climate change and the consequences of this to the Antarctic ice-sheet.

The Professor has turned to push its bow once again into the Drake Passage, marking our start of the voyage back to Argentina. The ship’s email communications will be off limits during the two sea-days, so you won’t hear from me until we are back on terra firma in Ushuaia where I will upload a photo to each of these entries, and a slide-show of photos to the bottom of this page.

The ship is starting to pitch a little…

Wish us luck,
Stephanie

Port Lockroy and the penguin post

LOCATION:64 degrees in latitude, 62 degrees in longitidue and travelling at 10.9 knots

THERE TO GREET US as we stepped onto the Antarctic Continent were - in order of appearance - Lynn, Rinie, gentoo penguins and the Holy Virgin Mary.

Incongruous to the ice and wildlife, the benevolent Mary is nonetheless fitting at an Argentinean research station, and the icon is protected from the elements in a grotto dug into rock and sealed with a glass door.

The Almirante Brown station is situated in Paradise Harbour in the crook of tall white mountains and curvaceous glaciers. The daytrip to the famous bay marked our first steps onto the Antarctic Continent from where, theoretically, we could walk to the South Pole. For some of our group the visit ticked off the last of all seven continents touched and travelled.

We arrived there via the Errera Channel, a breath-taking stretch of sea and islands rendered mysterious in the mist of our first rainy day. The Professor anchored one cove from the landing point, to which we whipped along in the zodiacs having stopped once for a closer look at a cliff of blue-eyed shags. Dotted among them, sheathbills kept an opportunistic eye out for fresh frill-rich guano on which they feed.

In my boat-load of ten, Peter Barrett pointed out the cliff’s prominent geological features in the form of turbidites and vivid lengths of turquoise-coloured copper stains left in the wake of ancient lava flows.
From deep cracks in the sheer icy cliffs surrounding us, glacial blue light leaked like the secret of life.

Having nodded to the Virgin we climbed ashore, skirted the sides of the station and pushed through slushy ice up a steep rocky outcrop for views of the harbour.

From here the pink and green algae staining the ice competed with the red buildings and I noticed the inflatable dinghies indicating the residence of station staff. Said staff may or may not have got a giggle out of the sight of us taking the quickest route back down on our behinds.

Our second landing of the day was on one of Antarctica’s most visited spots. Port Lockroy ‘Base A’ is designated an historic site and monument under the Antarctic treaty and was built during the Second World Way as part of the British Government’s secret mission code-named “Operation Tabarin”.

The Professor raised a Union Jack in sporting reference to the British base, and we all had our passports stamped with the Port Lockerby colours. A museum and souvenir-store, the base is a fascinating time capsule of Antarctic past. Station manager Rick wound up the gramophone to treat us to a not-too-scratchy ragtime tune by Flannigan and Allan, and looked very much the part sitting under a black and white photo portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth II.

It was fascinating to scan the pantry shelves of tinned food, and the radio room’s archaic equipment. In the centre of the largest room, “The Beastie” held pride of place – an instrument used by station physicists to record a shrinking ionosphere. Peter pointed out that this was some of the earliest atmospheric research preceding the discovery of the ozone hole responsible for the region’s UV-richness.

We snapped up souvenirs in the station’s gift-store and took postcards to write in quiet corners. From Port Lockroy the cards will travel to the Falkland Islands and onto Britain before entering the international mail circuit, giving us just long enough to have forgotten sending them before they arrive at their destinations.

The clouds lifted a little as we drew out of the harbour and we shared our purchases in a cocktail-hour show-and-tell session. I’ll leave you now – it’s dinner-time and duck a l’orange and vegetable strudel is on the menu.

Tonight, Peter will lecture on the ANDRILL Antarctic core-drilling project with specific detail about Victoria University’s contribution to this. There is quite a bit of relative information on the Antarctic Research Centre website listed in the “interesting web-links” on this site, and the International Polar Year website is another good reference.

Rumour has it that we will swim in the thermal waters of a volcanic caldera on Deception Island tomorrow!

Swimmingly,
Stephanie

I heart Antarctica

LOCATION: 64 degrees in latitude, 61 degrees in longitude. Cruising at 4.6 knots.

TODAY IS VALENTINE’S DAY - at least it is in Antarctica - and I give my heart to the ice and its life.


It’s past 10pm and I’ve come in for a breather from the dancing on deck that kicked up among high spirits at the near-end of the most wonderful day.
We are anchored in Cierva Bay and are full of barbequed prawn, steak and corn on the cob. Warmed with mulled wine, laughter, and great conversation. There was scotch on the rocks made with chunks of glacial ice that have hundreds of thousands of years on the liquor.


In the lull of anchorage, Russian pop, salsa and ‘70s disco hits drift from the deck and pan out over the water. The music mixes with the steam from hot plates and the penguins have split for the night.



We came back to this barbeque (manned by our Malaysian chefs) after an afternoon’s cruise around the Bay. In zodiacs, we manoeuvred through growlers and bergy-bits, getting up close to their sides and gorgeous glacier blue water melting at the edges.
Humpback whales kept just ahead of the boats, swimming at a stately pace and offering an occasional flipper for the camera. Gentoo penguins popped across the water’s surface and we visited a lone leopard seal luxuriating on a flat floe. Dan manned our zodiac, pointing out geological aspects and taking us just that little bit closer to ‘bergs.




I’d been waiting for a quiet moment like this to drop the aqua-phone over the edge and hopefully have captured some underwater seal-sounds.
If not, the recordings of the brash ice grinding against the sides of the boat are fine enough a sonic souvenir.

This morning we pulled into the curves of Trinity Island in brilliant sunshine. For the record, I wore sandals – sockless – all morning and worked the camera in bare hands. For most of the morning the Professor cruised on one engine, cutting the other as it drew close to Trinity’s shores.


On the island we were welcomed by gentoo penguins, fur seals, and a patch of Weddell seals around the corner from the wreck of a small sailing boat and a graveyard of whale vertebrae and ribs bleached over the years.
Barry found an interesting (dead) crustacean that Dan later said was an isopod in exceptionally good shape. Lying along the length of hand, the critter’s legs waved a little menacingly in the slight breeze and Barry had to double-check its dead-ness.


Tomorrow morning we have an especially early start at 6am to take in the Errera Channel. I’m not certain as to its significance, although can guess at its beauty and will be sure to tell you all about it.

Until then,
Stephanie

PS: You will be please to hear that there is plenty of photographic evidence of our classic, and innovative, dancing.

Day-tripping on Devil Island

LOCATION: 63 in latitude, 56 in longitude and travelling at 10.9 knots.

TO PREFACE THIS ENTRY, I’d like to acknowledge the friends and family of the members of this expedition who have made comments on this site.
Yesterday I read aloud your wishes and thoughts to the group when we collected in the bar for our mid-afternoon briefing. Suffice to say, they were warmly received.


At that time Dan had announced the captain’s decision to postpone the landing on Paulet Island for the high winds that rendered zodiac crossings unsafe. A resilient lot, we swallowed our disappointment - kicking the cocktail hour off a little earlier, flipping through books, studying maps and napping.

The Professor instead coasted close to the island’s bluffs, from which a rich river of stench emanated. An eye-watering, almost-tangible pong.
You know those cute ‘lil Adelie penguins – the archetypical Antarctic penguin in black and white with a distinctive eye-ring? Pass the clothes-peg please.
To be fair, there are more than 80,000 Adelies on Paulet Island, and the wind was blowing directly to the decks where we had stepped out for some fresh air.
It was an olfactory experience to match the visual; in Lynn’s lecture and slideshow the night before we had seen the gory guano stains of blood-red krill in stark contrast against the birds’ bright white breasts.


By breakfast this morning we were preparing to make landfall on Devil Island, a stone’s throw from Vega Island and home to the only colony of Adelies we are likely to encounter on this tour.
Barely waiting for the coffee to cool we fuelled up, wrapped up, packed and made our way to deck where the crew were lowering the zodiacs to the water with cranes. Uttering Russian reassurances the crew were quick to grip our forearms – the seaman’s grip – at the bottom of the gangplank and propel us into the rubber inflatable dinghies.

On Devil Island we…

• Clambered from zodiacs to stand, rocking slightly, on a black-sand beach at the feet of thousands of penguins.
• Climbed one terrace level to an Adelie rookery, continued along a saddle and to the top of a steep cliff to views of Vega Island’s glaciers grinding down to sea.
• Basked in 13 degrees of sunshine and stretched legs unused to more than several paces in one direction.
• Grilled Peter Barrett and Dan Zwartz about the geology of the island, Vega’s retreating glaciers, global warming, and the difference between moraine and the "erratic" scattered rocks. I recorded some of these conversations and observations and hope to later post them as pod-casts so that you too can hear from leading geologists on location on an Antarctic island.
• Heeded Lynn’s advice that "we’re visitors and this is occupied territory", and gave way to unfazed penguins, laughing under our breaths at the bumbling youngsters.
• Passed binoculars around to spy on a floe-load of crab-eater seals. For the record, crab-eater seals eat krill and the misnomer stems from a mistranslation.
• Enjoyed the bliss of island-quiet after the persistent vibration of the ship’s engines.
• Wondered at the three helicopters that punctuated the silence.
  
  
  They landed at a stream’s edge on Vega to offload two people. Dan says they were likely to have come from an Argentinean research station, and noticed their meteorological equipment.

Back on board, our faces tingling from the sun, wind and the thrill of the zodiac ride (its nose lifting high out of the water on a rougher return), we ate lunch hungrily and later gathered for a question-and-answer session with Lynn and Dan. As we discussed things seen and learnt, the most tremendous tabular ‘bergs drifted casually past the portholes.

I’ll leave you now to catch a screening of Herbert Ponting’s film 90 South, shot throughout Scott’s last expedition. It was produced 20 years after the expedition in 1933 and is meant to be beautiful. As we sleep tonight the Professor will cruise through the comparative calm of the Antarctic Channel on its way to Trinity Island off the Peninsula’s eastern flanks.

Until tomorrow,
Stephanie

Growlers, bergs and bergy-bits

LOCATION: 12.26am, 63 degrees in latitude, 55 degrees in longitude and travelling at 1.9 knots.

SINCE RICHARD spotted the first ‘berg through the fog last night they have been flowing thick and fast past our camera lenses.

And soon after that -"land!" The word we have being waiting for has us rushing to the decks and bridge for the first glimpse of the Antarctic Peninsula on our third day of sailing.



It’s all on!





From all sides of the ship, growlers, bergy-bits, tabular icebergs and the rounded undersides of those that have toppled onto their sides gleam bright and white in the sunshine.
Polarising lenses and sunglasses are dug out of cabins and are added to the layers of fleece and cameras that thicken with each degree we sail further south. Every minute brings something new and wonderful…

• Portside - the reddish bluffs of the Peninsula and penguins porpoising swiftly between shore and ship.
• At 30 degrees to the bow - the rubble of Norwegian explorer Larsen’s hut.
• Against the sky, the unmistakable shapes of penguins riding ‘berg calved from glaciers.
• And gliding in bursts of astonishing grace - the little snow petrels that inspired some of first poetry written in the southern seasThe dove-like seabirds (incidentally known as ‘stinkers’ for the foul and oily substance they spit in self-defence) so touched the sealers and whalers amid the blood and stench of their days that the hardest and uneducated of men penned poetry in their honour.

I leave you now to join the others for lunch; we are alongside Paulet Island where we hope to land this afternoon.

Yours,
excitedly,
Stephanie

PS: Growlers and bergy-bits are official terms for chunks of ice less than 1m in height, and 1-4m in height respectively.

Little flying snowstorms

LOCATION: 62 degrees in latitude; 57 degrees in longitude; Sailing at 11 knots.

WE WOKE this morning to a thick fog indicating that overnight we had crossed the Antarctic Convergence.

An oceanographic border, the Convergence marks the vast exchange of north-flowing Antarctic bottom waters with deep-sea waters from the North Atlantic, Pacific and Indian oceans.

Here, in the planet’s largest upwelling ocean system, the temperature of the sea drops sharply with the influx of nutrient-rich northern currents that have been in circulation for hundred of years.

From expedition leader Dan Zwartz’s wake-up call carried through the intercom to our snug bunks, and to the far reach of fog-enshrouded decks, we also learnt that the Professor had crossed the 60 degrees south and into the Antarctic political zone.

The stronger winds have bought with them many more albatross and cape petrels – the "little flying snowstorms" Lynn spoke endearingly of in her lecture yesterday for the scattering of bright white feathering across their wingspan.

I heard word of penguins and seals several hours before spotting a whiskery face on my fourth round of the decks after a lunch of salmon shish kebabs, sweet potato chips and salad (this wouldn’t be a diary without mention of the menu). These wide-legged walks, and a few push-ups and sit-ups on the floor between desk and bunks, I like to call "Antarctaerobics". We are all looking forward to stretching our legs on islands as yet unseen.

Tonight we expect to sight the shores of the South Shetland Islands on our way to the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula and tomorrow, weather forbidding, will make landfall on the continent at Brown Bluff, a cliff of volcanic rock between two glaciers.

Aliens in Antarctica

With a title suggestive of a B-grade movie, Aliens in Antarctica is the name of an International Polar Year research project that aims to ascertain the extent to which propagules - seeds, spores and sand among other life-forms alien to this region - hitch a life on the clothes, tread and gear of visitors.

Dan Zwartz gave us an overview of the project this morning, and then handed out forms to survey our movements among national parks, botanic gardens, alpine regions and other areas prior to this trip.

Had I thought about it earlier I would have shaken things out thoroughly, and was glad to contribute to the data-collection by sucking the aliens from my gear into a sterile nylon sock fitted over the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner. This was then labelled and sealed in a brown paper bag. For the effort I was given a cool and covetable "Aliens in Antarctica" sticker.

Dan was quite chuffed with the grass-seeds and sand collected from the velcro straps of my sandals (and I think I even spotted a little insect wing among the lint and cat hair). The hooks and fuzz of velcro – an undeniably useful invention – hold seeds so fast that the Australian Antarctic group now make the considerable effort to manufacture velcro-free gear.

The project aims to measure the actual pressure of propagules on the Antarctic ecosystem, and also to collect scientific data to support the development of effective and relevant environmental management strategies.

Dan says that there are now persistent foreign species at several research bases, and that the biggest danger lies in the introduction of readily-adaptable species from the Arctic regions. Literally poles apart, these species are transferred in the pockets of visitors to the Arctic – tourists and scientists whose love of the polar regions then drive them south with the same boots, camera bags, and gloves.

Your contaminated correspondent,
Stephanie

Southbound on the Drake Lake

LOCATION: At 6.36 pm we are 292 nautical miles from the east coast of King George Island. We are at 57 degrees latitude and 62 degrees longitude, and 12 or so hours from our first landing.

FOR ALL THE HORRENDOUS STORIES, our first full day of sailing on the notorious Drake Passage presents the stretch of southern sea at its most benign.
"How are you enjoying the Drake Lake?" conservation geneticist Dr Lynn Woodworth quipped at the start of her lecture on the seabirds of the Antarctic. It’s almost 5pm and Lynn has wrapped up the second lecture of this ‘sea-day’ devoted to snacking, snoozing and finding our sea-legs on a gently rolling Professor Molchanov.

We get to sleep in on sea-days, and since Dan’s wake-up call at 8am we’ve explored much of the Professor. She’s a solid little ship and one of the longest-serving from the original fleet of Finnish-made oceanographic research vessels put to service by the former Soviet Union.

As I write, I glimpse the graceful arc of a black-browed albatross from the open window in this cabin. I’ve left ship-mates in the lounge/bar to write this entry, and since the first word have bundled into warm clothes twice to race out onto deck and try and photograph the albatross. Well, not quite race – the pitch of the ship demands that one hand be free to brace against the wall or rail. If timed right, however, the roll will push you along and up stairs effortlessly.

Once completed I will email this entry from the Professor’s iridium satellite phone on the bridge, to my colleague Heidi who will post it to these pages. From there, I will also find out our exact location in longitude and latitude (posted at the top of this text) from the GPS monitor. The first mate may be busy with his chart and compass at the desk and if so I’ll take a seat up front and enjoy the best view on-board, and think once again how much I would love to be able to post photographs to this page for you to see.

The photograph I would post is one most of us took yesterday in the first hour after the gangplank was raised, customs had declared the ship and we had toasted our good fortune with a glass of bubbly.

Taken with goose-bumped arms that had nothing to do with the chill, the photo shows the bow of the ship gleaming white against the dark blue of the Beagle Channel. To the right is Chile, and to the left the last peaks of the Andes in Argentina. This is Patagonia.

At 10pm last night the sky was milky blue and the pilot had handed the Professor over to our Russian crew. I was slightly shocked to see him climb over the portside and into a waiting boat - to motor away to distant shores having navigated through the trickiest part of the Beagle Channel. In ten days’ time he will join us again, at 2am approximately, to guide us back to Ushuaia.

Earlier that day we’d passed the rusting wreck of a ship that had run aground only minutes after its pilot left the helm. Needless to say, it was a sombre reminder of how quickly fortunes can change.


We were also reminded of this with a lifeboat drill, a mandatory session that must be completed within 24 hours of sailing. At the call of the warning bell, Tricia and I bustled downstairs to our cabin to collect warm clothes, boots and a reassuringly heavy-duty lifejacket. By the third of the seven bells that scream "Emergency!" we pulled the lifejackets overhead and with 20 or so others, bundled into one of two lifeboats, to be joined by several crew. As the hatches were drawn overhead to seal us inside, I snuck glances at the faces of the crew in whom we depend and tried not to grin too nervously at the one revving the engine and in charge of the transponder.

The most obvious crew onboard are the women in the scullery who serve our (quite fancy) meals and keep the coffee coming. The cabins are very warm, and we are endlessly shedding and reclaiming layers of clothing as we move around the ship. Lynn tells me that there is an engineer whose task it is, among others, to adjust the amount of heat drawn from the engine and circulated through the air conditioning. It’s a job that requires regular monitoring of several thermometers and is one complicated by the fact that we are constantly opening doors to the deck (it is about seven degrees outside) and leaning out of porthole windows for the sheer joy of it.

I’d better go now, to stretch my legs before dinner and a lecture from Dan on Antarctic sea ice and glaciers. I might even squeeze in another cat-nap so that I don’t fall asleep behind the video camera during the lecture.

Until tomorrow,
Stephanie

A nice glass of wine at the End of the World

USHUAIA IS A FRONTIER TOWN that grew from a penal colony to a city that caters to Antarctic tourism.
Once home to the hardest of men and a handful of women who opted for a new life as prisoners and settlers at the foot of the jagged Monte Martial, Ushuaia (oosh-wya) is a breath of fresh glacial air after the grime of Buenos Aires.
It´s the southernmost city in the world, and there are t-shirts proclaiming ´El Fin del Mondo´ (the End of the World) should you lose your bearings. It´s also a very nice place to enjoy fresh crabs, scallops, and Argentinian wine.
By breakfast tomorrow morning the Professor Molchanov will be waiting for us in a harbour as still as the Drake Passage - all 800km of it - is tulmultuous.

In the photo, my room-mate and new friend Tricia Walbridge - Victoria University Foundation Director.

Big Eye in Buenos Aires

BIG EYE BEING THE TERM coined by scientists to describe the state of sleeplessness experienced in 24 hours of Antarctic summer daylight (or in the perpetual dark of its winter).
The summer is waning, and we´re in Buenos Aires, but the term is too apt to throw out on a technicality.
To combat Big Eye our group has self-prescribed a double-dose of tango to spice up an evening meal in a metropolis of one-way streets and steaming subway vents. The traditional tango - a leggy lovesong of a dance - seems to me, tonight, a natural reaction to the heat of the Argentinian capital.
The sheer span of the Rio Plato (the Silver River) maintains a high humidity in the churn of its not-so-silver waters and we, the jetlagged, join the pious in the cool of a Catholic cathedral.
In Buenos Aires we are one tango from Ushuaia and the ship to take us to Antarctica...