Antarctica

Visiting Antarctica was a magical experience, and one that I'm not going to attempt to break down into a catalog of the places we visited, what we saw, and what we did.  Even the best pictures (and several amazing photographers on the trip took several amazing pictures) can't do justice to the feeling of actually being there -- and if a picture is worth a thousand words, well... the math doesn't add up to a blog post that anyone has time to read.  (Or maybe that's a cop out and I'm just too lazy to write such a detailed description.)

Antarctica is so staggeringly beautiful that it's odd when you realize there's basically only one color: blue -- the blue of the sky, the blue of the ocean, the various blues of the ice.  Everything else is essentially black and white -- the white of the snow, the black of the rock, the black and white of the penguins.  (I gather that by the end of the Antarctic tourist season in February/March, there's also a fair bit of pink -- penguin guano.  But although there were hints of it in some of the colonies, we visited early enough that most of the penguins and most of the landscape looked pristine.  Rose also points out that there were occasional splashes of orange: gentooo penguin beaks, lichen.  Fair point.  But they're rare and small compared to the black, white, and blue.)  Monochromatic or not, it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

But beyond its beauty, there is a feeling of vastness to the continent that isn't communicated in photographs and is hard to describe.  It's also strikingly obvious that we don't belong there -- even at its northernmost edge, we had to painstakingly don several layers to be remotely comfortable.  Meanwhile, the penguins and seals looked on bemused, relaxing in their natural habitat -- the penguins even flopped on their bellies in the snow because they were too warm.  The most similar experience I've had is of going scuba diving with a wetsuit, buoyancy control device, tank, regulator, extra weight, etc., and experiencing an entirely new environment for which people are obviously ill adapted.

Speaking of penguins, they're adorable -- and easy to anthropomorphize as they awkwardly waddle around on two legs.  

But as awkward as they are on land, they're graceful and beautiful in the water, especially when they porpoise.  It's currently the penguins' mating season, so we witnessed ecstatic displays, courting, and, uh, the step that comes after courting.  (Apparently the penguins weren't the only ones feeling love in the air: our trip saw one marriage and two engagements.)

The humans on the trip were pretty fantastic too.  The stafff was absolutely amazing, knowledgeable and passionate about their respective subject areas (I went to almost all of the lectures they gave during our days at sea over the Drake Passage), as well as generally fun, interesting, and nice people.  Our fellow passengers (approximately 63 in total) also made up a really good group, with a wide variety in ages, locations, professions, and experiences.  I grew so fond of some of them, and accustomed to seeing them around the boat every day, that poor Rose had to listen to me mope about missing folks from the ship for several days after we'd returned.  (And Rose's company is pretty excellent in its own right, so that's saying something.)

Our two Drake Passage crossings were not my favorite parts of the trip.  The crossing was relatively benign on our trip down, although both Rose and I suffered a bit of mild motion sickness.  On our way back up, in contrast, we experienced a Force 10 gale that, among other things, decimated the dining area, ripped the coffee maker off the wall in the lounge, and tossed all of the items on our desk to the floor of our cabin where they promptly shattered into a million pieces.  Despite the rough seas, we made it through without much in the way of motion sickness or medication, probably because we'd adjusted to the boat by then.

In Antarctica itself, we were lucky to experience a wide range of weather conditions.  One morning was so stormy that our excursion actually had to be called off (which made for a fun ride back to the ship, as we'd already headed out in the zodiacs).  That afternoon, it had abated sufficiently for us to make a shore landing, but the wind and the snow was still so intense that you couldn't see more than a couple feet in any direction.  We also had our fair share of gorgeous sunny days, when the snow and water sparkled and everything was silent, still, and serene.  What's astonishing is how quickly the transitions happened; I've never seen such extreme shifts in weather occur so quickly.

Finally, the activities on Antarctica were phenomenal.  I went "swimming" at Deception Island (Rose declined); the water was numbingly cold so you only felt the pain after your blood began circulating again.  (Swimming is an overstatement: I ran into the water and then ran out.)  We went camping on the ice one night, which involved digging what felt like graves in which to put our mats, bivvy sacks, and sleeping bags.  (The ditches are actually designed for the wind to pass over you instead of into you.)  Although we stayed plenty warm, we were both a little claustrophobic because the top of the sack kept falling into our mouths while we breathed.  I didn't get a ton of sleep but I didn't have to use the bucket toilet (dubbed "Mrs. Yum Yum"), so overall I consider camping a success.  We also took several beautiful walks, most in our boots and one in snowshoes.

But for me kayaking was far and away the standout activity.  We were up close and personal for an iceberg calving and for orcas cresting (probably about 10 feet away).  In both instances, I was too stunned and overwhelmed by the moment to think about taking a picture, so you'll have to take my word for it.  We kayaked through brash ice fields and in coves filled with ice bergs.  On some days, the sea was so choppy that waves crashed over the front of our kayak and splashed Rose (she sat in the front), and the wind was blowing so hard that we were essentially in a kayak treadmill: paddling our utmost but getting nowhere.  We also had one insanely perfect day, where the water was like glass, reflecting without distortion everything above it, and you only had to paddle once every five minutes to move at a reasonable clip.  The icebergs we saw that day had been gorgeously shaped over time, such that it felt like visiting a natural sculpture garden in pristine, perfectly reflective water.  The experience was so amazing that I couldn't even feel that bad when, after taking one last picture, my camera slipped out of my fingers, fell into the water, and promptly sank to the bottom of the ocean.

Oops.  RIP Camera #2.  I never loved you as much as Camera #1, even though you were exactly the same model, but I was still sorry to see you drown.

In sum, if you ever have a chance to visit Antarctica, don't think about how much it costs (a lot) or whether you'll get seasick on the Drake Passage (you will), or any other excuses.

Just go.

PS: GO HAWKS!