Drake Passage & Beagle Channel
About noon, the motion of the National Geographic Endeavour abated as the islands around Cape Horn gave us protection from the strong northwesterly winds that we have been experiencing. We had survived the infamous Drake Passage. Some of our shipmates who had not been seen for the past two days joined us on deck as we turned into the Beagle Channel, which separates Argentina to the north from Chile to the south. We were now in Tierra del Fuego – the “Land of Fire” of southern Patagonia. Green forests of southern beech cover the lower slopes, but snow still caps mountain peaks. It was a time to reflect upon our voyage to Antarctica. What did we expect when we departed for the Great White South? Were our expectations realized, and how have we been changed by our experiences there? Just how will we explain it all to our friends and family?
The word “ice” has taken on whole new meanings. We will think of ice in all of its diversity: the giant tabular icebergs of Antarctic Sound, with white snow petrels, the phantoms of the southern ice, wheeling about them; the phantasmagorical shapes of icebergs decaying into arches, columns, pillars, castles, the faces of trolls, as many shapes as the mind can conjure; the grease ice forming on the cold water of the Weddell Sea even as the Antarctic spring is advancing; the flat surface of shorefast sea ice upon which we walked at Port Lockroy, braving the wind and sleet; the brash ice that challenged our Zodiacs at Petermann Island and Palmer Station;
The word “penguin” will forever recall a precious moment when we sat quietly and established a personal relationship, when a chinstrap penguin at Baily Head inquisitively examined our boot, when we paused at Brown Bluff to allow the parade of Adelies to pass by, when a gentoo scurried by with a stone to add to its nest.
“Albatross” is no longer something to be worn around an unfortunate neck, but a giant bird, wings eleven feet from tip to tip, soaring in the wind, circling our ship in the Drake Passage. Finding nothing to eat, it continues on its feeding foray that might cover thousands of miles around the
Southern Ocean.
We have seen the whales of Antarctica; perhaps in the future we will feel anguish at the news that open-ocean whalers from an affluent temperate nation are once again violating the sanctity of the Southern Ocean, sending out their explosive missiles to intercept yet another of Antarctica's living resources, spilling its warm blood into the frigid sea.
We will remember our friends at Port Lockroy preserving their Antarctic heritage, and the scientists and support personnel at Palmer Station adding to the scientific knowledge of Antarctica, learning about the world and our collective impact upon it. We will remember the “penguin counters” of Oceanites who traveled with us, contributing more pieces to the developing story one colony at a time.
Yes, indeed; we are changed. Now we are Antarcticans.
About noon, the motion of the National Geographic Endeavour abated as the islands around Cape Horn gave us protection from the strong northwesterly winds that we have been experiencing. We had survived the infamous Drake Passage. Some of our shipmates who had not been seen for the past two days joined us on deck as we turned into the Beagle Channel, which separates Argentina to the north from Chile to the south. We were now in Tierra del Fuego – the “Land of Fire” of southern Patagonia. Green forests of southern beech cover the lower slopes, but snow still caps mountain peaks. It was a time to reflect upon our voyage to Antarctica. What did we expect when we departed for the Great White South? Were our expectations realized, and how have we been changed by our experiences there? Just how will we explain it all to our friends and family?
The word “ice” has taken on whole new meanings. We will think of ice in all of its diversity: the giant tabular icebergs of Antarctic Sound, with white snow petrels, the phantoms of the southern ice, wheeling about them; the phantasmagorical shapes of icebergs decaying into arches, columns, pillars, castles, the faces of trolls, as many shapes as the mind can conjure; the grease ice forming on the cold water of the Weddell Sea even as the Antarctic spring is advancing; the flat surface of shorefast sea ice upon which we walked at Port Lockroy, braving the wind and sleet; the brash ice that challenged our Zodiacs at Petermann Island and Palmer Station;
The word “penguin” will forever recall a precious moment when we sat quietly and established a personal relationship, when a chinstrap penguin at Baily Head inquisitively examined our boot, when we paused at Brown Bluff to allow the parade of Adelies to pass by, when a gentoo scurried by with a stone to add to its nest.
“Albatross” is no longer something to be worn around an unfortunate neck, but a giant bird, wings eleven feet from tip to tip, soaring in the wind, circling our ship in the Drake Passage. Finding nothing to eat, it continues on its feeding foray that might cover thousands of miles around the
Southern Ocean.
We have seen the whales of Antarctica; perhaps in the future we will feel anguish at the news that open-ocean whalers from an affluent temperate nation are once again violating the sanctity of the Southern Ocean, sending out their explosive missiles to intercept yet another of Antarctica's living resources, spilling its warm blood into the frigid sea.
We will remember our friends at Port Lockroy preserving their Antarctic heritage, and the scientists and support personnel at Palmer Station adding to the scientific knowledge of Antarctica, learning about the world and our collective impact upon it. We will remember the “penguin counters” of Oceanites who traveled with us, contributing more pieces to the developing story one colony at a time.
Yes, indeed; we are changed. Now we are Antarcticans.
