Arriving Back in Tierra Del Fuego

[Kyle]Our plan was to be out on deck enjoying our glorious return to Ushuaia as Expedition made her way up the Beagle Channel. Just after we entered, we were told the port of Ushuaia was closed due to high winds. Expedition would now be anchoring in the Beagle for the night, with the plan of getting under-way again in time to be berthed alongside at first light.

Dock, leave the boat and hit the road to explore Tierra Del Fuego

After the previous rough night in the Drake, everybody seemed ready for a good night's sleep at anchor. That was until they told us we needed to have our bags packed and outside of our cabins by 0630. We would have breakfast then and then disembark in groups afterwards.

Maryanne and I were in the last group, so that meant we left the ship at 0800. The expedition staff all came out and made a point of each saying goodbye to each one of us personally. While they were doing so, provisions were already being loaded aboard behind us for the next trip, which was their last of the season. The crew had six hours before the next group of wide-eyed passengers would be coming aboard for their first day.

We had booked a night in the Albatros for our return, so we headed there to check in and try to use their internet. I especially needed time to review and submit my bid for my next month's work schedule. Most of the other people who had been on the ship had the same idea and the Albatros' already slow internet ground to a stop.

We decided to head out for hot chocolates at a place nearby that we had run out of time for before we left. They weren't open, so we found ourselves in an all-too-familiar for us position of going around town trying to locate ANY internet.

We finally found a decent signal at the tourist office once they opened and I was just able to place my bid before it was time for us to be heading to the airport.

We weren't leaving yet, but we had booked a 24-hour car rental from there so we could return it and then just get on our flight out the next day. It was also half the price versus renting one from the same company from their office across the street from the Albatros.

We had no real plan, but since Ushuaia is at the end of the only really long road around, we basically decided to get as far north as we could in the time that we had. We figured we would stop anywhere that looked interesting and stay for as long as we liked while we were on the way out. On the way back, we could make a straight shot because we would have already seen the interesting places on the way up.

Almost immediately after leaving Ushuaia, the chaotic traffic ceased. We entered the mountains of Tierra del Fuego National Park where we had a smooth, winding road almost completely to ourselves. We stopped at several viewpoints that looked out over big green glacial valleys and imposing peaks.

We left the mountains and came to the southern shore of Lago Fagnano. There, the road followed the curve of the lake to the northeast.

Lago Fagnano lies in the gap between two tectonic plates. On the south side, steep mountains come right down to the shore. The land to the north starts off as very gently rolling hills which soften into flat plains to as they slope away to the Atlantic coast. As we left the lake, the road straightened and the going got faster. We were entering ranch country.

We had intended to stop at a little town called Telhuin for lunch, but there was almost no sign of it from the road. A couple of billboards hinted that we were getting near, then we passed over a rise and it was suddenly clear there was going to be nothing for quite a while. We decided to continue to the next town about 100km further. {Maryanne: Telhuin was billed as a small town, and a great place to grab something to eat - but in reality it was a truck stop with a small shanty town behind it... not quite the picturesque lunch spot we had in mind}

Rio Grande appeared on the horizon and grew larger. It was quickly apparent that there was no way we were going to accidentally drive past. Huge warehouses formed the walls of a canyon through which the road threaded. There were traffic lights at almost every intersection and the traffic became a snarl.

The city had been originally founded as a company town for one of the big ranches in the area that controls most of the surrounding land. The ranch still exists, but automation has reduced the number of hands needed. Since then, Rio Grande has moved into other industries, aided by tax incentives from the government. The area now exists as kind of an extended company town for lots of big factories and distribution centers.

There is complex after complex of hastily built, perfectly uniform housing. Most are made from corrugated metal with some stucco and all are painted in exactly the same way. At the edges of these are a scattering of bodegas, newsstands and takeout places which seem to serve the housing units. Filling the gaps in between are lots of houses built of what appears to be the corrugated metal scraps from the construction of the complexes.

None of these housing developments appeared to have allowed even a tiny budget for any public space whatsoever. There were no parks, no picnic tables, no benches, no grassy medians, not even any sidewalks. People lived in neighborhoods where there was nothing but dust and clutter right up to their front doors.

The City itself seems to have at least tried with a smattering of public space in the town center, but it was all clearly done as a grudging afterthought. Most of it involved painting surplus concrete, angle-iron or pipe stock in garish colors and then calling it a day. These areas were surrounded by construction, dust and litter, which would have seemed a better target for the city's resources. Maryanne kept wanting to take pictures of how bad this all was for the blog, but it didn't seem like the kind of place it would be a good idea to whip out even a cheap camera.

It looked like living in Rio Grande would be an incredibly demoralizing experience. Everyone we encountered seemed to be plodding through the dust of their private lives. We never saw anybody smile. This gave the place a slightly menacing air.

The only possible attraction we found in Rio Grande was padlocked

We drove around for a bit hoping to find a better part of town, but it never happened. We were pretty hungry, so we gave up and parked near the town center, where we could see a few places that seemed to be selling food. Upon closer inspection, most of them weren't. Most of the places that weren't boarded up were one form of second-hand store or another, each manned by a cheerless cashier. Our walk seemed to be taking us further from any industry, so we went sideways a block and then doubled back to the car. Along the way, we came upon a Tante Sara.

This was the inexplicable third restaurant in the chain. The other two were in Ushuaia, one of which was where we had our first big, delicious meal. It seemed to be BY FAR the nicest place in town. We knew the name and we were hungry, so we went in. The food was as good as we remembered in Ushuaia, but our server was clearly less amused by our level of understanding of her language. No mind, we were keen to get out of there.

We bought some delicious alfajores from their adjoining bakery to take as food for the road and then we took what we hoped would be the shortest route out of town. Once we were back on the open, empty road, we let out a sigh of relief at never having to see Rio Grande ever again. We agreed that based on our admittedly limited sample size, Rio Grande is: The Worst Place in Argentina. Don't ever go there. You don't need to ever go there.

To think, that morning we had nearly cancelled our room at the Albatros and booked a place in Rio Grande for the night. Only when we discovered our Ushuaia booking was non-refundable did we drop the idea of staying in Rio Grande - and now we realized how terrible that decision would have been - we were looking forward to getting back to Pretty Ushuaia and the comfy Albatros - whew!.

Back on the road with lovely baked goods upon which to nibble, our moods gradually improved. We were soon back in ranch country. Argentina is, of course, known for their delicious beef - which really is free range. Out here, they also have horses and sheep. Those are all things you can see lots of places. What's really cool are the native Guanacos. Guanacos are related to Llamas, which are more distantly descended from Camels, or at least the same animals from which another line ended up being camels.

Enjoying the wildlife and scenery on the drive back to Ushuaia

Maryanne was taken by the yellow "Guanaco Crossing" signs in the area and kept wanting me to stop so she could get a picture of one. Every opportunity seemed to come just as we passed it when there was someone coming up from behind. She made increasingly sad faces after each one until I finally ground to a stop in a cloud of dust in front of one. She was so pleased until I spotted a real Guanaco, for which I would not stop. There's the face again. Look away for a few seconds. Look back. Nope, still there. Try it again. Nope. It's getting worse.

I spotted a couple more and decided to turn around on the now empty road and go back. Jackpot! We found a whole herd standing right by the road. That had her squeaking with joy all of the way back to Ushuaia.

Drake Passage Northbound

[Kyle]As Expedition made her way north, the weather deteriorated and the seas became rougher. By morning, the motion was enough to knock unsecured things over and require that a hand be always available for the ship. This wasn't helping poor Maryanne's state, although she did seem to be slowly getting over the worst of it.

I went upstairs as usual for coffee, where Kathleen had a fresh pot ready even though I was the only taker. I'm sure most of the people suffering in their cabins wouldn't think so, but I was kind of enjoying the feel of the ocean swell. By Begonia's standards, the motion was probably a low medium, which my mind has come over all of the miles Maryanne and I have sailed to subconsciously associate with pleasant offshore sailing. For those used to hotel rooms that never move, I can understand why their experience was different. Of course, we were actually in the Drake Passage, and conditions were not that nice. It only felt like it because we were in a 100m steel ship.

I went outside for a look. The wind was biting cold. Six meter (20ft) waves were hitting Expedition right on the beam and exploding into spray that got blown away by the wind. That made for much more roll than any other wave direction would have. I popped into the bridge. Their instruments were reading winds in the high 20s to low 30s (kts). I noticed that the weather chart they had posted was indicating that we should just be getting into the worst of it.

We went for breakfast, where we had my choice of seating (Maryanne was feeling better, but not fully recovered, she had some toast). It seemed as if only about a quarter of the passengers were present. We were all doing that funny walk with our plates where we would wait until the ship tilted just so, walk fast until it reversed and then wait again.

Wait..zig...wait...zag...wait...zig...sit!

As a means of distraction, the ship's historian, Scott, gave an excellent lecture about Shackleton's escape from Antarctica to South Georgia Island and the subsequent rescue of the rest of his crew from Elephant Island after their ship was crushed by the ice they had been trapped in for months.

Next up was Gerard. If you ever need a guy to act like the worsening weather was nuttin', he's it.

If you recall, he was the guy I mentioned who was stationed at Port Lockroy. Subsequent to that, he was hired as a cook for the British Halley Base. Cook seems to be a tremendous understatement. Gerard showed us photos of mini pastry cities he made that took up whole tables. One of the winters that he was there, the base's generator developed a terminal coolant leak. Two weeks later, it failed and they were left without power or heat for the rest of the winter. Gerard brought a camping stove into his kitchen and continued to crank out yummy stuff by the light of his headlamp. He said they had a period of a week or so where the inside temperature was around -20°C (-4°F).

As he regaled us, he kept having to brace himself and the screen upon which his slides were being projected kept jumping around.

Noon log: Moderate visibility, clouds, overcast; Wind: N F7; Sea: very rough; Air Temp: 5°C (5-7m swells)

Lunch was up to about 50% attendance, including Maryanne, who was cautiously getting her appetite back.

We got a whale lecture next from Kevin, the bouncing naturalist.

Maryanne and I paid another visit to the bridge, where the wind was now nudging 40, with seas that had moved slightly ahead so they were striking the port bow. Expedition was now pitching and rolling, with occasional shudders going through the structure. I went to the top deck just to be out there to see it. That required both hands and both feet. Yikes! I would definitely NOT want to be out here in our boat. Expedition's bow came over a wave and crashed into the next one. A couple of seconds later, I got hit in the face with salty spray.

The bridge was a great place to visit

At dinner, 20 feet below on the fifth level above the water, there were about half a dozen times when the windows were completely covered by spray. We heard crashing plates a couple of times and I had to brace myself to keep from falling out of my chair. A lot of us did on that one. Mostly, everyone in attendance seemed to find it amusing, although the staff seemed to be gritting their teeth through their smiles.

We visited the bridge again before turning in. The wind seemed to be the same, but the seas were getting larger and farther apart. A look at their chartplotter showed their next waypoint to be Cape Horn, although they were heading just a little leeward of that course. The ETA was around dawn. Well, that would be exciting to see. I made sure I set an alarm.

Conditions seemed to slowly get worse through the night. Expedition would roll slowly, then groan and shudder. Roll, groan, shudder, over and over. Sometime either very late or very early, things got noticeably worse. The ship seemed to be rolling a lot more and things we thought we had secured reasonably well started falling. Once, Maryanne and I (and I'm sure at least half of the rest of the ship) woke up as we started sliding off our well-secured mattresses. The ship repeated this a couple of times and then the motion smoothed considerably, allowing us to go back to sleep.

In the morning, I went upstairs for coffee. The library's floor was covered with books and magazines. Almost all of the stock in the ship's store was on the floor. Kathleen was trying to stabilize herself while sweeping up broken glass from the bar. I offered to help, but she was just finishing. She told me to relax and have some coffee. She still made the coffee! She knew I'd be the only one there for a while, but she still made sure it was made BEFORE cleaning up the glass so it would be ready for me!

The Bridge was closed, so I had a look at the repeater display. It appeared they had turned upwind (and into the waves) for Cape Horn for a time, maybe about ten miles, then gave up and turned for a downwind run to the Atlantic Beagle entrance. That explained the night's motion. Oh, well. The weather was bad enough that we probably wouldn't have seen it anyway.

As I was drinking my coffee, I noticed I was eye level with a few of the wave tops. Where I was sitting, that was probably an eye height of about thirty-five feet above the waterline. What oceanographers call the 'significant wave height' (the height of the top third) was probably around thirty feet. I have often said that I hope I never see a thirty foot wave. Well, it looks like I may have. I still definitely don't ever want to see one from my boat. Captain Nesterov later said the crossing was an eight on a one to ten scale for roughness. Maryanne's finally with me on this one: We're never sailing down here.

Noon log: Moderate visibility, clouds, overcast; Wind: WSW 8; Sea: very rough; Air Temp: 7°C (6-8m swells)

The ship closed on the continent. As we entered the lee of Tierra del Fuego, the seas dropped to flat in a matter of a few hours. Everyone came out of their cabins to witness our return to South America.

Halfmoon Island

[Kyle]A couple hours after leaving the gloom at Deception Island, the sky began to clear, until we were left with a brilliant blue sky with just enough cloud cover for dramatic effect. A couple hours after that, Expedition rounded Livingston Island and headed toward the unoccupied Argentine base on the smaller Halfmoon Island, which is located within one of Livingston's bays. The anchor was lowered and the zodiacs were put in the water for the afternoon's excursion.

.. and then the sun shone!

Icebergs on our zodiac tour

We were landed on a beach toward one end of the island. There, we were greeted by much tamer seals lounging near the hulk of an old whaling boat. We crossed over a saddle to the Livingston side, passing several different groups of Chinstrap penguins along the way. We walked along a cobbled beach full of more seals before angling back up the hill towards the island's main Chinstrap colony at the top. Hidden among the Chinstraps was a lone Macaroni penguin that has apparently been living among them for over a decade.

Another trip ashore to wonderland!

It was at the colony that Maryanne started to feel a little queasy. The dense colony had been a bit more pungent than we had encountered before and it was getting to her. We retreated to some fresh air, but that didn't seem to help. Eventually, she decided to return to the beach and wait for a zodiac back to Expedition. I lingered for a while taking pictures, but still made it to the beach before her zodiac left. We returned to the ship together.

There had been a stomach bug making its way through the ship since leaving Ushuaia. The ship's doctor, Kristina, was aware of it and had briefed us all very well about the importance of frequent hand washing and avoiding contact with those who have been sick. It looked like Maryanne's number finally came up.

I talked to the doctor while she lay in her berth. She said she could give Maryanne something to reduce the symptoms, but it would also slow the progression and recovery from the illness. Otherwise, I was told, Maryanne would have a rough eight to twenty-four hours. Maryanne decided to tough it out and get it over with.

Our final evening in Antarctica was a beauty

Well, at least it happened at the very last stop. It was a shame, though. It was a beautiful clear evening as Expedition left the island and began the trip back to the NNE along Bransfield Strait. The sunset was gorgeous and one last time, the ship was surrounded by whales feeding by enormous blue icebergs in the last of the light. It was a perfect goodbye to the frozen continent. It was such a shame Maryanne had missed it.

I checked on her again. She was feeling the same and insisted that I go to the evening briefing without her. I showed up late and ended up standing in the back. A slideshow of the amazing entries for the black and white photo contest was shown and then a countdown was announced of the winners. I was shocked when my photo of the spotlight during the blizzard won me the first prize of a bottle of Malbec. There were some very good entries in there. Mine was just unusual.

I have to give Maryanne a lot of the credit. On the night I took the photo, I was going to leave the camera in our cabin since it was dark outside. Maryanne suggested I take our little waterproof camera in a pocket just in case something interesting happened. I also wasn't even going to submit an entry into the contest, but she did it when I wasn't looking, so I couldn't have done it without her. The bartender told me he would find me at dinner and make sure I got our wine.

Expedition made a big left turn into the English Strait, passing by our first stop at Cecilia and Barrientos islands. This kept the ship's motion to a minimum as dinner was served. I had a quick look outside and then headed to our cabin to check on Maryanne to see if she might be feeling up to eating. The dining room was abuzz with conversation as everybody relived their trip. There was a heightened sense of celebration and I didn't want her to miss it. She still felt lousy, so I rushed up to try to get some food for myself.

I got there just as the last of the desserts were being cleared away. I managed to get a slice of chocolate cake and my bottle of wine to take back to our cabin. It was disappointing. I felt like I had missed the whole party. I returned to our cabin alone. Maryanne was asleep by then, so there was no point opening the wine. I ate my slice of cake and went to bed. Almost as soon as I turned out the light, Expedition passed abeam Greenwich Island and exited the English Strait. We were now back in the open Drake Passage. The swell arrived and the ship started to roll back and forth.

Good visibility, clear skies, sunny; Wind: SE F1; Sea: calm; Air Temp: 12°C

Deception Island

[Kyle]After steaming NNE all night in a long, slow swell, Expedition arrived at the volcanic caldera of Deception Island at first light. The beautiful sunny weather of the previous day had given way to low clouds and drizzle for our arrival. Expedition headed toward the cliffs at the narrow entrance, known as Neptune's Bellows, and then made a hard turn to enter the inside of the crater.

Deception was apparently named so because it would seem by looking at a chart that the anchorage would be well protected from all sides. However, rough conditions frequently occur inside caused by high winds funneling over the passes.

For us, the winds were light both inside and outside the rim of the crater, so the anchorage at Whaler's Bay just inside the entrance was flat calm.

Plenty of evidence of its whaling past remains at Deception Island

We boarded the zodiacs and were deposited onto the black beach at the ruins of the old whaling station. The metal structures were being slowly broken down by rust and covered in volcanic ash. Like many places we've seen, once whaling was no longer being done, the station was repurposed as a scientific research base. This one was named Port Foster. It was abandoned during the volcano's last eruption in 1960, when it was partially submerged in flowing ash.

Now Port Foster is home to a large population of fur seals who have taken up residence along the beach. Maryanne and I had to weave through them as we made our way to the lookout at a spot called Neptune's Window. Apparently it is possible on a REALLY clear day to see all of the way across Bransfield Strait to the Antarctic peninsula from there.

Along with plenty of bullish Fur Seals

The seals were very aggressive and territorial. The recommended procedure when charged by one was to raise an arm to look bigger, make a lot of noise and back away slowly. This was sometimes difficult to do when they would keep coming. Those seals are bigger than we are and they have a lot of teeth, They are also surprisingly fast. We were told turning and running would make them break into a full gallop, which we would not escape, so our only option became stand our ground and look mean. Well, this will be good training for bear country.

We had to go through this process a dozen or more times before we finally made it to the other side. There we started climbing the crater rim to the lookout.

Not only was the peninsula not visible from Neptune's Window in the poor visibility, we also couldn't see most of the rest of the Deception Island. The black volcanic ground added to the effect and on that day Whaler's Bay seemed like a bleak place, indeed.

Kyle finds a hill

We descended back to the beach and ran the seal gauntlet one more time to get to the remains of the buildings damaged by the eruption. There we poked through buildings with rooms half buried in dust.

When we got back to the zodiacs, we must have been overheating because most of us dropped our parkas onto the beach to use as mats and then pulled off all of our layers but one (some didn't even stop there). Since Deception Island is an active volcano, some of the water at the beach is heated, so we took the opportunity to have a "swim".

Saying the water is heated is like saying Saturn is heated, which I suppose it is, compared to Neptune. In reality, BOTH are super cold. The water on the beach at Whaler's Bay has a layer about a millimeter thick at the surface that's a couple degrees warmer than the water below, which is at freezing. Splashing down the beach, it is not possible to feel any hint of this layer.

Maryanne and I ran in hand-in-hand until we were in water about thigh deep. This was deep enough to do a face plant that would allow us to completely submerge, then we dove in.

The bottom there must have been some sort of trampoline mat because we popped back out of the water faster than we went in. HO-LEE crap that water is cold!! Once we were done screaming expletives, we high-tailed it back to the beach, where we were handed a nice, dry towel. We had completed the Polar Plunge.

The volcanic activity provides for slightly warmer water
(so they say!)

Since there was no wind to speak of, it wasn't actually that bad once we were mostly dry. Getting all of those layers back on for the ride back to the ship was some work, though.

We headed back to our cabins for hot showers (to get the sand off, of course) and then headed to yet another giant lunch. Expedition pulled up anchor and threaded her way back out the entrance, leaving the seals to go back to charging at each other.

Danco Island

[Kyle]At lunch, Expedition weighed anchor and headed further north. We passed the entrance to Neko harbor and entered the Errera Channel. Partway through the channel, we encountered Danco Island. Danco was named after the geophysicist aboard de Gerlache's Belgian expedition who died along the way.

Heading North on a beautiful day

Expedition went just past the island and lowered anchor. Our position in the middle of the channel gave us long views in both directions of the dramatic Antarctic landscape. The sky cleared, allowing the low, bright sunlight to add to the beauty. It was absolutely breathtaking everywhere we looked.

We took the Zodiacs to the island, where most of the group formed a long line that zigzagged its way to the summit. It was a long climb, but not particularly difficult. All the way to the very top, we encountered adorable Gentoo penguins.

I've had to rethink my notions about penguins. The little guys look so ungainly on land with their short legs and their fat little bodies, but they are incredible climbers. They use their clawed feet as crampons and occasionally make use of their sharp beaks as ice axes. They easily left us behind as they chugged their way way up to the top, hopping from rock to rock. I don't think I ever saw one of them trip. On the way down, they either run on blurry legs or toboggan on their bellies. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call a human who is good at climbing a real penguin instead of a real mountain goat.

Exploring Danco with the Gentoos

On the way back to the ship, we took a zodiac tour through our largest icebergs yet, gaping at their many-faceted blueness.

Up close to the icebergs

We boarded Expedition, who pulled up anchor and then headed out the remainder of the Errera Channel and into the open water between the mainland and the South Shetland Islands.

As we left the peninsula, the setting sun turned everything orange before the light faded for good. Expedition continued on. The passage would take all night.

Whales spouting all around us as we continue North

In the meantime, it was time for the Black and White Ball. This was not a formal affair, per se, but rather a costume party cobbled together from what's at hand. We were all encouraged to wear black and white, and if possible come up with a costume. With only a few minutes to prepare, Maryanne insisted that I give something a try. We ended up dressing me as the world's lamest Gentoo. Oh, well. All in good fun.

Upstairs at the ball, all of us that we're dressed as something other than just black and white clothes were asked to come on stage, introduce ourselves and give a little speech about the inspiration behind our costume. Oh, Great. I'm Kyle the Gentoo. I don't really know why I'm dressed like this. I managed to just avoid saying, "my wife made me."

Kyle doesn't exactly want to join in the party..
but he at least is in the same room!

Music then came up and we were asked to dance around the lounge in a big conga line. Well, that wasn't so bad. Then the Macarena started. Aw, come ON!

It was actually kind of fun. Some of the improvised costumes were pretty good. The highlight, especially for the ladies, was a good-looking guy in a kilt. It was initially confusing how this was a black and white costume, but then he explained that his kilt was the Black Watch Tartan. He then turned around and flashed his "white bits" to the shock of everyone. We thought he would have some funny underpants on but, no, he did not. It was a bit of a travesty of justice that he won second prize for that. First went to G Man. They had to do that. The company that owns the boat is called G Adventures. He referred to himself as a ship-based non-flying superhero. His outfit disturbingly featured tights with a very taught g-string on the outside. We were all wondering what those were doing in his luggage.

Good visibility, mostly sunny; Wind: S F5; Sea: slight; Air Temp: 11°C