Voyages To The Bottom Of The Planet : Under the Spell of White Ice and Rarely Seen Wildlife in the Southern Latitudes : Cruising to Antarctica

Capt. Heinz Aye, who had been to Antarctica more than 60 times before, summed up the spirit of our voyage when he addressed the passengers the first night out in the main lounge of the expedition ship M.S. Frontier Spirit. “This is an expedition,” he said with a German accent and a mischievous smile. “If you want a vacation, take it when you get home!”

An expedition was precisely the kind of trip my husband and I were looking for. Before leaving our home in Los Angeles, I was repeatedly asked by friends, “ Why do you want to go to Antarctica?”

“Because I’ve never been there,” was my immediate response. Actually, I had been wanting to go to the “bottom of the world” for years, having talked to many people who claimed it was the best trip they ever took.

I wanted to plant my feet on the antarctic landscape, to sit on the ice with wildlife that does not fear me, and to stand in the expedition huts built 80 years ago by two of the first English explorers to attempt the South Pole--huts reportedly so well-preserved that that look as though the men left only recently.

Her first voyages to Antarctica, during the 1990-91 season, would be to the remote Pacific side of the continent, with each voyage requiring more than three weeks, including many days at sea. (Cruises to West Antarctica, by comparison, enjoy a longer season, depart from ports in South America and take the shorter Atlantic Ocean route.)

We were giddily prepared to see things we had never seen before--immense, unfathomable icebergs against an azure sky, abundant wildlife in a world of white and a little green. We had been told that no picture, no matter how amazing, would be adequate preparation for the real thing.

We bought cold-weather gear made of Capilene (a fabric used for underwear that wicks perspiration away from the skin), and pants and jackets made of an insulating fabric called Synchilla (which made us look like a couple of mature sheep), and finally shells to block wind, rain and snow, plus mittens, boots and headgear. We were as prepared as we would ever be. Sailing to East Antarctica, south of Australia, can take from six to eight days, depending on weather conditions. It is also expensive and, since there are only two cruise lines that make this trip every two or three years, it was a rare privilege. With all this in mind, we flew from Los Angeles to Hobart, the capital of the Australian island-state of Tasmania and the following day boarded the M.S. Frontier Spirit, which would ultimately take us to the Ross Sea and McMurdo Sound in Antarctica--as far south as a ship can sail.

Leaving the deep-water port of Hobart last Feb. 3, we set a course for the subantarctic Macquarie Island, 842 nautical miles due south. All in all, we would be at sea 23 days. For three days we were escorted by petrels and shearwaters--their wing tips pirouetting the crests of the waves, wandering and royal albatrosses with 13-foot wingspans, whales and seals. All seemed quite oblivious to the 50-m.p.h. winds blowing the tops off 35-foot waves.

The latitudes of the Southern Ocean--known to sailors as the Roaring Forties, Furious Fifties and Screaming Sixties--generated some pretty aerobic nights. But once we found our sea legs, we became frequent visitors to the sixth-deck bridge, where we watched the bow bury itself in white foam and a mountain of water crash against the forward window.

In spite of the weather, the ambience on board was a harmonious blend of casual luxury and college-at-sea. Each of the 82 outside staterooms included a private bath, bedroom with sitting area, closed-circuit television and refrigerator. The public areas included an observation lounge with a five-star view, gymnasium, library, beauty salon, main lounge and a dining room where the meals were imaginative and accompanied by an impressive wine list.

We discovered that we passengers represented 13 countries, that--amazing to us--most had been to Antarctica at least once before and almost everyone had two things in common: a yen for adventure and flexibility. (Weather and ice conditions greatly influenced the day-to-day activities.)

Sans bingo, trap shooting and Las Vegas-style productions, there still was plenty to keep us occupied. Entertainment came in the form of watching the sea life, and documentaries, slide-illustrated talks and lectures by a team of on-board naturalists. Ultimately--four days after leaving Hobart--the sun burst through the cumulus, the swells subsided and the wind became a whisper as the steep, grassy, treeless cliffs of Macquarie Island came into view off our starboard side. Midway between Australia and Antarctica, it is only 21 miles long and three miles wide. But this subantarctic island has become one of the richest wildlife sanctuaries in the world, with as many as 100,000 elephant and fur seals, 3 to 4 million penguins (kings, gentoos, rockhoppers and royals) and 34 Australian research scientists and base personnel. Tourism is restricted by the Australian government, and permission to visit must be granted before landing.

We anchored off Sandy Bay along the eastern shore, and climbed aboard 12 rubber Zodiacs piloted by drivers with walkie-talkies. Cocooned in our cold-weather gear, we perched around the edges of the Zodiacs and let a wave and the vessels’ powerful outboard motors carry us to the island’s black-sand beach for a “wet” landing. Getting out of the Zodiac at water’s edge took some agility, but once on dry land we were immediately surrounded by the natives: curious king penguins, about hip height, with iridescent yellow-orange necks, orange ear patches and silver backs.

“Sit quietly on the ground so you are on their level,” suggested ornithologist Dennis Puleston, who has made 32 exploration cruises to Antarctica. And to our great pleasure, groups of king penguins cautiously hopped up to us bowing, dipping and staring, pecked at our boots and parkas and, apparently satisfied we were somewhat strange but harmless creatures, shuffled off again.

Southern elephant seals--the largest seal species in the world--only gave us a cursory glance . . . until we came too close to one of the four-ton bull pinnipeds defending his harem. Inflating his gourdlike snout, he emitted a low, grating noise from a Pepto-Bismol-pink mouth as though he had an acute case of indigestion, while a gust of bad breath had us crossing our eyes and reversing our course.

Above the beach in the midst of the tall tussock grass, where petrels and prions nest, we discovered a royal penguin rookery; it sounded like a busy day of trading at the New York Stock Exchange. Thousands of these small penguins with bushy orange eyebrows stood flapping their flippers, shuffling in their own guano and pecking at each other. We could not help but be amused by the fat, awkward, revolting chicks covered in guano, still molting baby down and sporting Mohawk hairdos. Certainly only a mother could love them.

Two days later, we pulled up anchor and continued south toward Antarctica, riding a seemingly endless and angry ocean, waves pounding the hull, icicles forming on the iron gunwales, temperatures growing steadily colder as the days grew longer. Five more days at sea before we would set foot on terra firma; 16 days before we would see any greenery again.

In the darkened observation lounge on the top deck--which accommodated all 164 passengers in comfortable, theater-style seats--geologist Gregg Mortimer was giving a slide-illustrated talk. “If you’re into superlatives, you’ve come to the right place,” he said. “It’s a white continent of which 99% is covered in ice--about two-thirds of the world’s freshwater in the form of ice. It holds the world’s coldest recorded temperature of minus 129 degrees Fahrenheit; the strongest winds, reaching 200 miles per hour, and it’s drier than the Sahara Desert, receiving less than three inches of rain per year. If the (antarctic) ice cap were to melt, the global sea level would be raised by 180 feet. The weight of the ice, as thick as 15,500 feet in some places, has depressed the (Earth’s) surface so that one-third of the continent is below sea level. And, it is apparently earthquake-free.”

Three days out from Macquarie Island, at 67 degrees south latitude, Capt. Aye announced over the ship’s public-address system: “Picture, picture, picture . . . iceberg off the port side.” It was our first tabular iceberg; a startling visual reminder of our southward progress. These icebergs get their name from their flat, table-top look, created by strong, horizontal winds while they are still attached to the glacier from which they are being calved. We stood on the bridge wing with Capt. Aye, scrutinizing the frozen chunk of water. “In 1987, a massive tabular iceberg that was 98 miles long and 25 miles wide broke from the antarctic coast,” he said. “Its thickness then, of about 750 feet, would furnish freshwater for Los Angeles for the next 675 years.”

Once in the Ross Sea, whose icy waters lap the shores of the Antarctic Continent, we began to see miles of pack ice, with a layer of snow on top like icing on a cake, floating on the surface. This is ice from the frozen sea that breaks up at the edges. The ship’s double-hulled bottom painstakingly pushed the large flat slabs aside until we were in the middle of a gigantic white field of frozen water. On our starboard side were the white jagged Transantarctic Mountains, which extend into the continent’s interior and out to the northern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula. Off our port side, smoke curled upward from 12,000-foot Mt. Erebus on Ross Island, the continent’s only active volcano.

The engines were shut down and the silence hung frozen in the air. From the deck, a yellow-white glow lit the forward horizon, cast by the sun bouncing off the ice. Two black-and-white Adelie penguins, flanking the ship’s bow like parentheses, waddled around on their floating platforms.

During the summer at 75 degrees south latitude, the sun never sets. Under a midnight sun, we cruised slowly through the Ross Sea past tabular icebergs--some flat-topped monoliths, others smooth and silky, still others that had turned over, exposing tall pinnacles spiraling upward into a dazzling sky.

At 77 degrees 53.8 minutes south latitude--as far south as a ship can sail, give or take a few yards--we sailed into the McMurdo Sound at the edge of the Ross Ice Shelf. Attached to the Antarctic continent, yet floating on the surface of the sea, it is the largest ice shelf in the world, equal in size to France.

We were at the bottom of the world! The crew uncorked champagne and filled our glasses as we toasted our captain for a job well done.

Only 726 nautical miles from the South Pole, we cruised the edge of the shelf where minke and killer whales were feeding. One lone emperor stood near the edge, ready to jump into the pewter sea to join his penguin pals.

The colorful emperor, largest of all penguins, stands about four feet high and shares the most southern latitudes with the Adelies. Only the emperor never steps foot on so-called dry land; they are always standing on ice or snow and even nest on the ice.

But “they instinctively make a pilgrimage up to 60 miles inland to get beyond any possibility of the ice breaking up,” explained Dennis Puleston. “Then the female lays the egg and places it on the feet of the male, and she takes to the sea to feed, leaving him with the egg on his feet. In about 65 days, she finally returns to relieve the emaciated male, who staggers out to sea. From then on, they take turns until the chick is fledged.

At Cape Royds and Cape Evans on Ross Island in McMurdo Sound, fat Weddell seals slumbered near the huts of the early explorers--Ernest Shackleton’s at Cape Royds (built in 1908) and Robert Falcon Scott’s at Cape Evans (built in 1911). In their attempts to reach the South Pole, both Englishmen were beaten by Norwegian Roald Amundsen in 1911. Scott made it to the Pole five weeks after Amundsen, but on the return trip--short on supplies, hungry and sick--he and his men froze to death out on the ice. Shackleton fell short of the Pole, but was knighted after his expedition returned.

The expedition huts are well-preserved and maintained: Rusty iron trappings hang from walls, a deteriorating reindeer-skin sleeping bag rests on Scott’s bunk, and stores of supplies, supposedly still edible, are stacked on the shelves just as they were 80 years ago.

We spent five days on the continent before heading north toward New Zealand, and another four days on the Southern Ocean before putting in briefly at Campbell Island and the Auckland Islands off the southern tip of New Zealand. When we reached Bluff, New Zealand, we had traveled a total of 4,575 nautical miles.

Flying back to Los Angeles from Christchurch at 35,000 feet, I asked my husband, “How would you feel about sailing across the Drake Passage to West Antarctica?”

“Why not,” he said, “it’d be a piece of cake!”

1991-92 cruises: This year, instead of sailing the Pacific route to East Antarctica, Salen Lindblad Cruising will offer itineraries to West Antarctica (the Antarctic Peninsula) and outlying islands below South America. This area is closer, less expensive and requires fewer days at sea. Salen Lindblad will return to Pacific itineraries in the 1992-93 season. For full details on antarctic cruises this season, see accompanying story on facing page.