Love of a Cold Climate: a Journey into Antarctica by Belinda Jackson

In Antarctica, it’s not cold, the seas are calm and it’s a nice place for a swim. There’s even a little shop to buy stamps and send your postcards. Really.

In short, my experience of Antarctica is nothing like that of the pioneers of the white continent, who were skinned by the elements, bedded down on pack ice and ate their own dogs. Not to mention not washing for six months at a time.

Perhaps I was spoiled. Instead of coming home a thin, unshaven shell of a woman missing fingertips, with haunted eyes and skin flayed to a bloody red, the scales are screaming at me to get off (despite being the cabin closest to the gym), hair is nicely straight thanks to the lack of humidity, and I’m even sporting a light tan from a couple of blissful hours soaking up the sunshine on the promenade deck of our luxury expedition ship, Explorer II, one lazy Friday afternoon.

On the previous voyage, the ship had spent two days pogo-ing across the notorious Drake Passage, the 1000km stretch of raw ocean between the southernmost tip of Argentina and the long finger of the Antarctic Peninsula, which explains why everything, even the black baby grand, is chained to the floor. But this time, even Captain John Moulds is surprised by the weather during the crossing of what’s been dubbed the Drake Lake. “They don’t come any better than this,” he says. “Someone must have chucked seasickness tablets overboard.”

The Explorer II sails from Ushuaia in southern Argentina down to the Antarctic peninsula and out to the Falkland Islands and South Georgia from November to February. She can cut through as much as six inches of ice, but unlike the ice-breakers, has stabilizers that ensure a much smoother passage through the often rough seas.

But make no mistake – there ain’t no Vegas shows or jangling one-armed bandits on board. During the two-day crossing, the expedition team, which includes Antarctic historians, geologists and biologists, will give lectures to prepare us for the next five days, when we’ll climb 11 times into zodiacs, little black rubber dinghies, to explore iceberg alleys or deserted research stations, hike icy hills then scoot down them on our backsides and muck knee-high in snow and pink penguin guano.

Our ship is carrying just 173 passengers (less than 50 percent of its normal capacity), half of which are from the US, with a sizeable Aussie contingent. Everyone is geared up for adventure, even the trim New York matrons pounding the treadmill to work off the excellent food, and we all push the boat out to experience the exhilaration that comes with such remoteness and overwhelming beauty.

The expeditions are led by Lou Sanson, head of the New Zealand Antarctic research team. He’s on holidays from his day job, but he’s still intent on packing our trip with cruises through fields of icebergs, visits to old whaling stations and landings on the ice. His team includes Bob Rutford, former head of the US’s research mission in Antarctica, who even has a strait named after him. Looking for the answer to the most obscure fact about the region? Hell, these guys probably wrote the book.

Given some of the questions that crop up, a quick info hit isn’t a bad idea. Try these on for size: “Is this island completely surrounded by water?” “Is this the same moon that we see in Texas?” “Do the crew sleep on board?” And my favourite, “Are there any female sperm whales?”

Each morning, we’re awoken by the formal tones of our South African cruise director, Jannie Cloete, who gives us a run-down on the day’s events, but a couple early mornings, it’s Lou’s soft Kiwi accent coaxing us to throw back the covers, roll on thermal leggings and get out at 5.30am to look at a rock. It’s a pretty special rock, he promises, really. Other times, it’s a couple of humpback whales and orcas breaching around the bow, a passing Russian research ship or the powdery plume of an avalanche.

The superlatives abound: this continent is the world’s coldest, highest, driest and most unpredictable. It’s also the most inhospitable place on earth, and not due to the weather alone: smoking is banned on the continent, wildlife has right of way, and could we please keep the noise down?

It even sports a dress code. When I step off the ship, my vivid ensemble comprises wool tights, stripy thermal leggings, thermal undershirt, thermal pullover, fleece vest, two pairs of socks, gloves, fleece hat, life jacket, sunglasses, Wellington boots and sunscreen. With the addition of backpacks and strobe-tastic red polar jackets supplied by the ship, we look like the lost tribe of Michelin people, though temperatures are as high as +6C – but best to be prepared. So to all those rogue humans who wandered into my photo frame, I’m sorry. You all look the same. Sort of like the penguins, but fatter and infinitely clumsier.

“This is an expedition, not a cruise,” says Jannie. “There are no girls with feathers, we give you real birds with feathers. And there’s no bingo. I know you are devastated, but no bingo.”

Bingo aside, there certainly are plenty of birds, and the twitchers on board are so excited, they’re about to pop. Skuas, blue-eyed shags, albatrosses and, of course, penguins, abound. Antarctica is the largest of the world’s continents at over 14,000 square kilometres, with a human population of 1200 and a penguin population in the tens of millions. They are everywhere. A lone iceberg amidst a stormy sea? There be penguins.

The three main species we spy on this part of the Antarctic Peninsula are the Adelie, Gentoo and Chinstrap, which we can identify thanks to an enthusiastic lecture by on-board ornithologist Patricia Silva, complete with bird calls and actions.

On Paulet Island, there are about 100,000 breeding pairs of Adelie penguins alone (the little guys with the Argentinean accents in the movie Happy Feet). These two-foot-high tubbies seem to embody all the best human qualities – strong parental instincts, monogamy and a comic nature. On land, they waddle over rocks and streams like drunken slapstickers, but in the water, they skim like quicksilver, and we snap like we’re obsessed – which we are.

So come Day Six, I wake up with a new resolution. “Today, I will not photograph another penguin.” But then we land at Port Lockroy, the oldest British structure on the peninsula, complete with post office and museum, and a Gentoo waddles up for a closer look. Obviously he hasn’t read the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators’ code of keeping five meters from the wildlife, and before my brain knows it, my hands have pulled out my camera and I’m snapping like a penguin pervert.

But then, seals get the same treatment, though they’re nowhere near as prolific as the penguins. On our very first excursion, we skirt past a small chunk of ice where a handful of Adelie penguins are drying off after a hunting trip. Bravely, they’re sharing the ice with their worst nightmare, a leopard seal who’s probably just eaten their cousins, so he’s too knackered to do anything but digest penguin, described by early explorer Frederik Cook of the 1897-1899 Belgia expedition as a cross between “a piece of beef, odiferous codfish and a canvas-backed duck roasted in a pot with blood and cod-liver oil for sauce”.

And let’s not forget the icebergs. The most magical moment of this cruise is a late-night trip on the zodiacs, weaving in and out of the ice, which forms cities of spires, cathedrals, tunnels and bridges. The sun-kissed ice is tinged gold and a dusky rose, punctured by slashes of purest aquamarine where the elements have bored in to its secret, ancient heart. We are silenced by the sculptures’ beauty as the rose light flutters into the pale violet of an Antarctic summer’s eve. And all the world stops, for just one moment, as the last wilderness finds its place in our hearts.

Trip Notes:

• Travel essentials: ginger tablets for seasickness, good quality sunscreen and polaroid sunglasses. Don’t forget your swimmers for a dip in the warm thermal waters at Pendulum Cove.
• A 10-night cruise on Explorer II to the Antarctic Peninsula costs from US$6895. Fare includes pre and post-cruise accommodation in Santiago, Chile, transfers to Ushuaia, Argentina, tips, port fees, all meals, drinks and tours (www.connoisseurstours.com).
• Aerolineas Argentinas flies from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, seven times a day in high season (www.aerolineas.com.au).
• To learn more about Antarctic tourism guidelines, visit: www.iaato.org