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Antarctic Adventure - #22 - Home via Buenos Aries

2011-08-23T21:16:14Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

The flight from Ushuaia was delayed; while wandering the airport I seemed to know so many people. The sun shone brightly as I left and humid sunshine greeted me early evening in Buenos Aries. I was back at the familiar hotel. Was it only 19 nights since I was last here? That last night on TV it had been the academy awards. A world of living had been done since Oscar had his night.

I decided to start my evening with a bath. I filled the tub and lay in it allowing my thoughts to wander. While only disturbed by my breathing, the water remained still. I focused on that newness. For 18 nights of swaying, no water had remained still. Every shower taken on board the Polar Star had had a slurp of water hitting the sides. Now I became so aware of the stillness of the room. I was on dry land. The voyage was over. I had survived it. A smile slowly grew across my face. A smug smile. I had done it. I had met the challenge successfully. Others may not understand the enormity of the success. I care not. It was my private battle. My body had withstood the test.

I thought back to the surgery I had endured in 1983/4 where much of my spine had been fused and my fibulas had been used to make struts to prevent the vertebrae from collapsing. Scars from knee to ankle on both legs bear witness to the removal of the bones. On top of that I take weekly pills to ward off the effects of osteoporosis. My shrunken thoracic cavity allows room for the equivalent of one lung to expand. It doesn't take too much exertion to get puffed. I am 4ft 10 inches tall. I lay in that bathtub marveling at the accomplishment. It was a silent nod of approval I gave myself. I also knew I would not set myself a task like this to accomplish in the future. I was relieved I had been able to satisfy this desire now, not next year. Next year might have been too late.

After my bath I went down to the hotel restaurant for dinner and was delighted to join three other guests who had been on the expedition. We did not know the other was at this hotel. We shared a bottle of Argentinean wine and reminisced. It was a perfect conclusion.

I got an extra hour’s sleep that night as the clocks went forward. At the appointed time I was in the lobby meeting with my guide and taxi driver whom I had hired for a morning sightseeing tour of Buenos Aries. My guide was a retired schoolteacher, lively, attentive and knowledgeable. She wanted to create a visit to her city, which satisfied my needs not her own. I explained that I had spent a day in Buenos Aries in January 2006 when I had arrived on a cruise ship. We had taken the free shuttle from the ship to a down town jewelry store and from there had walked to the Plaza de Mayo. I told her I wanted to return there and needed to know more about what I had witnessed then. But first our car took us to venues I had not seen but were part of the tourist circuit.

We stopped in one of the many parks in Buenos Aries to view the Floris Genérica - a huge steel and aluminum sculpture of a flower which opens and closes at sunrise and sunset using hydraulic machinery. It was donated by architect Eduardo Catalo in 2002. It stands in the centre of the Plaza Naciones Unidas (United Nations Plaza) in a reflecting pool. Each of the six petals measures 13 meters long and 7 meters wide.

Trees were in blossom everywhere and a Sunday morning relaxation pervaded the air. We stopped at the raw statue honoring Eva Perόn, the first lady who was adored by the working class and despised by the elite. We entered the Recoleto district to see its famous cemetery where Eva Perόn now lies. She is in the mausoleum of her father’s family – the father who had not acknowledged her as his illegitimate child.

My guide, Estela, told me the stories of others in the cemetery as we meandered the narrow streets with the stone and metal and glass little houses. She made me press my face against the glass to see statues and steps leading to vaults below. She told me the story of one 18 year old girl’s coffin that had moved. They opened it to find her definitely dead but there were scratch marks on the inside of the lid…she had had narcolepsy. Estela’s tales continued as we strolled, occasionally a contented cat would pass by or be lying in the sun. Then the peace would be broken by a chattering group of camera wheedling tourists intent on seeing Evita’s austere resting place and because they had seen so little else, would leave not knowing the beauty of the place.

We drove through the San Telmo district, an area of former stately mansion houses set on cobbled streets abandoned when yellow fever struck. Later the mansions were divided into rooming houses for immigrant workers.

La Boca was a factory and dock area where sailors, waiting their turn with the prostitutes, would dance together, a dance which would eventually become the more respectable tango. In 1954 the rail line was abandoned and the depressed area needed a facelift and rejuvenation. Benito Quinquela Martin was a wealthy artist who had friends in high places. Abandoned as a new born he grew up in an orphanage in La Boca. When he returned a famous man he gathered his many mural painting friends and for three years they painted the houses of La Boca - all the colours of the rainbow. Martin asked for the paint from local merchants; those who did not cooperate with the project learned to their chagrin how powerful the artist was – or so the story went according to Estela.

Today La Boca’s main street, the Caminito, is a vibrant area by daylight with tourists, tango music, cafes and opportunity to dance the tango with a professional and have a photograph taken. We stopped for coffee in a café where the locals go and Estela encouraged me to eat empanadas made from ground beef, egg, onions and peppers.

At last we came to the Plaza de Mayo. Within the dark cathedral mass was taking place. It was Palm Sunday and the faithful had come to church bearing olive branches. I was last there on January 26, 2006. Then I had walked, passing immobile guarding soldiers, around the tomb of General San Martin, the leader who had won the fight for independence from Spain. The black tomb is flanked by three life-size female statues representing Argentina, Peru and Chile who had all been countries with the same quest. But this day the tomb area gates were locked and there was no military guard of honor on duty.

Coming back out in to the bright sunlight we crossed the road and had another passing gaze at the Casa Rosada and as corny images are want to cross the excited mind, the tune of Don’t Cry for me Argentina stuck in my head. But this was quickly erased by our approach of the Piramidal column in the middle of the Plaza de Mayo. Now my mind went back to 2006.

It had been a bright sunny day as this was. The square that day was crowded with marchers, loud speakers, TV cameras, booths selling literature and a police presence. Marchers carried placard I did not understand, but I recognized the names Evita and Che Guevara. They marched round the Piramide de Mayo, a statue from which hung streams of photographs of young men and women. Several of the marchers were older women wearing white headscarves. I noticed on the ground there were many painted flagstones with the same scarf.

On March 24th 1976 there was a military coup and the start of the disappearance of young dissidents. Between 9,000-30,000 disappeared. They mothers knocked on doors to get answers as to where their children and husbands had gone. They gathered together and demonstrated in front of the May Pyramid demanding truth and justice. It was illegal to gather in groups. The military told them to keep moving, so the marches began, around the pyramid, every Thursday, every week. They are known as the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, the mothers of "Desaparcidos" – "The disappeared." Often their numbers would swell to 300-400 and they were an inspiration to others around the world. Their distinctive white scarves represented baby blankets.

I learned that on Jan 26th 2006 one faction - the socialist revolution faction - made their last annual march of remembrance believing the current government was not indifferent to the events of the dirty war. They will continue to march on Thursdays for other social causes.

A museum park was opened so that no one can forget the power of state terrorism. The names of those kidnapped, detained, tortured, murdered or still missing are honoured on the banks of the River Plate, the river into which so many were dropped to their death from planes.

Thursday 26 March 2006

Sunday 16 March 2008

In the area where I had marched with the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo on March 26, 2006, I stood again. Estela took my photograph. There were placards for a union demonstration about the non recognition of Argentinean soldiers who had fallen during the Falkland’s war of 1982. Estela had pointed out to me the war memorial for the Falklands war which stands opposite an old monument which was once called the British monument – now disrespectfully just called "the Tower."

What serendipitous events embrace me in Buenos Aries. My first visit to the Plaza de Mayo had me witnessing the final Thursday march of the Mothers. On this day the protest was about the soldiers who had fought in the Falklands in 1982. I had recently walked where they had walked, seen relics abandoned on hillsides and in the museum in Stanley. I had seen areas of land still filled with their land mines. All is connected.

I parted company with Estela on the banks of the River Plate in the Puerto Madero district, the old port. Previously left to decay, the newly rejuvenated dock area is now a trendy part of town, all of its streets being named after noteworthy women. We looked at a foot bridge completed in 2001 called the Woman’s Bridge, the Puente de la Mujer. She drew my attention to the fact that two structures built in the modern era were this bridge and the massive metal flower the following year. She was proud of the feminine parallel and absence of militarism in both creations.

We waved good bye. My driver wove his way out to the highway and we headed to the airport. I was on my way home.

Here I am a woman in my 60s yet I feel, on this trip, as if I had experienced a coming of age event. A new me was to walk off the plane in Toronto next morning. A me, hopefully, better equipt to face my future.

Antarctic Adventure - #21 - Return to Ushuaia

2010-12-18T04:46:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

We had a day at sea and gradually the Argentinean coast came into view. Wandering albatross still followed us but there were far more Shags in the air. During Happy Hour in the lounge there were the farewell speeches and our captain remembering the morning at Snow Hill Island. A memory, he said he would retain for the rest of his life. The sunset and we had our final dinner on board.

The Polar Star was responding to a gentle swell that night. We slept without rolling. Apart from taking one dose the first night, I had succeeded in making the whole trip without the aid of anti-nausea pills or patches. I had found only a handful of fellow passengers who had risked abstinence. I thought back to childhood days of crossing the Irish Sea from the Isle of Man to Liverpool and always being sick. Another test passed.

Before dawn next morning the Polar Star tied up to a pier, something she had not done since leaving Ushuaia 20 days before. Ushuaia is on an island. Since leaving Buenos Aries the only mainland I have stood on was at Brown Bluff in Antarctica, the rest were all islands. We disembarked into the predawn darkness. Ships that were much larger than the Polar Star surrounded us. Sleek white cruise ships made our hard working rusting red hull look shabby. Yet she had an endearing quality, a uniqueness, a strength that fostered great loyalty. Many travelers chose her as their ship of choice.

A stranger waited at the dock to take me to his office where my luggage would remain till it was time to be taken to the airport. I had time to walk around Ushuaia as the sun rose over still reflective water, gentle breezes, colourful flowers and a stately mountainous backdrop. I stopped by a cafe for a cappuccino and met another passenger who also had some time to kill. She and her boyfriend had taken “care” of me on Prion Island offering a hand to me as I negotiated muddy patches between the clumps of tussock grasses. It was a reminder that I had pushed myself physically far harder than I hoped I would be tested to do.

I became conscious of aging. Not with fear, not with regret; but with the knowledge that it was not going to be easy to adjust to decreasing function. I would always have the tendency to go a bit beyond. Maybe I do have guardian angels that protect when I push the envelope. Why do I push so hard - because I can? Is it because I refuse to accept my limitations or because I am in denial? It is none of the above. I push to ensure nothing that I have goes to waste. There will be no regrets for things not tried. My gratitude is that when I try too hard, beyond that which I can do alone, a helping hand appears. The hand I have now learned to accept. The hand for so many years I chose to reject.

Antarctic Adventure # 20 - Albatross and Rock Hoppers

2010-05-13T02:10:00Z

By Susan Ellis of keylifejourneys

We are heading in a westerly direction. There will be a southerly sweep around Terra Del Fuego to get to the Beagle Channel and so to Ushuaia, but there is a feeling in the air that the adventure is winding down. Today will be our last expedition landing. Indeed we were to have had two. The weather made one impossible. The famous westerlies battered us as we attempted a landing on Carcas Island in the West Falklands.

Did I have a sense of regret that the end was in sight? Did I want to go home? There were no regrets and yes when the time came I would be ready to go home. I cannot remember a time when the end of a trip was marked by my not being ready. It is as if I prepare myself for what there is, and once it is done, it is done. Life has been like that for me. No unrealistic expectations, just gratitude for what I have received. For many years another concept of acceptance has been with me. If my life was to end tomorrow, so be it. I am well content with what has been achieved.

I do believe that this attitude comes from the awareness early on in my life that my life was a miracle. Many thought it would end before the age of 5 years. Indeed I was led to believe that my mother brought me home from the hospital saying to the staff "well she might as well die at home." People didn't know how to handle that. There were no home support services; it was not an encouraged practice. Indeed many preferred that their disabled children were hidden away so as not to bring shame to the family. Still other families knew they didn't have a choice. Since my mother made the decision to bring me home after two years in hospital, the medical staff thought she must have had some nurses training. She had none. She was just a very determined lady.

So it has been with a sword of Damocles over my head that I ventured out into the world. And I didn't die! Go figure. I don't think I ever experience the usual teenage concept of invulnerability. I've always lived my life finishing each day knowing to be satisfied in case there was nothing more. Now that didn't stop me from having goals and dreams to attempt to fulfill, one might as well live one's dying. All of us are dying. Life is a slow process of dying. I suppose I have just never wasted my life being preoccupied with a fear of death. Life is short and it is for living, experiencing and growing. Growing I hope in consciousness, compassion and enlightenment.

So here I was on an icebreaker battling a major storm trying to have two more landings. We may have made it onto the shore at Carcas Island but there was no guarantee we would safely get off again. A zodiac was lowered around the coast. One of our passengers from Britain was finishing his vacation on the island, leaving the ship permanently. Eventuality they got him ashore. Later in Ushuaia I would spend a delightful hour in a coffee shop with his girlfriend as I awaited transportation to the airport.

But on that windy grey day in the Falklands we headed to West Point Island where a sheltered bay provided us with an easier landing. A stiff climb awaited us over a hill top to cliffs which would serve as a viewing place for some remarkable sightings. Indeed if this was to be the last expedition of this trip it provided me with a magical new experience. Luckily I chose not to do the hike but was transported in a Land Rover to the observation area. We walked through high clumps of tussock grass which served as a screen not only from the wildlife but also the very strong wind that was blowing up the cliffs.

Far below us the sea churned against formidable rocks, the spray came up with the wind. Amongst the frenzied fronds of tussock grass huge Black Browed Albatross chicks awaited the return of a parent with food. Unlike the nesting ground on the windless Prion Island, here the adults had the wind to take off and land. While waiting, the chicks preened themselves and on occasion stood up and stretched out their wings into the wind to strengthen them. It was an incredible sight to watch the wings fold back to the sides with two hinges. Unperturbed by the massive wings waving above them, Rock hopper penguins socialized in their own nests.

These tubby little birds only felt at risk when a parent Albatross came in to land. But somehow they all co-existed peacefully. When it was necessary to feed, the penguins had to walk down the cliff to the ocean. Some Rock Hoppers stood alone, molting. During the molt they cannot swim. Scavenging Skuas and Caracara circled and mingled and stole - anything. One member of our group dropped a glove which was soon airborne.

Back at the farm house it was so peaceful away from the roar of the wind.Caracara played and fought on the lawn. Interlocking gardens with stone walls, created over the past 100 years, provided space for veggie gardens, roses and lupins. Upland Geese foraged on the grasslands.The warm cup of tea and freshly baked cakes were welcomed.

Gradually the group went back to the dock, our zodiacs ferried us back to the ship. There was a major swell in the bay and the zodiac rose and fell by the ship's landing platform and we each had to wait the right moment to step on board. I certainly felt the advantage of being small at times like this. May willing arms and hands were reaching out to me and I often got whisked to safety - not under my own steam.

We left The Falklands and headed into another turbulent night.

Antarctic Adventure # 19 - The Falklands Revisited

2010-04-29T02:58:00Z

By Susan Ellis of keylifejourneys

There is a saying warning "you can't go back." Yet if that chapter has not closed and there are more pages to be written, of course you must go back. However I know I do not want to try to recapture what was once experienced and make it be repeated or elongated. Let it be a new experience, a "to be continued" episode in life. Indeed let every chapter or episode be one that is ended wanting more, rather than finished too late.

The Falkland Islands or the Maldeves as know to the Argentineans, mix the colonial past with the political present. The two came crashing together in 1982 when a war between the British Islander and the Argentinean mainlanders erupted, was fought and decisively concluded. But the Islands would never be the same again. Lives were lost - Islanders, Argentineans and British troops who had come to the rescue. Tracts of land have been lost to humans as they are filled with plastic land mines. Those which are made of metal can be detected and disarmed more easily. But these wait for some wandering penguin to set them off, fenced off from humans. In all wars there are winners and losers. The land mines stay because the Argentineans say the British must remove them. The British do not wish to risk and invest so much. 117 land mine fields remain fenced off limits.

It was almost as if we had come from our own war that morning as we sailed into the bay to approach Stanley with light winds and blue sky and an utterly deceptive ocean putting on her innocent face. We passed the wreck of the Lady Elizabeth in her current resting place since 1936. She had be damaged rounding the Horn in 1913 having seen the other face of the ocean. She remained moored in Stanley till another storm placed her in the current resting position.

We came ashore by zodiac to a town where terraces of decidedly British houses greeted us. The locals drove around in Land Rovers - driving on the left -and the Union Jack flew. The grass was green; the flowers from an English country garden. Most of the trees found in the Falkland Islands are in Stanley.

I walk through the town close to the water, heading towards the Museum. I had never got to the museum in 2006 as the rain had been unpleasant. But this day the sun shone and the breeze was bearable.

I passed Christchurch Cathedral, the foundation stone for which was laid in 1890 and the building consecrated two years later. In the front garden, the whalebone arch has stood since 1933. It is made from the jawbones of the blue whale. It is depicted in the Post Liberation memorial window in the Cathedral as also are the mountains of South Georgia and the Whalers church from Grytviken.

Government house is seen between the trees beyond which is the Battle Monument. honoring those who fell 26 years previously. First British sighting of the Falkland Islands was in 1592 with the first recorded landing in 1690. Ultimately settlers came from Britain as sheep farmers. Argentina has always maintained the island belong to that country. A crisis has always been waiting to unfold. I walked on.

A fellow Polar Star traveler stopped to take my photograph in front of the Jheum shipwreck. This ship was deserted by her crew in 1870 after being damaged rounding the Horn.

Finally to the Museum and the sun was warm enough for me to take off my parka. What a delightful museum with the history of the Islands and those who came to live. However the most recent addition is the history of the war of 1982.

It was on April 2nd 1982 that the invasion took place along with the occupation of South Georgia Island by Argentina.The British sent warships, nuclear submarines, helicopters and commandos, marines and paratroopers, The British lost 253 lives and 3 islanders died. Ships and helicopters were lost. Argentineans sacrificed 60 aircraft and over 900 lives. The surrender came 14th June. Evidence shows that the Argentineans on the ground were totally ill-equipped for a land battle. They hardly had clothes for the cold weather and certainly not enough food. The military had miscalculated. They had not expected Margaret Thatcher, the then Prime Minister of Great Britain, to send her troops so far to aid some small outpost of the Empire. But the residents of the Falkland Islands desired to remain British and did not want to become part of Argentina.

Where was I in my life at that time? At the beginning of July 1982 I had set off for Australia and New Zealand as a tourist and a lecturer. In the November I felt New Zealand and headed for Fiji, then to French Polynesia seeing Tahiti and Morea; Then to Easter Island and to Santiago Chile and my first visit to South America.

Chile was under the control of Pinochet. There had been an energy of oppression and fear in the air, in the streets and in the eyes if the people. My journey continued to Bolivia. But my plane had most of the passengers disembarking in Arica on the Chilean coast. We were forced off, given accommodation for two days until there were enough passengers to fly a plane up into the Andes to La Pas. From Bolivia I went to Peru and from Lima, home. Although I had used my British passport for my Australian and New Zealand work permits, I hid it out of sight and became the Canadian I really was. It was not safe in 1982 to be British traveling alone in South America as many countries had supported Argentina in its war against British occupation. Back in 1982 I don't think that the Falkland Islands were going to be on my "to do" list. Who would have thought these isolated Islands would hold my attention twice in the years to come?

In 1982 I was beginning a new life, testing out my skills as a workshop leader and lecturer on topics such as the management of people with Alzheimer's disease and handling grief. It was also the time when I was fitting into my new self image as a lesbian. So 26 years later I was feeling the breezes in gentle sunshine on a south Atlantic Ocean Island, no longer the neophyte.

Meanwhile from a flyer about the 1982 war obtained at the museum I am reassured that "Protected by a strong garrison, the Falkland Islanders are now enjoying greater security and affluence under a government of their choice. Long may it last." I think Argentina will be back - oil is below the ocean.

Currently the prosperity is mainly due to the selling of commercial fishing licenses and the major tourist industry from both the day trippers from cruise ships and those who stay longer to hike and observe the abundance of wildlife. (227 species of birds, 14 species of marine mammals, 348 species of plants)

Other relics of war are rusting on the treeless plains and hillsides, helicopters and armored vehicles remain where they stopped. They are shown off to the many tourists who come briefly from far off shores.

I had a choice of three excursions that afternoon. One was a visit to a cove to see penguins and other wildlife. Another was a bus trip to hear the story of the war and see the battlefields. But the trip I took was to Long Island Farm of 23,000 acres in East Falkland. Our journey there took us over the hills and indeed past many of the battle sites and rusting helicopters were visible as we drove by. Many hillsides were covered in stone "runs" where what looked like massive rocky avalanches had come to rest.

At the farm we were greeted by owners Neil and Glenda Watson. They breed 300 Corriedale/Polwarth sheep for wool and they have cattle, horses, sheepdogs, chickens and some cats. All farming is done in a traditional way with hand milking, sheep sheering, and hand cut peat for fuel. They maintain a veggie garden and make their own bread and butter.

We enjoyed tea and freshly made cakes in their living room after seeing demonstrations of peat cutting, sheep sheering and watching sheep dogs at work. Plenty of Upland geese wandered around and an adult Black Crowned Night Heron stood sentinel at a gate.

We sailed out of Stanley in the late afternoon heading to West Falkland into the eye of a storm.

Antarctic Adventure #18 - Leaving the Southern Ocean

2009-10-23T02:39:00Z

By Sue Ellis

South Georgia disappeared into the sea mist. For two and a half days this would be a voyage of water, endless water; of close horizons when fog and mist limited visibility; serrated horizons when waves made it an ever moving line and distant horizons when storm clouds lifted. The journey one of changing colours, each associated with a mood.

I grew up on an island in the Irish Sea. The ocean, the sky, the clouds - all their movements, all their colours, and all their patterns have embedded reactive moods in me. Do today's moods reflect a childhood response or are they created anew?

I am looking at fear in a different way now. As a child it was a fear of the unknown. The only "known" fear was of pain from needles taking blood from my arm. Later the "known" fear was of being trapped underwater. I cannot float naturally so must activity move to stay on the surface. I overcame that fear by whitewater kayaking down the Chilliwack River in British Columbia.

Now I am in my sixties. I take pills to ward off osteoporosis. A new fear enters my life - the fear of falling. There is a need to be conscious of every step I take. I am on a ship that moves with the waves, it is never still. So when I look out at the ocean, do I see it as cold and uninviting? Do I hold a fear of it because, through its movement, I might overbalance and injure myself? Do I see it as the enemy out to get me? Aging could make me react that way. But if I do, I create a gulf between me and the ocean upon which I ride. The words of the Masters come back to me. It is only in my concept of separateness that I create a venue for fear to exist. Who am I in this moment? Am I pandering to my ego's need to find differences and division between all things or do I listen to my soul's yearning to be attached, belong and be in wholeness? Do I let my body ride with the movement of the ship and be in harmony with the waves? Let me co-exist, let me feel a part of the whole: let me belong. Then fear disappears and the unknown is purely mystery. The mood created by endless water is one of anticipation and acceptance.

As we moved north-west the winds strengthened. Some passengers, while viewing this same ocean, wonder why the patch they are wearing to prevent seasickness, is not working. For two and a half days our engines pushed us through gale and storm force winds. The first night the bathroom door swung and banged and drawers opened and closed as the ship rolled. My body in bed was never still. There were bangs and clangs not identified at the time. Later we learned that one which came at 3am had been from crashing very hard into a particular wave.

Lectures were postponed next morning and in the dining room our luncheon buffet was served to us at our tables to prevent mishaps. At noon the ship recorded -

Sea 7-8 m high waves
Wind Speed/direction Force 8 W
Pressure 1008mb

Our fish lunch was cooked as needed. Many passengers did not show up.

We crossed the Scotia Ridge and leaving the Antarctic Confluence behind we entered the South Atlantic. At times hour glass dolphins followed the ship and always we had the company of wandering and black-browed albatross and petrels. In the afternoon we had an introduction lecture about the Falkland Islands and afterwards watched the movie Moby Dick. Sitting as we did in wooden straight backed chairs, rope lashing them together, we emitted creaking and groaning sounds as the ship - our ship - moved. How fitting the sound effects as we watched the heaving whaler in southern waters Captained by Gregory Peck!

By noon the next day the log read -

Noon position 52° 35’ S 050º 51’ W
Air temperature 10ºC/50°F
Sea 5 m
Wind Speed/direction Force 5 W
Pressure 1010mb

It was still impossible to walk a straight line, but now after so many days afloat it was second nature to walk with a wide gait and have both hands at the ready to grab something stable. Indeed we knew from experience now that it was sensible to have one hand attached to the ship at all times. We had also learned to walk when the ship was going up hill and pause on the dip down hill. We had mastered taking a shower when the ship was anchored but even then water would slurp over the side of the shower floor. It was unwise to falter in my due diligence about falling, but by now I had more confidence in my skills.

It was March 11th and my 62nd birthday. Birthdays were honoured in the dining room at dinner time with celebrants receiving a cake to be shared with whom ever they pleased. That date was shared by three of us - Two from Britain and me. It was quite a job carrying the plate from table to table as the ship rolled. But I was getting used to the dance.

Next morning was calm and the sky was blue and we sailed into Port Stanley Harbour in the Falkland Islands. When I was there two years previously it had rained. But today the community welcomed us with warm weather and we walked on land in regular shoes, leaving the Wellington boots at the dock.

Antarctic Adventure # 17 - Prion Island and Leaving South Georgia

2009-04-09T15:03:00Z

A new mood greeted us today. Mist and drizzle created a grey world of rocky islands tufted with tussock grass, kelp patterned smooth waters rising and falling with the swell and diving darting splashing shiny seals disturbing the peace. I had experienced grey wet weather before in South Georgia. But it carried a different energy. Gritviken had had a morose and threatening vibration. Here off the shore of Prion Island, life was awakening and hope seemed to pervade.

We landed on the island, knowing not all who travel here receive permits to do so. We arrived in two groups so as to least effect the wildlife we were to witness in their natural habitat. We were greeted by fur seals and gentoo penguins including some seals that were albino.

A party of workmen had spent the summer constructing wooden steps to the cliff top. In so doing erosion would be minimized, but the invitation for a larger invasion of humanity was a threat. It was muddy and the walkways certainly helped. But on the cliff top we squelched around the clumps of tussock grass where the boardwalk was yet to be completed. Fellow travelers gave me a hand to maneuver and I endeavored to position myself screened by grass. My camera lenses were constantly wet becoming blurred and decreasing the clarity of my photographs. It was a 'hold your breath and don't intrude' world that I had entered.

There was no wind, making what we witnessed unique. We were in the nesting area of the mighty wandering albatross. The adult must hurl itself into the wind to become airborne. Without wind they are halted, either on land or out at sea. So there they were. The adults waiting to fly off or the massive chick sitting alone waiting for a wandering parent to return. The mist allowed minimal visibility and in the background there was a chorus of barking seal pups sounding.

The wandering albatross has a wingspan measuring almost 3.5 metres with a body length up to 1.35 metres. The females are slightly smaller than the males. To lie against the body, the wings are folded in three with two "jointed" parts. The adult wandering albatross appears entirely white from a distance but close up areas of black can be seen.

They mate for life returning to land every two years to breed around November. In their roaming of the ocean the rest of the time they are known to follow fishing boats and many drown when caught in the lines. A single egg will hatch after about two months and the pair remains for the nine months it takes for the chick to begin its independent life.

I was there. Up close to chicks waiting to be fed and adults waiting to fly off when the wind rose. I was close to the giant petrels and their tousled chicks The petrel's bill has external tubing out of which drips saline. A way of removing from the body, the salt consumed in their diet. They all seemed frozen in time and shared our company unperturbed. It was as if we were not there. Or perhaps we were viewing the world through glass. It seemed a holy encounter. It was a privileged moment of awe. Only the noisy seal pups acknowledged our presence.

There was a moment to contemplate the mortality of the albatross as deep line fishing claims them. South Georgia forbids fishing during the breeding season when birds are within the territorial waters. Some ships attach waving strips to their lines to make them more visible to scare off the birds. These are legitimate efforts by the legal fishing industry. But the pirates of the sea probably outnumber those with licenses and retreat in the night uncaring of the irreparable damage they have done.

I retreated from Prion Island changed, privileged and silent. The words would come later; the awe of the experience everlasting. Our Polar Star lifted her anchor and began her northbound journey, leaving behind South Georgia, an island that had claimed my heart.

Antarctic Adventure #16 - Hercules Bay

2009-04-08T14:04:00Z

By Susan Ellis of keylifejourneys

After a morning of perfection at Fortuna Bay and Stromness, the afternoon was icing on the cake. We boarded our zodiacs for an up close and personal cruise in Hercules Bay. The temperature was near record breaking for South Georgia - 21 degrees C. The water was calm and a gentle undulating swell made the kelp dance. Huge fronds of yellow-brown sea weed rooted to rock and splayed out over the water.

The cliffs rose high around us with geological formations showing there was no easy ride for the appearance of South Georgia above the waves. Layers of rock exposed vertically. Grassy shelves provided perfect nesting sites for the light-mantled sooty albatross with chicks. Great storm petrels floated by our zodiacs and penguins and seals glided through the waters. The lack of wind sound allowed us to be surrounded by animal and bird noises and the gentle breaking of waves on rock. A waterfall cascaded down a steep slope landing on a small stony beach where seals lay basking in the sun.

We were guests in the home territory of those who sojourned in Sub Antarctica in March. There was a colony of scruffy macaroni penguins, hopping all of a jitter. There were some distinctive chinstrap penguins, neat and tidy. Kelp gulls surveyed the scene from ledges etched with coloured lichens. Peace.

On this whole trip I had not experienced such peace as today. The gentle side of the Sub Antarctic regions showed me her smiling face. Her warmth penetrated my tense muscles and bid me tarry awhile at rest. Can I trust her? In this moment - yes. Indeed for any moment that exists can we ever know what lies there after? So at face value I let the warmth engulf me, the sweet sounds of unhurried nature unfolding her story before me. I allow myself to witness the whole and do not impose my will to change a thing. I hold the swoop of the bird, the hop of the penguin, the call of the gull the dance of the kelp in my memory to serve as a reminder when tough times prevail. This day indeed was a gift. I did not waste it for it was no less an awakening than experienced during the last Soul Journey.

Antarctic Adventure # 15 - Fortuna Bay to Stromness

2009-02-06T19:53:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Keylifejourneys

The transformation of experience which can occur overnight is amazing. The day before I had been surrounded by the energy of death and cruelty, the rain clouds had hung low and Gritviken had been shrouded in its murky past. It had weighed heavy on my shoulders. But this day I awoke to a different mood, atmosphere and spirit. Yes, the sun was shining. But as we anchored in Fortuna Bay I felt a different history embracing me. King penguins swam around the ship; mountains rose up from turquoise waters below. This day I would meet the end of my Shackleton story.

Shackleton had taken 5 men on the 22ft boat from Point Wild on Elephant Island. They hoped to reach a whaling station on South Georgia to facilitate rescue of his stranded men. It took them 15 days to cross 800 miles of treacherous water, but they made it thanks to the skill of Frank Worsley, the Captain of their sunken Endurance. When they first saw the mountainous coastline of South Georgia they were kept from landing for another day because of hurricane force winds. When they did land it was on the uninhabited south shore. Leaving three men there, at King Haaken's Bay, Shackleton and two others traversed 22 miles of mountainous and glacial terrain to reach the north shore. It took 36 hours. They came to the beach at Fortuna Bay and realized it was the wrong Bay and had to climb up and over another headland. When they heard the whistle to call the first shift of whalers to work, they knew they had reached Stromness..

I had shared some of his experience. I had felt his energy in the tumultuous Weddell Sea. The same waters that had bared their teeth at me through gale force winds had captured his ship in ice and force it to float at its bidding; then crushed and sank it. I had sailed to Elephant Island where his three life boats landed and from where he set sail for South Georgia. I had just come from Gritviken where he had died and was buried. Now I was to see where he arrived with 2 others at the whaling station of Stromness.

After breakfast perhaps half of my fellow passengers went ashore in Fortuna Bay. They had chosen to hike the last 3.5 miles to Stromness. I did not go with them. I knew I would not be able to keep up the pace. I knew the path would be of moving stone. I was not sure footed. I did not waste time feeling as if I had missed out. I knew my rewards would be on the next beach.

We watched as their tiny specks start to climb up the 1,000ft hillside to disappear from sight .We up-anchored and sailed around the coast into the next bay. We passed the ruins of other whaling stations and finally anchored in front of Stromness with its unique rock face of z shaped layers of rock up thrust by massive earth motion in the past. Our zodiacs brought us to a pebbled beach through frothing waters teaming with energetic fur seals. A few penguins wandered around, the Kings miserably molting. We had to keep our distance from the ruins of Stromness. They have not been rendered safe, and metal flies in the wind as does asbestos from disintegrating buildings.

But all around are lush grasslands rising to snow capped peaks. A river running from the hills through the valley: herds of reindeer thriving controversially eating the grass and causing erosion. But they have been here 100 years. Are they not now indigenous? Their breeding cycle has changed to take advantage of the austral summer. Their ancestors bred in the northern hemisphere in April. These are the only reindeer in the world that breed in November. They were brought as food for the Norwegian Whalers. The herds have increased in size now that they are no longer hunted Reindeer and penguins all in the same vista.

We took a leisurely hike, following the river towards the hills at the far end of the valley. Ahead above us we could see a waterfall - and pin prick people - our Polar Star Party had passed Shakleton's waterfall and were coming down the valley.

It was a hot day in South Georgia. The breeze was caressingly warm, the sunlight so bright that sunglasses were a must. Colors were more vivid that day than I saw throughout the trip. Every shade of blue to turquoise in the water, the sky with fascinating unique cloud patterns, the geological history, the human history and amid the mounds of grass, colonies of penguins, a lone stag lying on a hillside

There was rusting metal from the huge machines used by the whalers and also clean fresh air. I had time to stand and take it all in, my shirt sleeves rolled up. My feet were firmly planted on some of the most beautiful earth in the world. I was firm, not rocking. It was like a rewarding silence. No where near the creaking of a tortured ship or the vibrating crash into an up swelling wave. It was a reprieve. I did not want to leave. Even the fur seal pups seemed lovable, more interested it seemed in showing off their swimming skills that testing out their man hood on us. It was a day of perfection where the built up stress evaporates and if one is capable of living in the moment, one can experienced every last second of it's reality.

There was only one moment with a down turn. I got back to the beach and realized that in my joy of unloading clothes and photographing with my tripod, I had inadvertently left my backpack somewhere on my route. I told our beach master that I would retrace my steps to find it. He got on his radio to his back up who like a sheepdog was bringing up the rear and ensuring everyone was herded back to the beach. They had spotted my pack and were bringing it back. I must admit I felt a fool - one more doddery grey haired lady…But the moment of self reprimand past and reluctantly I put on my life jacket and waded out into the still waters filled with seals, and threw myself into the zodiac. We went back to the ship for lunch. Good bye Sir Ernest Shackleton. You have been with me a long time. Now I can bid adieu.

Antarctic Adventure # 14 - Gritviken

2008-12-07T16:41:00Z

By Susan Ellis

Emotional energy hung in the rain clouds, the humid air filled with memories; a collected consciousness on the shores of King Edward Cove at Grytviken. We saw a stony shoreline of damp green grass and fur seals; the land quickly rising to jagged mountain peaks that were shrouded in swirling mist. Always that rainbow present, disappearing when the rain clouds lowered and gracing us as rain clouds lifted. It was raining when we made our landing which was away from the whaling station. Seals barked at us as we walked up the wet grass to a white picket fenced enclosure. It was a grave yard. Along with others, it was the final resting place of Sir Ernest Shackleton who had died of a heart attack while at Grytviken in January 1922. His wife decided he should remain near his greatest love and so his grave faces south to Antarctica. All others resting there face west. We drank a toast to the Boss in Irish whiskey, as neat as possible in the pouring rain. The next day I would say my last goodbye to Shackleton. I had followed him through the Weddell Sea, Cape Valentine and Point Wild on Elephant Island, and now I had come to Gritviken. In 2006 I had been to the Chilean ports of Punta Arenas and Valparaiso - destinations of the tugboat Yachko from the Elephant Island exodus. My time with Shackleton was certainly a key life journey. Only Stromness remained.

The emotional energy hung heavy in the rain clouds as I walked through the ruins of the whaling station, set up by the Norwegians on a British Territory. In the museum I learned the macabre statistics of how many whales had been processed here. How greed for oil in the developing world led to the near extinction of these mighty mammals. I had previously learned that when whales became scarce, attention turned to seals and penguins for the addictive oil. Addicted humans have found that once they use oil they cannot live without it. Amongst those rusting vats, beached ships with harpoon guns in the bow, poised, waiting, I was in pain.

Oil. Today we fight wars to maintain its supply. In the past whales were dragged up on the beach and hacked to pieces…No I don't even want to put to print what actually happened so that a light in some far off home could be lit, a machine could be greased. Soon whales were used in the tanning process, for fertilizer, in margarine, soap and food. I looked at metal tripots knowing smaller animals and birds had been boiled in them for their oil…

There was a classic babbling brook coming down the hillside, narrow with plush green banks. It ran by the Whaler's Church standing alone away from the rushing relics of the past. On this day it was a perfect spot to enter and get out of the rain, change camera batteries, clean streaked lenses and witness one of our passengers spontaneously play the organ. I stood in the pulpit, in the balcony, and looked at the commemorative bust of C.A.Larsen, the whaling ship Captain whose name seems to be associated with all great Antarctic adventures and the founding of the South Georgia Whaling industry. He commissioned the church to be built and it was consecrated in 1913. Shakleton's funeral service took place there. It fell into disrepair as the whalers left in the 1960s. A charitable organization which maintains the cemetery and Gritviken buildings, runs a museum and gift shop, has restored the church. I signed the visitor's book and looked out through the rain patterned windows.

Whaling ended on South Georgia with the decimation of the whales, in 1965. In total 175,250 whales had been processed since the first one was brought to Gritviken in 1904.

I did not walk to the British Post Office to buy stamps. But walked, accompanied by a king penguin, to the pebbled beach where a zodiac waited to return me to the M/V Polar Star. The rain had stopped, the rainbow reflected from a pale sky over tranquil waters and I returned to the ship trying to leave behind the spirits of the past which lingered in the bay.

Antarctic Adventure #13 - St. Andrews Bay, South Georgia

2008-11-01T16:16:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

Next morning Friday 7th March we prepared for a landing at St. Andrew’s Bay on the east coast of South Georgia. As we approached we saw another long sand and pebble beach with a stream cutting diagonally through it. Tussock grass covered hills rose up to a backdrop of grey glaciated mountains. A wide river came through the valley to the south. Our rainbow was still with us; the sky was a hazy blue with misty rain filled clouds dampening us. Today would be the ultimate experience of King penguins.

I was grateful to have brought with me a dabber type lens cleaner for my camera for the wind driven damp mist and rain clouded the lens very quickly. Our expedition crew has left us a trail of red flags to follow and we were now familiar with the pairs of triangular scull and cross bone flags indicating lines we should not cross.

My camera’s tripod served as a balancing cane to cross the rushing stream and hike up a knoll to look down on a huge river valley. On our journey to this point, fur seals and small groups of King Penguins had accompanied us. I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me at the top of the ridge. Below me played out the drama of the lives of 150,000 pairs of King Penguins and chicks. Since parenting takes 10-13 months it is not completed in one cycle of seasons. Before me were all stages of the story.

Molting happens before breeding. The birds endeavor to find last season’s mate but in the brief time available only 20% do. If monogamy is not possible a new mate is sought. When the pair has decided to court they walk around together for a few days bonding. However during this walk about, last years mate may show up.

The interloper will walk along and there will be much hitting with wings and pushing back with the chest until one backs off. When the male decides it is time to mate he will encourage the female to lie down by gently pushing her down with his neck. The female however decides when to respond, choosing time and place.

Egg laying takes place between November and April. The egg is incubated on one parent’s feet covered by a fold of skin. They alternated the role while the other goes to feed. After 54 days the chick hatches. The chicks are covered in brown down, which made early explorers believe they were a different species and nicknamed them oakum boys.

In winter between May and August the chicks will huddle together and the oldest and strongest will survive until food supplies improve in September. Ultimately they will mature, molt and take to the ocean.

From my windy perch I observed all stages of the cycle. Some penguins were molting; others were courting and bonding. Many pairs were incubating eggs too late in the season to raise a chick that will survive the winter. There were oakum boys of various sizes being fussed over by proud parents. Broken eggshells blew in the wind and scavenger birds – skuas and snowy sheathbills – waited to pounce. Skeletal remains of penguins provided evidence of the interdependency of all on the food chain and the harshness of the environment.

Another impression etched in my memory is the sound experience of witnessing 150,000 pairs of birds plus chicks living together on the muddy banks of a grey flowing river. An endless cacophony of honks and whistles each sound unique and recognizable by the family. I was temporarily a guest in another world. If at another location I had felt in rapture, here I felt exalted by the experience.

However on retracing my steps back to the beach where the Zodiacs waited, I was brought down to size when confronting a raging stream to cross. Its banks and bed were moving pebbles. A strong wind blew. My 4ft 10 inch body felt rather vulnerable. I waited at the bank until a tall man came by and I grabbed an arm. His wife was on the other arm and consented to the joint crossing. The ship’s doctor was standing mid stream directing traffic across the shallowest part. The water rushed past my knees. The water rose up inside the waterproof pants I wore and flushed down into my Wellington boots making each step heavy. It was like walking in concrete blocks. On reaching the other bank I tipped out the water from my boots and found my feet now squelching in wet woolen socks.

The discomfort was more of anticipating the experience than the actual experience. I think we all have a concept of what it would feel like to be soaked to the skin in the sub arctic. But as I walked I realized that my body warmth was being transferred to the water locked in the woolly socks and this provided a layer of insulation. I soon realized that as long as I kept moving, I would not freeze before reaching the ship. I once more began to enjoy the scenery.

We were now at the mouth of the stream where freshwater met the salty ocean. Penguins walked into the water and flopped over on their tummies and swam off like massive, sleek ducks, to feed.

We were back on the M/V Polar Star for lunch. My wet feet, insulated by wool had not frozen. The video in my still cameras had captured some precious moments in the life of King Penguins and I remained with an overwhelming feeling of great joy until we reached our next destination that afternoon.

Antarctic Adventure #12 - Gold Harbour, South Georgia

2008-10-18T15:42:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

It did not take us long to reposition the M/V Polar Star for our second landing on South Georgia, at Gold Harbour. We had sailed through mist and light rain and the cliffs were shrouded obscuring the view. But there was a sense that there were peaks and cliffs and hanging glaciers above a long sandy beach.

We had received much instruction on how to behave around the wildlife, including the distance we must keep from them. However we could remain should they approach us. Of course this was something we chose not to do with approaching fur seals with sharp visible teeth. Had an Elephant seal approached me I know for sure I would have made a hasty retreat. The moment I stepped out of the zodiac there was an overwhelming bombardment of stimuli – sights sounds and smells.

Where to begin? Perhaps with the Southern Elephant Seals basking and molting on the beach. When they had first come ashore for the breeding season 8,000lb bulls create a harem of perhaps 70 females (cows) each weighing a mere 880-1,980lbs. Should another suitor make noises at the edge of his harem, the bull will lunge at great speed to defend his territory. In so doing he might crush females and pups in his path. But now all pups had grown, the bulls with their long trembling noses had left and penguins walked unperturbed by these massive beasts sleeping on the shore. Some had eyes open surveying the scene; others occasionally raising their massive heads to yarn. I did not venture too close!!

The noisy fur seal pups were all around but somehow they were losing their novelty and were just tiring accompaniers on our journey. The main attraction now was the stately King penguin. Even those who were molting, standing still, were regal. They stood tall, graceful and their body language could be humanized. I could say that by the way they walked they knew they were beautiful. They have long necks and a yellow/orange stripe from throat to behind the eye. Each stood 2-2.75ft tall. To make their call they stretched the neck and shoot their beak, complete with an orange stripe, to the sky and called their distinctive call.

The mists rose and fell like a curtain on an unfolding drama. Hills were exposed and then disappeared; a river, a rainbow, the thunder of crashing ice from an invisible hanging glacier; the honking of 25,000 pairs of breeding King penguins. The high-pitched call of chicks and distracting Skuas and Snowy Sheathbills. These scavenger birds waiting for dislodged eggs or wandering chicks in order to pounce and feed.

I walked the beach capturing moments of beauty in all directions. King penguins molt before breeding. Those who begin the process early in the season will have the opportunity to breed twice. However winter will come long before the second chick will be independent enough to survive. Like the larger Emperor penguins, the King penguin’s egg will incubate on the parent’s feet. Part of me grieved with the knowledge that all the eggs now resting on penguin feet in March, would die. But part of me marveled at the instinctual drama unfolding. Emperor penguins as filmed in the movie March of the Penguins lay their eggs in winter on sea ice. The King Penguins lay their eggs in spring/summer on land close to the ocean, the source of their food supply.

I was humbled to be in their midst. I walked that sandy beach in awe of all I witnessed. Kings walked up to me, so dapper, so proud. They moved on. A fur seal pup would approach some penguins. The penguins flapped their wings in the face of the seals and kept walking.

A river ran down from the verdant hills providing fresh drinking water for the birds and a place for those molting to stand. While molting, penguins cannot swim and must fast until the molt is over. Gentoo penguins shared these breeding grounds, small and pudgy compared to their sleek slim companions.

I walked back along the beach to where Zodiacs waited to whisk me back to the ship. I took a closer look at the now docile molting Southern Elephant Seals. Fur seals started to look more cute in their midst!!

As instructed, that night we ensured all windows were draped so that no light would attract birds that might inadvertently hit solid objects. No gale force winds rocked our ship that night and my dreams were of magical scenes.

Antarctic Adventure #11 - To South Georgia

2008-09-10T15:20:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

We passed a day at sea before reaching the U.K. Overseas Territory of South Georgia, a crescent shaped island stretching over 100 miles in length and 24 miles at its greatest width. It lies 900 miles south east of the Falkland Islands, which together in 1982 were illegally occupied by Argentineans laying claim to the territories. However the history of South Georgia is more notably one of sealing, whaling, research and fisheries. Now tourism is being added to the list. Smaller cruise ships and icebreaker expedition ships anchor in bays bringing tourists to wonder at the unbelievable beauty of the flora, fauna and geology and be fascinated by the human history. Today there is an attempt to restore the island to its natural self, reversing the impact of animals and vegetation brought in by earlier visitors.

So while at sea we had another vacuuming session and learned the rules. We must check our gear to ensure we do not take rodents ashore, seeds that might grow, or litter. We are honor bound to live by the rules. We signed our names to it. This isn't about holidaymakers taking advantage of beautiful scenery. This is about trying to ensure the reclaiming of pristine worlds to which sealers and whalers brought cats and dandelions and rats. Norwegians brought herds of reindeer amongst other animals for meat. Today some small areas have been deemed rodent free but the enlarging herds of reindeer are eating away the precious grass. We continued east.

That night I went on the bridge and watched the huge spotlights meet in front of the bow. Radar showed icebergs lurking in the darkness. A trust in the skills of the officer keeping watch was needed. I climbed onto the upper deck where no lights lit the way. The wind tore at my woolly touk. I held onto to the railings tightly as the ship lurched and rolled. I had come for some precious moments alone. Yet not alone. The Southern Cross showed me direction and a veil of light from the Milky Way stretched over me. Me and the universe. Each star was rushing away from the centre infinitely. And I on my planet rushing with the rest, interconnected, not separate but bound together by the invisible thread of the source, the spirit, and the whole. In that moment of clarity I felt the melting away of separation. How could there be a "them and us?" How could there be an opposite of what is? It wasn't about intellectualizing the concept; it was about being it. Being present; bonded to the whole. Understanding that many light years had past since that silver light above me shone. Today it may no longer exist as light. Indeed I may have been its last witness. I am comfortable in this moment of unpredictability; I can live with the sense of impermanence. Only as a cold shiver ran through my body was I brought back to a physical plain. My hands were freezing, my eyes watering. I came back to identify with my body. I came back to my warm cabin forever changed. How could I not be different when my consciousness had been taken to a new level? The stardust within my physical reunited, for an instant, with its source.

Excitement was welling up on seeing the silhouette on the horizon grow clearer, closer. High mountains, grey cliffs and green slopes. We sailed into Cooper’s Bay and anchored in calm waters. The wind was not biting; a sense of gentleness pervading. We disembarked from our zodiacs onto a pebbled beach welcomed by fur seals and Gentoo penguins.

Each young adventurous seal pup wanted to get a piece of us. With hand clapping we kept them at bay. We climbed to the top of the tussock grass covered cliff. We were grateful for our rubber boots as we squelched through mud, passing nursing seals and much barking from others. Finally we reached a colony of Macaroni Penguins, scruffy bundles of black and white feathers, many forlornly molting.

This was our first sighting of penguins with a comb of spaghetti like yellow spikes anchored between the eyes and falling backwards over the crown. They lived in a muddy world requiring long walks down to the sea and the source of their food. But the molters would have to wait for the change of feathers before deciding for a swim. From the cliffs I looked down on the island-strewn bay, the M/V Polar Star peacefully at anchor.

Wildlife flew, jumped, swam, slid and waddled all around. There was far more “action” than seen at Brown Bluff. Except for the curious seal pups – who investigated anything that moved – we were ignored while keeping our distance. This led one to feel a part of the scene. As I retraced my steps down the stony slope, which had been etched by descending water, a group of Gentoo made a similar descent close by. This was the reason I had made this trip. I needed to return to the Antarctic region to tangibly feel its world. On reboarding our ship the South Georgia mud was removed during our ritual hose down. The day had been perfect. But it was not over. We sailed on to Gold Harbour for a magical visit.

Antarctic Adventure # 10 - To the South Orkney Islands

2008-08-30T18:57:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

For over 24 hours we sailed east across the Southern Ocean from the South Shetlands to the South Orkney Islands. This group of islands was discovered by sealers, the American Palmer and the British Powell, in 1821. In 1823 Weddell arrived and made a crude map of the area. The afternoon of 4th March 2008 was one spent, dare I use the words - in rapture? I know what I mean when I use the word but I think it has been hijacked by religion. I saw it as an "expression or manifestation of ecstasy or passion -a state or experience of being carried away by overwhelming emotion."

This was not about second comings - my second coming had been to Elephant Island the day before. This was about intense "now" moments. I have described the intensity of light and experience which I absorbed while at Elephant Island. The blue skies produced a similar light this day but the experience was different. The iced wind dug into the skin of my face, my eyes constantly tearing, even the inside of my sun glasses fogged up. The deep blue ocean was white capped with the spray being tossed backwards over the curving waves by the wind. Albatross and petrels skimmed the wave troughs with gliding wings.

The M/V Polar Star wove a path through confrontational icebergs. Mountains of ice which made us seem so small and insignificant by comparison. Tabular icebergs are the remains of ice shelves broken from land and sailing free. They are moved by the wind and currents; they are battered and shaped by the elements. This day waves beat on them the spray glistening on their massive flanks. It is the blue of icebergs that is unforgettable.

The huge icebergs were on the move. Each showed its unique history through its colour and shape, angulations or smoothness. Sometimes the ship sliced through an area of brash, representing the end stages of a berg or that ground up from contact with the ocean floor or ice from a calving glacier. Growlers are about 3 ft long, bergy bits may be 10 ft long. Then come the small medium and large icebergs, some miles in length. We did not see those, but all the others in various stages of dissolve. All new icebergs are named and their journey charted.

A run in with any one of these passing monsters would have sent our small ship to the ocean floor. Maybe that was the awe inspiring nature of the experience. I trusted the crew to navigate us through this liquid jungle where we were the intruder. The giants were only exposing to us a tenth of their physical form. Awe, fear, wonder, excitement and yes reverence. Now where did that come from? Not the rapture I hope. What was that feeling? Perhaps I was not really feeling the voyage of an intruder. Perhaps I understood that I was confronting my world. Not mine in the possessive physical sense, but mine in belonging to the whole. I was moving a little further beyond what I had created in my DVD Antarctica-A Soul Journey - "awakening." In that DVD created following my first trip to Antarctica I had written

"What I experience now is that my essence is radiating out and I am being refilled by what is out there. There is no boundary defining me and that ice berg. There is no longer any out there, in here. Let’s face it I am breathing in air. Air that was released by that iceberg as it melts. Air which was trapped 1 million, 2 million years ago. And that same air has come into my body has moved from my lungs into my blood. I ‘m awed receiving that ice berg into me. I feel that we are all one. Every part of me is a part of everything else."

Here I was, two years later, different location but similar sight and I am moving deeper into that awareness of unity - the interconnectedness of all things, the cause and effect of all things. I felt it all within my cells.

As we approached each iceberg we await a new experience. With anticipation we searched the surface for evidence of life. Penguins. For me it was a surreal encounter with the world.

Gradually behind the icebergs the contours of mountains came into view. Katabatic winds raced down their frozen slopes and gusted around us. First there was Coronation Island and finally Laurie Island where we dropped anchor in Scotia Bay. The South Orkneys are short on welcoming beaches presenting instead steep cliffs, glaciers and mountains to the visitor. But here at the Argentinean Orcadas research station there was a strip of pebbled beach, with water on both sides, stretching between two mountains. The water around the islands would be frozen from late April to November.

The light was fading as we landed, greeted by penguins and noisy boisterous fur seals. The young Argentineans entertained us with sweet coffee. How quick they were to try out their English “where you from?” on the younger females in our group. 15 researchers were there year round each on a two year mission. They happily sold us tourist caps and pens and we took a tour. A line of graves and memorials facing north lined the beach, a reminder that this can be a savage environment. There was an interesting small museum displaying the history of the research at the base. Also to be seen, the remains of the Ormond House, the residence of the very first researchers.

A Scottish oceanographer, William Spiers Bruce led the Scottish National Antarctic Expedition in 1903 with the intention of doing hydrographic studies of the Weddell Sea and over the winter study wildlife in the South Orkneys. He was a man who shunned publicity and quietly went about his task while believing the hoopla around Scott’s expedition to the South Pole (1901-1904) was sensationalizing science.

Bruce’s ship was the Scotia and she sailed as far south as 70° 25’ S and on 4th February came to Laurie Island. Three days later the sea was frozen. I stood on the shore and looked out at the M/V Polar Star. It was, after all, 4th March. No, the sea was not going to freeze around me that day. The Bruce Expedition built a stone hut on the beach measuring 18 square feet designed by the architect RT Ormond for whom it was named.

After studying the wildlife and geology of the island and surrounding waters they left for Buenos Aries and transferred ownership of the meteorological station to the Argentinean Government. The Argentineans have manned the base ever since changing its name to Orcadas in 1951. It is the oldest research station continuously staffed in the Antarctic.

One of the officers at the base took a photo of me in my full Antarctic gear. It was an autumnal evening and I knew I was returning to a warm ship. We waved goodbye. Maybe we were the last visitors before the ice crept around them. They therefore were probably very grateful for the gifts of fresh fruit and vegetables we left.

Our ship headed out into open water to begin a journey which would last 2 and a half days before making land fall again.

Antarctic Adventure # 9 - To Point Wild, Elephant Island

2008-08-20T16:12:48Z

by Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

It was March 2nd 2008. We ate breakfast on board M/V Polar Star having returned from landing on the continental shores of Antarctica. An island landing was anticipated later that morning but the shore was found to be guarded by a wide jiggling band of icebergs, the wind had strengthened and visibility had deteriorated. No more heroics. We sailed on, heading out into the Southern Ocean to journey back to the South Shetlands and to a land steeped in Sir Ernest Shackleton history, Elephant Island.

For ocean watchers there were birds and we were always on the lookout for whales. There were lectures to attend and in the evenings there were movies or lectures. We were learning about the Shackleton Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition 1914-16. The goal was to land in Antarctica and attempt a trans polar crossing to McMurdo Sound on foot. The ship, the Endurance, however never made it to the coast. It became trapped in the moving sea ice of the Weddell Sea - through which we had been sailing. It had sunk and the stranded men camped on the ice with three boats. Finally the ice melted and they could launch the boats sailing in hope of reaching people or supplies. But it was the shore at Cape Valentine on Elephant Island where they made land fall in April 1916, 17 months after they had last walked on solid ground. It was a barren unprotected beach which was not welcoming.

On my cruise with Holland America in 2006 I had sailed past Cape Valentine then guarded by a massive iceberg. From there I had sailed into the fog and would see no further landfall till the Falkland Islands. Elephant Island had for me a haunting countenance. I was excited about returning.

Sir Ernest Shackleton moved his men around the coast from Cape Valentine to a more sheltered spot later called Point Wild. The beach was named for Frank Wild whom Shackleton left in charge of the group of 21 other men who would remain there. Shackleton and 5 others set sail to South Georgia for help for he knew no one would find them on lonely Elephant Island. Shackleton did reach South Georgia, a journey of 800 miles (1,300kms) and on the fourth attempt returned to Point Wild on board the Chilean ship Yelcho to rescue all his men....

We were heading to Point Wild. That afternoon we watched the second half of the 2002 movie starring Kenneth Branagh as Shackleton. In the aft lounge where lectures took place and movies were shown, the central wooden chairs were lashed together. As the ship rolled, they creaked in unison. Never more so had a film come alive!! Sometimes I would sit in the rounded armchairs around the sides of the lounge, listening to lectures. These were hooked to pegs in the floor. Not a tight leash, one could roam on those chairs in a bad swell. We went to bed early that night, the safest place to be on a stormy sea.

Next morning, the 3rd March, the clouds lifted from around the towering cliffs, glaciated mountains and huge icebergs that greeted us at Point Wild. The glaciers have receded since the Shackleton era exposing the beach to the elements. Only in our imagination could we see the two upturned boats which provided shelter for the men for 105 days. Our excursion was by Zodiac as the shore was not safe to land on. The area was alive with Chinstrap Penguins and a ferocious Leopard Seal greeted the Zodiacs in turn trying to take a bite out of each one. Leopard Seals mainly live on penguins but have been known to attack humans also.

In a heavy swell we were up close to a glacier, icebergs and the place where the men lived. The only sign of humanity is a monument - the bust of the Chilean tugboat Captain whose ship rescued Shackleton's men. It was erected by the Chileans. Indeed the Captain became a quiet hero, refusing a reward by the British government and in the 1930's became Chile's Consul in Liverpool, at the time one of the greatest sea ports in the world. The tug boat incidentally was built on the banks of the river Clyde in Scotland in 1906. After picking up the survivors she sailed to Punta Arenas and finally to Valparaiso to great fanfare. Again the two parts of my life come together. When on the 2006 cruise I too was in the ports of Punta Arenas and Valparaiso. As we sailed on I would find my path crossing Shackleton's on more than one occasion.

But this day at Point Wild as the sun burnt off the morning mist it was the colour of my world which enthralled me. I was bathed in a light so bright and clear and intense. The freshness of the air and the colours of the water - all the blues to greens one could imagine. The turquoise made me think of tropical islands and palm trees but the close proximity of penguins jumping amongst the rocks refocused the fantasy. Then I was up close and personal to mighty shining icebergs rising high above me as I bobbed about in the Zodiac. Then the booming cannons of calving glaciers, shooting the spray high as the ice dropped into the water. Everything was intense, grander, bigger, clearer, and brighter. It was bewilderingly real - unbelievably real. It was not a matter of saying to oneself "this can't be happening." "Let me take more photos so I can look back on this and show other people." Yes I did take photos but I lived in an Eckhart Tolle Moment. I was not the observer. I was in the scene, being the scene. I did not think the scene. In that moment I finally got it. My memory is of a smile deep down inside, only diminished when the Zodiac turned and I inhaled the motor's fumes. But I absorbed the wonder of the moment and let it resonate with my inner self. If I am really part of the whole or if I, as a hologram, contain the whole in me, I am it. It is not mine, for possession is fulfilling the need of the ego, but I am it. Every last turquoise watery moment, every last glistening icy second, every thunderous crash of ice into water and call of the penguin on the breeze is the universe that I am.

We who had port side cabins had been in the first Zodiacs. We returned so that the starboard side passengers could take their turn. On deck the sun shone warmly and I gazed on every side as the ship swung on her anchor.

Finally it was time to leave. The M/V Polar Star passed close to offshore icebergs causing the assembled penguins to scamper to higher ground. We left Elephant Island to our stern and I became aware of familiar grey cliffs and a huge grounded iceberg. We left Cape Valentine behind us, in brighter light than I had seen it two years previously.

Antarctic Adventure # 8 - Brown Bluff Mainland Antarctica

2008-08-08T15:07:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

A 6am landing was scheduled on the beach below Brown Bluff, 2,300ft (700metres) of yellow-brown basalt.. This was our only mainland landing, not only in the continent of Antarctica, but for the whole trip. Snow laden clouds were around but the sun was rising to brighten the scene. The water was still. There was a dark pink glow and a silence for the first time on this trip. No gale force wind, no crashing waves, no sound of creaking ship.

The Zodiac which carried me gently nosed its way around the small icebergs, compact as in a glass of gin and tonic, that hugged the shore. Gentoo Penguins greeted us. Many were standing still and forlorn, molting. They looked untidy with tufts of brownish feathers sticking up over sleek black and white. It takes a month to molt and since they cannot swim during this period they must fast. They did not look like happy campers.

Much more noisy and boisterous were the fur seals. In their hundreds during our trip they were forever edging closer hoping to take a nick out of us. The young pups were willing to challenge anything. We learned to clap our hands or bang two stones together to send them packing. In the real sense of the word they are not true seals, having ears and large front flippers which enable them to move quickly. The real seal does not have any external ears visible and must slide along the ground to move.

Most of the Adelie Penguins had already molted and had returned to the sea following the breeding season. But some with their completely black heads remained. The Gentoo are distinguished from the Adelie by the white patches around the eyes. Further along the beach was a Weddell Seal lying gracefully exposing its mottled coat. Birds flew overhead, some nesting in the cliffs. There were gulls and painted petrels; and the scavengers found in any nesting area - Skuas and Snowy Sheathbills.

The sun rose higher bathing the ice in bright light. Fresh snow on the shore covered the excrement called guano. Occasionally there were patches of green mosses visible -greenery on mainland Antarctica.

I thought back to words of my psychic, heard so long ago. "I'm looking at it, it's white. I don't see anything green". Today I see green. This time yesterday a storm was about to descend on our landing party and shroud us into invisibility. I look out to sea, reassured that the M.V.Polar Star was resting at anchor off shore and Zodiacs skimmed over passive waters. How could two days be so dissimilar? The aggressive roar of the tempest had given way to the sounds of birds and seals captured on soft breezes. The tension I had been holding throughout the gale drifted away and I could feel at peace. "The skimming of water beetles." I had used that metaphor to describe the Zodiacs I had seen two years previously when on the western side of this same Antarctic Peninsula. The image is recorded in my DVD "Antarctica -A Soul Journey - awakening."

So I set about familiarizing myself with the video aspects of my small digital cameras. I had not anticipated needing to use them, but corrosion had set into the video camera and it was finished for this journey. Again the words of Catherine come back to me as I write this - "I'm not seeing you film it… "

Our landing party was slow to return to the Zodiacs. We were enchanted. It is our first landing where wild life approached us. Some remained oblivious allowing us to share their habitat. We witnessed two species of penguins and two species of seals and numerous birds. I was on a land I could feel and today Antarctica was showing me her soft side.

Antarctic Adventure # 7 - The Weddell Sea

2008-08-02T23:17:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

On the M/V Polar Star there is a Wet Room. After returning to the deck from the Zodiac we must have our boots and waterproof pants hosed down, and then we walk through a bath of disinfectant, before entering the Wet Room. Here we disrobe our outer gear leaving parkas, outer pants, boots and life jacket on pegs. We retrieve our dry shoes and through another door enter a main passageway in the ship not far from the dining room.

I think we were in a stunned silence as we performed the changing ritual and went back to our cabins. My frozen hands moved slowly to complete the necessary tasks. March 1st would be a day to remember and at the end of our expedition the Captain would remark that in all his years at sea this would be the day he too would remember.

But with the help of radar and radio and skilled Zodiac crew, we all made it safely back to the ship. Later we would learn that we had battled a Force 9 strong gale. We would also learn that the ship had moved several times to evade the path of mammoth icebergs on the move.

Lunch was well underway by the time I reached the dining room. The always excellent soup was a joy to experience. We were now heading north trying to get out of the storm's path.

I went to the Bridge to witness the journey. The route not straight as many huge icebergs blocked our way. Each one is so different. Some so blue with air no longer trapped within their bulk. Others striated with browns and grey showing how layer upon layer is formed over time. Snow rests on our deck. I wear the boots I bought in Canada to walk the decks. The sea is rough, it remains difficult to walk. I spend the time alone deep in my own thoughts, reliving the morning. Dealing with the emotions aroused when I discover the protective layers for my camcorder were not enough and it has died. The trip of a lifetime and the video camera has gone. There are 16 more days on this trip. But I learn that both still cameras take good video and I have brought ample memory cards for them. I can make the best of it.

As the afternoon progresses and the effects of the storm diminish, the clouds give way to patches of sun. The light on ice, rock, water and clouds is ever changing. Slowly the morning's tension evaporates but I am aware that I am forever changed. A naivety lost perhaps. Almost the worst could have happened on that Zodiac ride back to the ship. I am aware a test of sorts took place. I believed I passed. That knowledge is something I will take away with me. It is almost as if a message lay in the wind for me to grasp. It is not yet deciphered but I hold it close to my soul.

This is the Weddell Sea on the eastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula. A sea which until 2002 had a far larger permanent ice shelf than it has today. The Weddell Sea whose ice froze around Shackleton's ship the Endurance, trapping it in a dance to the death in 1915. When the sea ice receded the crew sailed to Elephant Island in three small lifeboats. But I would live their journey on another day.

Now, we were heading to the Frijdtof Channel to anchor close to protective islands. Another expedition ship would join us to view vivid land shapes, brightly contrasting storm skies followed by a calm setting sun.

I have survived Snow Hill Island.

Antarctic Adventure # 6 - Snow Hill Island

2008-06-29T03:45:00Z

By Susan Ellis of Key Life Journeys

The Weddell Sea, at the eastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula, has grey skies, strong wind and huge icebergs today. Antarctica is presenting me with her harsh face. But she offered an invitation to join her, at my own risk, allowing my soul to be rewarded with unique experiences. Am I up to the challenge? The yearning I feel inside is the response. This was the purpose of the journey.

We anchored off Snow Hill Island. We have already learned of its geological significance made famous by the Nordenskjold Expedition, which left Sweden in October 1901. The team came on the whaling ship The Antarctic Captained by the famous Norwegian C.A.Larsen. The plan was to spend two summers and one winter studying the geology and geography of the eastern peninsula for as far south as possible. They built their winter hut on Snow Hill Island in February 1902, earlier than expected as the ice conditions were bad that year in the Weddell Sea. There were 6 men in the hut that measured 6.3 x 4 m. They came with 12 dogs to an island rich in Tertiary fossils. As a result of their discoveries fossil evidence proved that at one time the southern African continent had been part of this land mass.

Unbeknown to them, the ship to pick them up was lost in the ice and her crewmembers wintered in stone huts they built. The Nordenskjold group therefore spent a second winter in the Snow Hill Island hut. In his group there was fortuitously an Argentinean and it was for him that the Argentinean Navy sent out the Corvette, Uruguay, to rescue both the expedition team and the ship’s crew in November 1903.

Fast forward 106 years from the time the expedition team started building their winter hut and we are about to set foot on their beach and view their hut. The hardy ones amongst us will climb the hills to view fossiled rock.

Large ice bergs were dancing in the bay and smaller stranded ones lined the shore. Sculptured by the tide's waves they formed weird shapes on the beach. Dark cliffs loomed above and many of our early landers scaled the hill's side to find fossils and look down on us.

I climbed to view the Nordenskjold hut and on reaching it I had to shelter from a blizzard that had descended. I felt blessed that I had not made the climb up the cliffs, which now were providing a slippery descent. The land was turning white; the horizon had vanished with visibility just off shore. The ship was nowhere to be seen. I secured my camcorder in a zip locked bag and other protection with my tripod in my packsack. With snow blown horizontally in my eyes, I made it back to the beach. I grabbed a lifejacket and stood in line. Most of us didn’t talk. We shrank inside ourselves, literally and figuratively. We were covered in snow. The earth at waters edge was muddy. We kept moving on the spot, stamping our feet to keep warm. We stood in line rather than huddling. The first 10 in line would get on the next Zodiac. It took a long time to come. We could not see it till it was almost on shore. Suddenly a Zodiac appeared out of the white moving curtain. Into the water the first group waded and clambered aboard. Suddenly I was at the front of the line praying “let there be room for one more.” My prayer was answered and I was the last one aboard. I did not look back at those lined up behind me, sinking back into their parkas to await the next Zodiac.

Was that a good idea? It meant I had to sit at the bow. We were told the waves were high but we were going to try to make as straight a run as we could. This would mean spray would cover us and for me in the bow I would be bouncing higher than people sitting further back on the inflated sides of the Zodiac. It was only then that I made the connection. If we couldn’t see the M/V Polar Star – how were we going to reach her?

The ship had radar. The ship could see us on the radar. Our Zodiac crew was in radio contact with the ship and was guided by voice command in the direction of the ship.

There is a rope tied to the outer edge of the inflated sides of a Zodiac. I sat on the side facing in, holding the rope behind me. We hit the first wave. My backside rises from the seating and because I am holding so tightly onto the rope I come crashing down jarring my whole body. A wave hits me from behind. My mitts were filled with water. My hands were frozen trying to maintain hold of the rope. Another hit, another crash another soaking. My glasses were covered with spray.

I sized up the situation. How does one choose to react to such a situation? After all my reaction, my attitude is my responsibility, my choice. My intellect had a discussion with my emotional self and reached a compromise.

Although on land I am famous for being a back seat driver, I knew I could not drive this Zodiac to the ship. I put my trust in my crew. The journey was beyond my control. But I was responsible for myself. It was my duty to hold on. I was not going to fall overboard and put others at risk. I would focus on leaning forward over my knees, hold onto the rope and endeavour to bounce back down onto the Zodiac's edge. I would focus on willing blood to pump to my hands to keep them mobile and workable. I would follow orders. The outcome was not in my hands but I did share in the success of the process.
Having chosen my reaction and agreeing to honour it, I was aware of a calm. I was not plagued by "what if?" questions. I had a sense that we would make it to ship safely. All I had to do was last. It was painful. The bouncing caused spinal pain, my arms were tiring, my hands were frozen but I focused on where my responsibilities lay.

Someone told me later they heard "Hail Mary" being shouted to the storm. I was not wearing my hearing aids and all I could hear were the sounds of the Zodiac, it's motor and it's battle with the elements. But ultimately I heard "there's the ship" and then I ceased to hear the motor. The movement changed. We were no longer pushing through the swell; we were floating on the top of it. The gas tank was empty. The backup was stored in the bow of the Zodiac. We were asked to keep our eye on the ship while the gas tanks were exchanged. I held my breath, the engine came to life immediately and we reached the side of the M/V Polar Star without incident. Despite non functioning hands, I made it up the steps to the deck. I looked out to sea. Large looming icebergs, white capped grey waves and a curtain of flying snow. We were being told to leave.