Thousands of king penguins occupy St. George Island.

Icy sprays of water hit my face as Cameron, our Zodiac driver, zips across the frigid sea toward the shore of St. Andrews Bay on the subantarctic island of South Georgia, in the southern Atlantic Ocean about 1,700 miles (2,735 km) east of Argentina’s southernmost tip. Bundled up in our red rain and wind gear, 10 of us clutch the ropes on the sides of our Zodiac (a motorized inflatable boat) as we head toward shore. Our ship, the Akademik Sergey Vavilov/Peregrine Voyager, a Russian research vessel transformed into a 100-passenger ship with a strengthened hull adapted to ice breaking for its journeys to Antarctica, waits for us in a sheltered harbor. “Check out our greeting party,” our driver says, pointing ahead. “I’ll get us around the seals in the water, but watch out; the male teenage fur seals tend to be grouchy. If they hassle you, clap your hands and they’ll move.” About half of the world’s southern elephant seals flock to the beaches of South Georgia Island during the austral summer. Through misty sprays of water, I see densely packed humps of dark-brown boulders cluttering the shoreline. As we get closer, I realize the boulders are southern fur and southern elephant seals, hundreds and hundreds of them. Groups of seals lounge on the sand belching loudly and tossing sand with their flippers; others sun themselves on rocks jutting from the water, while others swagger about, sentinels guarding their harems. We land on a gray-black, sandy beach under the watchful eyes of the seals. A welcoming committee of about 200 king penguins struts over to us. We’re surrounded by three-foot-tall (1 m), white-breasted, orangey-gold throated, black-and-gold headed penguins. Three of the penguins follow me as I negotiate around bull elephant seals as large as a car. The seals eye me warily with watery, bloodshot eyes when my penguin groupies and I go by. It’s good to be on land again after spending two days crossing the Antarctic Convergence from the Falkland Islands. The Atlantic, Pacific and Indian oceans meet, mix and merge in the Southern Ocean, the circumpolar sea that isolates Antarctica from the other continents. South Georgia Island shines in the Southern Ocean like crystal, its ice fields and glaciers tumbling into valleys below two mountain ranges, Allardyce and Salvesen. Permanent snow and ice blanket much of the island. Steep, jagged cliffs and small, rocky islands dot the coast. There are no roads or airports here. The only way to get to South Georgia Island is by sea, and that can be a treacherous journey, as many early explorers discovered. I’m here in late January, during austral, or southern, summer, a season that starts in November and ends in late February or early March. The sun finally emerges from the long winter night, the sea ice melts, and the breeding season begins. Streaks of gold and pink fire up the sky, creating pastel swirls that filter into my cabin at 3:30 in the morning and at night as late as 11:30. South Georgia Island is an oasis for wildlife breeding. During the southern summer, more than 2 million seals and millions of king, gentoo and macaroni penguins inhabit the island. The weather is less harsh at this time of year than in the winter months, when the island is blanketed with snow drifting out to the sea. It’s a time when young chicks, birds, seals and other wildlife are introduced to the “real world” and the bays of the subantarctic islands become giant nurseries. Today, it’s a balmy 46° F (8° C) on land and I am puffed out and warm in my waterproof parka and pants. Although South Georgia Island is isolated, it’s an oasis for wildlife breeding. More than 2 million southern fur seals — 95 percent of the world’s population of them — come here for their summer vacation. Not to be outdone, about half the world’s population of southern elephant seals — approximately 300,000 — join them. Rounding out the fun, thousands of pairs of king penguins flit and shuffle among the giant seals and their pups. More than 100,000 pairs of white “ear muffed” gentoo penguins build nests of tussock grass, a native grass that reaches 6 feet high. Macaroni penguins, 5 million pairs, with yellow-orange tufts of feathers sprouting from the fronts of their heads, hide on steep slopes that drop down to the sea. As my three companions and I walk inland, a cacophony of deafening shrieks, grunts and whistles pierces the air. Blades of tussock grass sway in the breeze; snowy valleys are riddled with ponds and rivulets; and tall mountain peaks with glaciers, ice and snow form the backdrop. The landscape is speckled with thousands of preening, parading, adult king penguins, their golden throats iridescent in the sunlight. The birds are everywhere: on the far hillsides, on ragged rocks near me, in the valleys and in the glacial streams. Molting chicks, furry and brown, nestle in between adults. Bits of fuzzy down that the chicks have shed drift in the wind and collect on the rocks. “Eau d’penguin,” like the odor of musty, decaying compost, fills the air and accosts my senses. I sit on a rocky hill, set my backpack on the ground and wait. Three penguins are curious about my backpack. One saunters over and pecks, pecks, pecks at it with its black beak: rat-a-tat-tat, like a jackhammer. The others watch. Nothing happens, so he pecks at my shoes. Finally, perhaps bored or disappointed, he and his friends leave. I too leave, picking my way through the penguins to the Zodiac. A pair of king penguins follows me to the shore as if to bid me farewell. A curious king penguin takes stock of a visitor to the island. As we leave South Georgia Island, the sky is a purple, pink and blue kaleidoscope of colors. Billowy clouds resembling outstretched angel wings float in the distance. “These are lenticular clouds that form when masses of air or strong winds flow over rugged terrain,” Cameron says. “They move very slowly and often are shaped like lenses; sometimes they even look like UFOs.” Motoring away, we watch until the clouds dissipate over the landscape and the penguins become pepper on a crumpled sheet of paper, then disappear. If You Go Peregrine Adventures 258 Lonsdale St. Melbourne, Victoria, 3000, Australia 61-33-9663-8611 info@peregrine.net.au www.peregrineadventures.com Peregrine Adventures offers several trips to South Georgia Island, the Falkland Islands and Antarctica. The 17-day Antarctica and South Georgia journey we took started at $6,490 per person. You will need to spend a night in Buenos Aires prior to your departure for Ushuaia, Argentina, where most of the expeditions to Antarctica begin. Other companies that offer small-ship (48-120 passengers) Antarctic expeditions include: Quark Expeditions 800-356-5699 or 203-656-0499 www.quarkexpeditions.com Lindblad Expeditions 800-EXPEDITION or 212-765-7740 www.expeditions.com Aurora Expeditions +61-2-9252-1033 www.auroraexpeditions.com.au

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The cry came from a passenger as we were being briefed on Antarctic protocol and conservation. “Iceberg!” All 190 guests on the Explorer II rushed to the starboard side of the ship to witness the giant berg, white with distinct horizontal stripes of cobalt blue and turquoise, that seemed to be the size of several city blocks. Close by was a much smaller iceberg, sculpted by the wind and waves and covered with more than a dozen penguins. At the stern of the ship, several albatrosses floated lazily along. In the distance, close to the jagged mountain peaks of Elephant Island, with its wide glaciers running to the sea, two fin whales surfaced every few moments to blow spray. Nature presented a spectacular show upon our introduction to Antarctica, an increasingly popular destination for adventure-minded travelers keen to interact with wildlife and view spectacular scenery untouched by humans. Over the next few days we explored a part of the world that, in the words of one seasoned traveler, “is the closest I’ve ever come to visiting another planet.” Explorer II passengers are treated to the sight of a colony of gentoo penguins. On average, Antarctica is the driest, the coldest and the windiest continent on earth. It’s also the continent that holds 90 percent of the ice and 70 percent of the fresh water on the planet. During the summer months, most of the beaches, covered with penguins and seals, are more crowded than any in Cape Cod. Our home base for this 11-day eco-cruise was the Explorer II, a 10-year-old luxury expedition ship with a reinforced hull, leased for two trips a season by the upscale Regent Seven Seas Cruises. The normal capacity of the ship is 300 passengers, but Regent keeps its Antarctic numbers to fewer than 200. Unlike the early explorers, we could marvel at the surroundings, then retreat to gourmet meals and fine wines, comfortable staterooms, a huge library and attentive service by a caring crew. Fourteen countries were represented among the passengers, but most were from the United States. Many cruise ships now sail around the bottom of South America, skirting the Antarctic islands and mainland without allowing passengers to leave the ship. Explorer II, with its limited passenger load, is allowed by international agreement to anchor almost anywhere and take visitors on its fleet of 12 zodiacs for intimate interactions with the land, the ice and the wildlife. Key to the success of Explorer II was its team of 14 expert naturalists and scientists who guided the zodiacs on our twice-daily trips and gave illustrated briefings about the wildlife, geology and politics of this vast mushroom cap at the bottom of the world. First stop, on an overcast but pleasant day (about 45 degrees — 7° C), was Half Moon Island, part of the South Shetlands. Landing the zodiacs and putting our feet on Antarctic territory for the first time was memorable. Not only were we greeted by fur seals lazily guarding the pebbly beach, but more than 3,000 pairs of noisy chinstrap penguins watched us curiously or hopped and walked, Charlie Chaplin style, toward the water or on the rocky slopes. We were warned not to approach the penguins any closer than 15 feet, but, as we stood still, many of the more curious birds decided to inspect us and waddled over for a closer look. In the afternoon, en route to the active volcano on Deception Island, we came upon four humpback whales, a common sight, since up to 80 percent of the world’s blue whales come to Antarctica to feed. Our Italian captain slowed down so we could observe the quartet of giant mammals devouring swarms of krill. These small, shrimplike crustaceans are in abundance during the Antarctic summer, and form the basis of the whole food chain. In Lemaire Channel, ice-covered peaks rise from the surface of the frigid water. Shortly afterward, we sailed into the volcano basin via a narrow opening in the ring-shaped island and found ourselves in a huge flooded caldera called Whalers Bay formed millions of years ago. During the last century Norwegian whale hunters had a major rendering operation on the cinder beaches, and most of their abandoned equipment was still in evidence. Plumes of sulphur-laden steam rose from the water’s edge, and several passengers took a polar plunge in the heated water. Fur seals dotting the beach remained oblivious to visitors. Over the next three days as we sailed farther south toward the Antarctic Circle the weather became warmer — more than 50 degrees (10° C) — and significantly clearer, with brilliant blue skies setting off the magnificent mountain vistas and astonishing number of glaciers. We sailed through Lemaire Channel at sunset, an impressive narrow route 7 miles (11 km) long and about a mile (2 km) wide with huge cliffs of rock and ice rising straight out of the sea. The twilight tinges of pink, orange and purple added to the magic as everyone stood mesmerized on deck and absorbed the sight of ice, snow, water and ragged mountain peaks against a kaleidoscope of color. Twice a day we stopped and boarded the zodiacs for visits to islands and the mainland of the Antarctic Peninsula. In several locations we anchored near scientific research stations set up by various governments in accordance with Antarctic treaties. The British have turned one of their summer research facilities, built in the 1940s, into a museum, post office and gift shop. It wasn’t Wal-Mart, but it was fascinating to buy souvenirs on the only continent with no permanent human residents. One memorable afternoon, in Paradise Bay, the culinary team set up a lavish barbecue lunch on the pool deck of the Explorer II. Under intense blue skies and surrounded by mountains and glaciers, we enjoyed an extraordinary outdoor feast including roast suckling pig, beef tenderloin and cheese fondue. The scenery was out of this world. The food was too. We became more serious when global warming was discussed as we got off the zodiacs on Trinity Island, our last Antarctic stop. Once again, on a warm and sunny day, we were greeted by the sounds of hundreds of gentoo penguins and the sight of many giant bones from the whaling era. Even more interesting, however, were the steep-sided glaciers that surrounded us. Calving activity created a huge roar and splashing of water as massive hunks of ice and snow broke off from the edges of the glaciers and crashed into the sea. Geraldine Massyn, of South Africa, the assistant expedition leader on Explorer II, has been touring the Antarctic for the past 16 years and has noticed dramatic changes in the landscape. “I have photographs from 1991,” she told us, “and the differences are remarkable. Glaciers have receded substantially and very rapidly in the last five years. These last two years we’ve seen more calving action. Icebergs are cracking and rolling much more often than they used to. So it’s definitely a lot warmer.” She added that bare islands like the one on which we were standing were often covered with snow year-round. “There’s no snow here and it’s been like this since November.” Marine biologist Charles Wheatley of San Diego has been an Antarctic lecturer and guide since 1987. He agreed that dramatic changes are underway. “I find that the outer edges of the Antarctic have become less hostile during the summer months. Weather extremes are less. Cruise ship passengers explore the Antarctic waters via a Zodiac. Even crossing Drake Passage (the turbulent body of water between South America and Antarctica) has become more tranquil. We have more sunny days and fewer cold, windy days, and I’m seeing changes that worry me in the penguin populations, because they depend on sea ice.” As Explorer II and its passengers and crew reluctantly left Antarctica and headed north for the two-day trip to Ushuaia, Argentina, and a flight home, we reflected on this continent so wild, so primitive and so vast that you can’t possibly take it in in one lifetime, let alone a short voyage. Our naturalist team leader, Ignacio Rojas, of Brazil, noted that the diaries of early explorers said they’d never come back because of the harsh conditions. Yet, once home, many signed contracts to return. Charlie Wheatley, the marine biologist and veteran Antarctic visitor, perhaps summed it up best. “This is the most pristine place on the planet, a part of the earth where humans have had limited influence. It’s a wildlife extravaganza and it’s a place that once somebody visits, they’ll go back forever changed. They’ll have a part in their heart where they realize that nature is still in charge and, although things are changing here, it’s still nature as it should be.” If You Go Regent Seven Seas Cruises www.rssc.com

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I suddenly knew that it was going to be an entertaining two weeks from Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost city in the world, to Antarctica, one of the world’s last frontiers.

The M/V Grigoriy Mikheev was led by a 35-year-old Russian captain. The ship was run like a clock by a veteran Russian crew and captained by a 35-year-old blond gent who looked like he bit the ends off of nails. Yet the captain, for all his tough looks, always welcomed passengers on the fifth floor command bridge. There was often a small crowd there, sheltering from the weather and taking advantage of the picture window to view the whales and other wildlife that dotted the Antarctic.

The friendly Russians mesmerized me. Several of the men had sailed the ship since its 1990 launch from St. Petersburg. Back then, it had been equipped with an unimaginable array of eavesdropping electronics.  Two years after launching, the former spy ship was rebuilt for tourists. The modifications required that 90 percent of its electronics be removed. Still, the expedition’s chief dive master said the Mikheev sprouts far more revolving doohickeys and strange wiry appurtenances than might be needed by an innocent icebreaker in Antarctica.

Two of the dive masters were sometimes Swedish TV stars who made underwater spectaculars for BBC and other worldwide networks. Three dive masters on board (the third recently recruited from Paris, sporting an accent, curly locks, look and manner that melted the hearts of every female passenger) meant our fellow voyagers included over one-third divers, their wardrobes bristling with dry suits and fancy cameras, including a world adventurer photographer for National Geographic Magazine and a dozen famous other magazines.

The scenery as we sailed was otherworldly, yet the other passengers on board were just as captivating. As I strolled onto deck one afternoon, I heard Jane, the woman from Des Moines, asking, “Is that the same moon we have in Iowa?” That question was followed with, “Why did they announce whales when there are only a couple of fins?”

It’s true, I considered. Unless you’re a diver, you seldom see a whole whale.

We’d left the great views in the Beagle Channel (Jane thought it was named after Snoopy) and lined up for seasickness pills to defend against the dreaded Drake Passage. Would it be Drake Lake (as it was 30 days a year) or the Furious Fifties and the stormiest ocean on the planet?

We crossed in relative calm, but still rocked and rolled over heaving ocean swells, two days each way.  Pass the pills, thank you very much.

On the morning of day three, we steamed to our first Antarctic anchorage, winding through a narrow channel into the caldera of Deception Island.

As we stood on deck surveying the view before us, Jane asked, “Will the volcano erupt while we’re here?”

Forty-three pairs of fingers crossed simultaneously.  The last eruption had been in 1969.

We watched as 16 divers struggled into their dry suits, having qualified to freeze their fingers and other extremities.  The dive masters had required each person to try his or her  dry suit in 40 degrees (4 C) water.  Satisfied that all were ready, the dive master maneuvered the Zodiac to the gangway where alien apparitions in black rubber clunked down the ramp for one of the coldest dips on earth.

As a borderline non-sadist, I still thought it great fun to watch them jump into the icy waters. Later, the wimpy non-divers boated to shore at Whaler’s Bay to inspect an abandoned British station. The 1969 eruption had half submerged whale boilers and whaling vessels in obsidian sand. On top of the fine black sand cavorted fur seals and Gentoo penguins around which were littered whale vertebrae and bones.

Not far away, the beach steamed. The crew had dug a hefty hole which filled with hot water, allowing the non-divers their first and last Antarctic dip.

The next stop was Astrolabe Island, which was crowded with Chinstrap penguins and a dozen Antarctic seabirds.

Actually, the poor little penguins were frightened by the dozens of leopard seals patrolling offshore. We watched as two dozen tiny tuxedos in a queue, jumping nervously up and down, flapping furry flippers, waiting for the first heroic comrade to take a jump in.

Finally, one stout-hearted fellow dove in and half a dozen others followed. Then, suddenly, they began an en masse abrupt about-face and popped, literally, out of the water like cannon shots to land back on the low cliff of the island. Every fourth penguin missed its footing and tumbled in an awkward back flip, often into the waiting jaws of a ferocious leopard seal.  We furiously snapped pictures.

Meanwhile, Jane implored the dinghy driver to dive into the icy water to rescue the darling little penguins.  Truth be told, though, there were penguins to spare.

Such experiences barely scratched the surface of the adventure.  In subsequent days and into lit-up nights, we slid down glaciers, learning to tuck our jackets under our behinds so the snow wouldn’t blow us up to gigantic white proportions.

At our fourth landing, Jane asked, “What happens if the water gets higher than my boots?”  We were all kind of wondering about that when we carefully waded ashore. But we landed without incident, surrounded by penguins, seals and exotic birds, constantly reminded by expedition leader Peter to observe the five meter rule. Never go closer to a penguin than 16.5 feet.  This simply didn’t work, however, because the little beasts have no sense of distance, toddling left, right and crossways like tipsy stars of the silent screen.  We’d freeze like mimes expending rolls of film with their every misstep.  They probably thought we were under mass hypnosis, two dozen enthusiasts of “Simon Says.”

Calling the penguin babies “chicks” was a confusing misnomer because most were larger than their parents who had stuffed them with food for months.  The big fat babies were actively molting, changing their flimsy birth feathers for something more substantial, a quilted suit with thousands of interwoven feathers per square inch.

We sailed alongside one iceberg for what seemed like hours, but the radar showed it was a mere 4.5 miles long.  Tabular icebergs calving off the Weddell Sea shelf have exceeded 40 miles in length, so our iceberg was a mere piker.

As the days passed, we explored more iceberged seas, climbed pinnacles overlooking Antarctic sunsets and stopped by Cape Horn on the way back.  Upon disembarkation in Ushuaia, I could faintly hear Jane studiously ask Peter, “Do penguins have knees?”

It had been a great two weeks.

If You Go:

Dressing for the Antarctic: we had brilliant sunshine, hail, shrieking winds, dead calms, fog and sleet, all before breakfast.  The magic word is layering which I overdid and was too hot 90 percent of the time, walking around looking like an unkempt coat rack, rubber jacket around my waist, down jacket half off. Zero degrees Centigrade is a mere 32 degrees Fahrenheit and summers in Antarctica are easy, if you don’t over-layer.

Antarctic ships:  Two breeds ply the Antarctic.  The largest is the cruise ship up to 1,500 passengers, luxury personified, and no one goes ashore because logistics forbid it.  For a luxury cruise you need excellent binoculars.

The alternative is an expedition ship such as the Mikheev carrying 100 passengers or less, allowing frequent shore excursions.  We enjoyed two or three landings a day, weather permitting, and enjoyed most the luxuries associated with a cruise ship: sauna, bar, five decks to roam plus a luxury no cruise ship allows – an open bridge.

The highlights:  Beside the gargantuan blue neon icebergs, leopard seals, minke and humpback whales, diverse species of penguins and seals, you’ll very possibly meet enormously interesting people, such as a seven Dutch family reunion; a Scot hippie chick; Virgin Blue Airline’s first female pilot in Australia; a foundation guru setting up Argentina’s first nano-tech lab; dive masters and photographers from all over the world; a Canadian dot com millionaire and Jane. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

Last Minute Fares to Antarctica: 90 percent of tourist ships leave from Ushuaia which provides an outstanding opportunity for last-minute fares from $2,000 and up. depending on the number of days.  Or you can go by luxurious cruise ship for a spare ten grand and much more. I snagged 12 days for $3,000, sharing a bath.  Those not sharing paid $6,750 per person.  The only decent travel agency for booking last minute fares in Ushuaia to Antarctica is Tourismo de Campo at 25 Mayo 76, email info@tourismodecampo.com.ar.

Getting to Ushuaia:  The best fares for flights roundtrip Los Angeles to Ushuaia, via Buenos Aires, include Lapa, $665 with five-day advance purchase and flexible dates, or $879 on United and LanChile, slightly less from New York City and Miami.

Places to Stay and Eat in Ushuaia: The Cesar Hotel, private bath with breakfast included, in the heart of the city on San Martin for around $20 per night  Never stay on San Martin on a weekend because the drag racers will keep you awake all night.

On weekends, stay at the Malvinis Hosteria, a much quieter hotel one block west of San Martin. This is also $20 a night, with included breakfast buffet.

For more hotel information, see www.tierradelfuego.org.ar/rga/hotes.htm

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