By Russian Spy Ship to Antarctica
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By
Russian Spy Ship
to Antarctica
There's no secret to the wonders
of Antarctica's wild seas and
life-filled shores.
Text and photos by David Rich
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The Antarctic's
Astrolabe Island is crowded Chinstrap penguins and seabirds. |
Forty-four passengers were
standing in line to check in on board the
M/V Grigoriy Mikheev
when Jane, the woman in front of me, asked the purser: “Do these stairs go up or
down?”
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.
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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.
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Taking an arctic dip in
steaming
hot water. |
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
