Welcome friends and family to Topher's Tales, Antarctica 2001.
How can I begin to explain the seas of change that bring me to this day? I spent two months last Summer participating in Tall Ships 2000, sailing from Boston to Halifax in a dream Summer I shall never forget. During the voyage, I became a sailor and a writer, and I will never see the world the same again. We sailed alongside a boat named Europa, a beautifully appointed three-masted bark out of Rotterdam. I was talking with the crew when we were in Amsterdam and they mentioned they were going to Antarctica, running four trips this Summer (Southern Hemisphere Summer is now). My mind immediately conjured images of Cape Horn, the Mt Everest of the sailor's world, with big seas and fierce winds tossing the boat upon the sea. Then came the haunting words of Robert Scott, the famed Antarctica explorer, the night before he died on his return trip from the South Pole:
29 March 1912 "Great God! This is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority . . . We took risks, we knew we took them . . . Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions . . . These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale . . ."
Antarctica. What does it mean to you? To me, it represents a return to the golden days of sailing, where ships carried explorers instead of cargo. Where the ships were made of wood and the men were made of steel. Drake, Scott, Amundsen, Shackleton. Their names live on. Their stories are repeated in classrooms and novels around the globe. What is it that so appeals to our desire to explore that we search out these brave adventurers as our heroes? I don't know the answer today. I am going to Antarctica to find out.
There are some new names on the list this time out, and one of them deserves a mention here. Larry Rose teaches science at Pleasanton Middle School where I volunteer each year. Larry was one of my middle school teachers some time ago, and he has some pretty revealing stories about my ... youthful exuberance as a teenager, but let's not dwell in the past. When you walk into Mr. Rose's classroom, you feel the frost in the air. All around the room, maps of Antarctica crowd the walls, and cabinets are overflowing with penguins. It is chilling to stand in his room and think about actually going to the bottom of the world. He is part of a teaching program that is truly amazing, called Teachers Experiencing the Artic and Antarctica ("TEA"). There website is www.tea.rice.edu and I encourage you to visit. Mr. Rose also has a personal web page for all things scientific at http://www.pleasanton.k12.ca.us/Pleasanton/teachersonline/Rose/Rose.htm When you get into the site, follow the link to Arctic and Antarctica studies to a truly superb website.
The reason you need to know Mr. Rose is because he and his students are going to be the audience I write to on this trip. I have thought a great deal about how I want to experience the days to come, and I've decided to find words for his students that express my emotions along the way. His students on average can come up with the $1,000 Double Jeopardy question on the subject of Antarctica, so I have no wish to relate the dates, explorers, scientific discoveries, or other major studies of Antarctica, as I'm sure my faulty memory will expose me to the jokes of several very smart kids who seem to be learning more than I ever did in school.
Instead, I'd like to focus on my exploration; the emotion of raising sight of Antarctica over the windward rail of a Tall Ship. Stepping into the footsteps of men whose bravery I will never be asked to match. Sailing Cape Horn - not West to East but North to South across Drake's Passage! What I can bring to them is not the facts and images that are widely available, but that warm glow that comes from having been there. The change inside that pervades your being as you speak with the first-hand experience of visiting the one continent left for nature in a political world where territory means power and wealth, mineral rights and nuclear testing zones. Antarctica is pure - this I know. I cannot imagine even now, when the day for my voyage to begin is here, how it will affect me when I see it. But I am inviting you along for the ride.
I will be taking the voyage aboard the tall ship Europa. To see their website, go to www.barkeuropa.com and click on the British flag in the picture to go to the English language pages. If you want to see why I picked this trip, look at the pictures from their December passage. Page 1 - www.barkeuropa.com/uk/fotos/fotos.html and Page 2 - www.barkeuropa.com/uk/fotos/fotos2.html show the beauty that is Antarctica through the eyes of a sailor.
Chapter 1 The World Ends, The Journey Begins
"My own belief is that the universe exists as a miracle and we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience. "We are that audience. We are here to see and touch, describe and move. Our job then, is to occupy ourselves with paying back the gift. This must be at the center of the stories that we writers create for tomorrow. In this way [the stories] will always continue to tell of what is past, or passing, or to come." · Ray Bradbury
I do not know when the world will end, but I know where it will end. The place is at South 54° 51'45", West 68° 28'56". Welcome to Ushuaia, referred to by locals as "Fin del Mundo", which translates to World's End. If you were to walk to the end of the Earth, here's where you would come. This is the southernmost city in the world. You cannot go any farther without the aid of a ship or airplane, a fact not lost on the tourist trade. Shops line the crowded San Martin Street in a crazy mix of Tijuana randomness with the Southwestern flair of downtown Sedona. Every other store is hawking t-shirts and maps emblazoned with Fin del Mundo, while at least ten shop windows offer tickets out of this place, North or South, take your pick. To our West lies Chile, but Argentineans would never admit it, so you can't quite get there from here. To the East lies Isla de los Estados, and old penal colony island in the Southern Atlantic that's the best excuse for good behavior I can imagine.
Ushuaia is a most unusual city. Half of the too small houses are bare corrugated metal stretched over wooden planks weathered into a complete lack of symmetry. The other half are cinder block assemblies that never seemed to find completion before the owner cried, "that'll do" and moved in. The only building code seems to be, "make sure it doesn't crash down in your neighbor's yard." As you look at miniature A-frames resting on rough-hewn wooden stumps stacked like dominoes under the floorboards, even this seems a high bar to meet.
Above the town towers the majestic Martial Glacier and a sharp spire called Monte Olivia that looks strangely like the model for Disneyland's Matterhorn ride. The port is liberally sprinkled with large tourist "ice breakers" and the finest the Argentinean Navy has to offer which is not so much that the United States Navy would ever blink but it makes the locals proud. The tour boats come here each summer, opening a gateway to our collective imagination. In front of the cruise ship Marco Polo lays a sight from another age. Europa's hull gets lost among the larger ships, but her three tall masts tower over the dock and raise eyebrows throughout the town. I am here, the boat is here, the journey begins.
But Europa is a story to come. Today I want to focus on what is passing. This morning I took a bus to the National Park just West of town to enjoy something truly unique. The National Park is unusual for several reasons. It is the only one in Argentina with a seashore, and it is one of the only places in the country where glacial mountains kneel down to the kiss the sea. The seawater at your feet is Beagle Channel, named for that well known boat that carried Darwin through here on his way South to discover new theories about the origin of ice cubes. Obviously, he never returned with the knowledge, as Argentineans have no idea what ice cubes are. Every "Coca Light" I've had in this country is from a half-cold refrigerator and server with a warm glass. Not my idea of the pause that refreshes. We started our hike this morning along the misty shore, climbing through dense stands of Southern Beech trees covering a soft forest floor of damp black mud and rich green peat moss. The Southern Beech are not, by the way, related to the "Northern" types, but are identical to types found in Australia. A fact not lost on the Pangea crowd.
The plant life here is colorful to say the
least. Everywhere I looked, there seemed to be fat rings around the Beech
trees, anywhere from a donut to a car tire, but always a bubbling mass of
ugliness. Esteban, my guide, told me about these delicious morsels. The
Yahgan Indians (which were the indigenous Indians whose numerous fires caused
the Europeans to name this land Tierra del Fuego, or Land of Fire) used
to eat these parasites, calling them Indian Bread. Esteban assures me they
are quite delicious if you've never grown accustomed to sugar, salt, olive
oil, vinegar, or anything else with any sort of real taste. Otherwise, you
feel like your back in preschool enjoying the paste tub. As delicious as
that sounds, I passed, opting for an equally unique but far tastier lunch.
At the conclusion of our morning walk, we reached the end of the road. Literally. In Lapataia Bay Route 3, the major road through Tierra del Fuego, comes to an abrupt end at the mouth of the bay. Seeing as how this is it, I took a few seconds to snap a photo of me and my traveling companion Pooh Bear at the marker at the end of the street. The line second from the bottom roughly translates as "Dead End. Go Back."
Since I hadn't had lunch yet, I wasn't thinking straight, so I got onto a small zodiac boat in the bay and continued south to Isla Redonda, a very small, very remote little Island that gave me some hint of what's to come. As you approach the island, the first thing that catches your eye are the birds. Everywhere you look, wings are arcing through tight curves against the cliffs. I spotted some cormorants against the rocks. According to Esteban, these are Rocky Cormorants. Who would have guessed? Before I concur with his classification, I'll have to check with one of Professor Rose's kids.
All this hard work made me hungry, so it was a good thing we came into the one-boat dock, where a short hike brought us to the post office/harbor master/restaurant/immigration office/banos of the island. The harbor is surrounded with at least twenty Argentine flags, just in case those pushy Chileans 500 meters South forget where the big boys drew the line on the map years ago.
Thankfully, Carlos, local chef extraordinaire and resident demigod of his own miniature empire, was putting the final touches on our soup and stew. After lunch, it was off to play on the cliffs overlooking the Island's harbor, but that's another story. Next stop, Cabos de Hornos ("Cape Horn") then we're off to that peaceful stretch of sea known for it's tropical breezes and calm seas called Drake's Passage.
1/30/01 - 21:30hrs South 58deg 51' West 63deg 38' A World Apart
Long before the icy blue shore breaks over the empty gray horizon to the south, before you set foot on the pristine islands of this world apart, you know you have arrived in Antarctica. The naturalists on board call this place the Antarctic convergence, a meteorological masterpiece starting at around 60deg South that isolates Antarctica from the rest of the world. As you enter this planetary test tube, the water temperature drops from 5.5C to less than 2C. This creates a soft fog as the warm air from the North runs over the colder water of the Antarctic. Your breath dances away from you in smoky swirls.
An afternoon spent on the poop deck with your trusty binoculars yields a whole new world of visions on an empty sea. A wandering albatross spreads its massive wings as it flirts with waves of pure tanzanite blue. A royal albatross joins the dance, arcing back against the ship, making a difficult choice for those with only one set of eyes. Beneath these majestic flights a noisy breath spills from the rough waves behind you as a southern bottlenose whale rises to the occasion Hourglass dolphins find their own time to dance under the bowsprit, guiding you on into their world. It is more, however, than the bone chilling weather or the exotic new animals that bring you into Antarctica - it is the changes within yourself. You find yourself understanding the world was not built for man alone. Man has a place here, but it is one to be shared. You have sailed into the garden of your Creator, and you know at once you are only a guest here, so you open your eyes with the eagerness of a child to see this world of purity through every fiber of your soul.
Welcome to a world apart. Welcome to Antarctica. 1/31/01 - 19:00hrs South 60deg 42' West 61deg 57' Cowboys of the Antarctic
There is only one reason to sail a Tall Ship to Antarctica - to experience what it would have been like for those famed explorers of long ago to journey South into the most treacherous waters of the world; to fight the raging wind and sea in cold so intense it takes your breath away. The heroic stories of Drake's Passage are intoxicating to one whose heroes have always been the cowboys of the ocean.
Today I learned the value of imagination. The joy of sitting in a warm bed thinking of far away dangers while the coldest part of your body is your tongue as you suck on the ice cubes from your soda glass. We are driving south towards the Shetland Islands under cross seas of 5-6 meters and a hard driving wind from the Southwest (i.e. headwind). There is a light snow falling on the deck and winds are strong enough to blow the top of our bow wave back across the deck in frozen sheets of hard mist. The wind was slowing us down as we motored along, dropping us from 6 knots to 3 knots in just a few minutes. Although we had handed the sails (brought them up to the yard by the corners and a few center points), the wind was still ripping at the cloth hanging in deep bags below the yards. The sails needed to be furled (brought up tight to the yards with several small lines on the yard called gaskets), and it needed to be done fast. Eef and I were immediately sent up the mainmast to the upper topgallant yard 35 meters over the frozen sea. As she stepped out to starboard and I to port, we beg and our fight with the heavy wet sail that wanted nothing more than to flip us off the rope we were perched on like birds on an electric line. There's an old rule at sea that says one hand for the ship and one for yourself. But as the seas increased, bouncing us around like a roller coaster gone wild, I could not lift the heavy cloth with only one hand. So I put all my weight on the yard, balancing by my middle over the top, and used both hands to haul in the sail and gasket it to the yard.
As I was stretched over the yardarm, I peered straight down the 35 meters to the sea, watching the bow smash into the troughs between the waves, sending spray flying into the paths of the small black and white cape petrels that danced upon the sea. The heavy winds bit at my face, taunting me to race below and leave this world. But I would not give up that easily. I rode the bucking bronco, terrified but smiling. When the sails were lashed up tight, I dragged my chilled and beaten body down the frozen steel stays back to the somewhat calmer deck house and only then began to shake. I know now what it feels like to be a cowboy of the Antarctic.
Images of Antarctica (Sent from Whaler's Bay 2/2/01 @17:55PST, 22:55 Local time, via satellite e-mail)
I have tried three times in the last 24hrs to bring forth words that can touch on where I have come, what I have seen, how I have been forever changed by this land called Antarctica. I have failed three times. Someday the words will come, but it may take years of quiet reflection in the darkness of stark surroundings to find the space I need to digest all that I have experienced in so short a time. I want very much to bring you to this pristine paradise, to let you step from the gray rubber Zodiac onto the rocky shores of the Aitcho Islands and Hannah Point (Livingston Island), to have the stench of the penguins crawl up your nose as you gaze in wide-eyed wonder at this place untouched by man, hearing the squawking of giant petrels flying overhead and the loud snorts of elephant seals below - but it is folly to think my words and pictures can convey even the slightest fraction of what I feel. Nevertheless, for now my words will have to do, and the pictures to follow can hint at the magic waiting in each rocky crevasse of these places.
There is no story here of neat ideas that fit into a cohesive whole, only images as you walk upon the rocks. They build upon your soul in layers of beauty so intense you understand the word "awesome" as something more than California slang. Welcome to the images of Antarctica.
Drakes Passage - 2/1/01 - Humpback whales playing under our bow, flipping a wave as they roll over to reveal their white underbellies. Passing a blue and white striped iceberg with a penguin colony floating off to sea.
Aitcho Islands - 2/1/01 - S 62deg 24' W 59deg 44' - 13:30 to 19:00 hrs Spongy green moss stretching up between the snow, soft underfoot. Penguins in molting season. Chinstraps and Gentoos all losing their soft downy feathers like cattails to the winds, preparing for the chilly winter not so far away. A lone whale vertebrae sitting on the beach, collecting snow in its lee. Watching a Gentoo penguin climb into a broken old moss covered box, asking his friends to step up to the bar and order a round. The soft downy chicks reminding me of the stuffed toys of FAO Schwarz, only three times as cute. Everyone here wants to throw out our clothes and fill our suitcases with penguins! Fur seals standing their ground, barking at us for getting too close for their taste. Watching the conga line as two chicks try to feed from one parent, chasing her across the snow until they all trip and slide down on their bellies in a toboggan race for lunch. A Southern Giant Petrel calmly sitting on her nest with a new chick as I snap away with the camera.
Hannah Point, Livingston Island - 2/2/01 - S 62deg 39' W 60deg 37' - 9:00 to 13:00 hrs - Landing on a black rocky shore lined with chunks of ice freshly ground from the icy cliffs across the bay. Finding a very polite pair of Macaroni penguins just above our landing site, patiently posing for all the tourists on their pebble nest. Crawling up the sharp rocky crags to find yourself eye to eye with several blue-eyed cormorants, less than two meters away, minding their young in two nests of twigs, mud and feathers. Watching as a small white sheathbill takes advantage of a moment's indifference to steal twigs and mud from the cormorant's nest, too lazy to find his own. Seeing the piles of elephant seals spread out on the low cliffs soaking in the warm summer sun.
Whaler's Bay, Deception Island - 2/2/01 - S 62deg 59' W 60deg 33' - We just sailed into a living volcano. Deception Island is a tight horseshoe-shaped caldera of snow capped black basalt cliffs. Inside, it's about 5 miles long and three miles wide. We sailed in through a small opening to the Southwest called Neptune's Bellow's because of the strong winds wisping between brown towering walls of rock where small black and white Cape Petrels race along the cliffs. We are anchored at Whaler's Bay, looking out over a barren landscape dotted with the remains of a few whaling buildings long since left to die. The Island is called Deception because it looks like a great, protected anchorage - but it's not. I am on anchor watch tonight from 02:00 to 04:00, and we just looked at the bottom on the depth-finder. This is a volcanic crater, with very steep slopes of gravelly basalt. If the wind shifts even a bit, we could be blown onto the shore in a hurry. There are only two bright spots to this place. First is Pendulum Cove, a natural hot bath where the seawater is heated by the volcano to about 35-40C, creating a nice hot tub at low tide. At 07:30 tomorrow, I shall relax in the coolest hot tub on Earth. The other bright spot is Bailey Head, a massive penguin rookery on the outside of the caldera across from Whaler's bay. I hope to hike over the snow to there tomorrow, as always here weather permitting.
A Few Words About an Infinite Landscape
2/5/01 15:45hrs - Gerlache Strait - S64 50' W62 52' - Today we are traveling south through the narrow passages of Gerlache Strait, motoring through massive icebergs as big as a football field in a narrow sea channel, brash ice lapping at our sides (small chunks of pack ice), Antarctica towering in rock and ice to our port side while Lemaire Island provides balance to the view on our right. A few small red buildings to our left mark some abandoned research station just off the Antarctic shelf. I climbed into the rigging for some photos and the wind sneaked up again, sending us tilting to starboard under bare poles, so strong is this force they call the Katabatic winds. Just holding the camera causes your fingers to freeze. We are headed to Paradise Harbor to go ashore on the Antarctic Peninsula. E-mail is outrageously expensive, so I'll write from Ushuaia about the 6-hour hike to the penguin rookery (1/2 million of them) on Deception Island. Let me just say now I have walked through the Garden of the Gods. There are no trees, no roses here, but the volcano that is Deception is among the most beautiful places on Earth. Throughout the walk, you look across the strait to the Antarctic Peninsula rising like Mt. Olympus in spires of white with cloud collars. Maybe Atlantis didn't sink into the sea after all.
Yesterday (2/4) we took the dinghies through the small iceberg laden passages of Trinity Island. There was one flat berg about two meters high that had vertical stripes of white mixed with caverns going back in of pale cobalt blue, all sitting on a green sea of the clearest water. On the beaches, Weddell seals played for our view, while one flat-topped berg had several crabeater seals along with a unique sight, two massive leopard seals, whose heads look like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, very prehistoric, very dangerous creatures. We also took the dinghy through some brash ice, powering our way through a huge bowl of ice cubes as towers of solid rock rose straight up from the sea at our sides.
Last night I was so tired, I slept right through the worst weather we have encountered. Within a few minutes, a southeasterly wind of Force 10+ hit the boat (10=hurricane force!= 55+MPH) We were pushed into a field of medium sized bergs, and hit the side of one with a top the size of a car. (top side=10% of total size) The wind was so strong it took the flag post of our main mast, tore it off and threw it into the mizzen mast, where we found it wrapped up this morning. It also snapped our gaff boom clean in two. (top wooden spar on sail over the back of the boat, above steering wheel.) Seas and ice were washing up over the bow in what witnesses say was a very scary night. I awoke at 06:00, poked my head outside in sweats and a t-shirt to check the weather, and stared into the face of a half dozen frozen, weary sailors dressed in full foul-weather gear, faces wrapped in hats and scarves, looking like they just finished running with the bulls of Pamplona, Spain. They were all standing on a wet deck and one said to me, go back inside and get some clothes on. I went back to bed. Three hours later, it was a beautiful morning.
We encountered some big cruise ships at Deception Island, where they have 290 passengers and 110 crew! Only 100 are allowed ashore at any time, so there is always a lottery system in place to set slots. Plus, some are only on 8-day voyages, with 4 being the transit over Drake's Passage. It's sad they come so far and get to be on land for so little time. On Europa, with 37 passengers and 16 crew, everyone except the 1/2 crew on watch usually goes ashore, where we spend anywhere from 4-8 hours at each landing point. I feel I am truly seeing this place through this old ship. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I know several of you would never make this trip because of the freezing temperatures and the seasick-prone Drake's Passage, but I can say now it is worth the hardships to be in this place. Several passengers spent the three days across Drake's in their bunk, but all have said that one afternoon ashore with the penguins makes up for any sickness. If you can imagine enjoying the grandeur of someplace like Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon, but with your small boat as the ONLY visitors in the entire park, you can somehow picture the size of this infinite landscape I'm sailing through today.
2/5/01 - 23:07hrs - We spent a blue sky afternoon in Paradise Harbor, which lived up to its name. Got into the dinghies to take photos, including one of Europa backing to within a foot of an iceberg over 15 feet high. Seeing the near collision photo, the captain actually cringed. Once in a lifetime. Each day holds new surprises. I already have several dozen photos slated for a website, but my first priority is to put together a slideshow that will blow Mr. Rose away. I will add SIGNIFICANTLY to his penguin collection.
2/6/01 - S 64deg 54' 46.5", W 62deg 56' 12.6" - At this exact spot in Paradise Harbor, at 09:30 hrs, I stepped foot onto the continent of Antarctica. Climbing out of the boat onto jagged green-gray slate rocks, I know I have arrived. The only downside is I seem to have gotten a scientific mineral sample stuck in my boot. When I got back to the boat, there it was. Maybe Mr. Rose can put it to good use.
2/7/01 - S 65 15', W 64 16'- Vernadsky Base - We came last night to Vernadsky, a Ukranian base in the Argentine Islands best known to locals for it's "Faraday" bar and Antarctic post office. Oh yeah, they discovered the ozone hole here, too! We arrived 2/6/01, which was both the time for the yearly changeover of crews, so two full 12 person teams were here, and also the exact date of the 5th anniversary of Ukranians here. Prior to this it was the British Faraday base. There was a huge (sort of) party to celebrate the fifth ann. And we just happened to show up. Fortuitous. Here's a project for Mr. Rose's kids. Who is Vladimir Vernadsky (1863-1945) and why would they name the base after him?
- Sailing in the South Sixties, Topher
2/15/01 13:00 hrs - Beagle Channel, Tierra del Fuego Wind and Weather Permitting
There's a phrase we have used almost daily on this voyage - wind and weather permitting. It has been easy to forget, as the blue skies blessed our Antarctic days, that we are in a region known for the ferocity of its weather. Today I am frustrated, I am tired, and I am sore, because the wind and weather have reminded us these last five days that we are but children playing in a world beyond our control. In the process, I was denied a special treat I hoped very much to taste.
We set off from Antarctica bound for Cape Horn, a speck of sterile land with no fresh water to quench your spirit, no trees to shade your tired body - but for a young boy prone to wild imaginings, Cape Horn is fertile ground. As we left the frozen continent, I spent the first two nights with wild dreams about looking this nautical legend in the face, hoping to demystify it by staring coldly across the rail to see its body lying placidly in the sea at my feet, wind and weather permitting.
The Holy Grail in every true sailor's book has to be the "Rounding of the Horn". From the day it was discovered by Schouten and LeMaire in 1616, the Horn has sparked more imaginations of savagery and heroism than any other object upon the seas. One day I shall "round the horn", hopefully in a tall ship, and I will go through the ceremony honed over centuries of tradition - getting an earring in the ear nearest the Horn, with the ear pierced by a sailor's needle. That ceremony was not possible on this trip, as I was not to "round" the Horn, but to sail "past" it. To round the Horn, you have to make a passage specifically from one side to the other. (i.e. Pacific to Atlantic) Generally, it is acceptable to say you rounded it if you sail from 50 degrees South on one side, down around the island at 56, and go up to at least 50 South again. Realistically, this means you start someplace like the Galapagos and sail to someplace like the Falkland Islands or Brazil. Since I was sailing from Antarctica to Tierra del Fuego, this was not a rounding.
Still, I wanted to see the Cape, to discover what it had to offer. In a way, I wanted to cheat by staring into the soul of the horned beast without paying the price of a true voyage. In my mind, I felt it would be enough for now to see it, and to leave a rounding deep in the closet of my desires, its mystery forgotten under the dust of my vision of the land.
But the wind and weather did not permit. A series of low-pressure systems battered us from the West as we sailed North. Stacked up like pearls on the devil's necklace, these lows created walls of sea and wind, forcing us eastward as we motored under full throttle against the gales. There is a phrase in sailing called "white horses". It occurs when the wind kicks up little white caps upon the crests of the waves, looking like the manes of horses. For four days we watched the sapphire blue seas swell from 15-17 feet, kicking up armies of teal blue stallions of water wildly flicking their snowy manes with the ferocity born in this 'Land of Fire', pelting the deck with their frozen sweat.
To give you some idea of what it was like to cross Drake's Passage, imagine the steepest hill in San Francisco. Make a miniature version about 16 feet high, but just as steep. Put your car on the top, sideways to the hill and sit in the drivers seat without a seat belt. Now comes the fun part. Imagine a semi trailer driving up the hill at about 10mph, hitting you and tossing you skidding down the side. When you wildly crunch into the bottom, the truck rolls over you and continues on. Then a cable lurches your car back up to the top of the hill. Repeat every 15 seconds for four days.
It has been a stunning series of storms we have encountered. The normal watch process was called off, for fear of losing a crew over the edge in the black of night. Showers were turned off from fear that standing on a sloping, lurching, wet shower floor would keep our doctor busy setting broken bones and hips. Every move about the boat was like climbing, with hands wrapped around rails just to stay standing. Those who forgot to hold on started moonwalking down the deck, until they tumbled into a bench or fellow passenger that cushioned their slide. In the process, we broke cups and plates, and also uprooted a table in the deckhouse. We even lost a 25-gallon cooking pot up and over its railings on the stove, sending hot vegetables throughout the galley, eliciting phrases of "excitement" from the crew that cannot be repeated in proper company. Certainly many of us have encountered worse storms, but even the captain noted the rarity of this one, as the duration of four days without a break punished our world of steel, glass and wood.
All the while, these storms pushed us East without remorse. No matter how hard we bent and twisted, we lost footing on our journey and slid further away from our waypoint. Sleep came in small fits of complete exhaustion as the seas tossed us across our bunks until we were too weary to fight, and collapsed in tight curls against the edge of the bunk. Every time we awoke to the incessant vibrations of the propeller, we found new bruises the ship had snuck into our bunks for us.
In the end, after four weary, bone-chilling, sleepless nights, it was over. At 01:30 on February 15, we passed 15 miles East of the legend as it lay snugly beyond the reach of my binoculars in a blanket of black mystery. With our arrival in the lee of the land, the seas softened, Conny, our first mate, cut the motors back to a calm cruise, and we were finally able to find peace in our bunks.
So now, after sleep and showers all around, we are human once again. My thoughts as I eat my lunch here in the deckhouse have turned to the future, to some unknown voyage to come. I dream once more of the day I will sail past Cape Horn, finding what it has to offer me, as always wind and weather permitting.
2/16/01 - 09:20 As usual, what a difference a day makes. We are traveling down the Beagle Canal for Ushuaia this morning, with blue skies ringed by islands of green trees, topped with creamy snow cones. Winds are high, but without the swell of the sea it is peaceful. Last night we had an 'end of voyage' party in Harberton, inviting some Norwegians from a 15 meter private boat in the harbor and about a dozen young Argentinean women from the farm at Harberton. The music and Latin dancing were hot, the stars were out, the deck moved as we collectively swayed to the rhythms. In one night we found our feet again.
Two unexpected highlights, and then I'll close this journal for now. First, I saw the Southern Cross for the first time last night, bright and clear above the harbor. Our Aussie friends were happy to point it out. Seeing as how the constellation is on their flag, they take a certain amount of ownership of this 'down under' treat. I also spent some time talking with Klas, the captain, about my photos. Seems he wants a few for the Europa website, and when I get the slides back they want to talk about publicity shots. Their standard photographer fee is to trade for future voyages, so we got to talking about their planned circumnavigation in 2002. The legs from Japan to Jakarta and Mauritius to Cape of Good Hope have captured my imagination, so once again as I close one voyage, doors to another begin to open for me. A comforting thought as I leave the sea.
I came up with a new goal in these last few weeks. I want to sail a tall ship to or from each of the seven continents. I already have four (N. and S. America, Europe, Antarctica). That leaves Asia, Africa, and Australia. It is not a coincidence that the two Europa passages that caught my eye touch at two of the remaining three continents.
Sea the world. Sail a tall ship.
P.S. - I am back on land now, at Ushuaia. This has been one incredible voyage. It will take me a few days to get home, and a few more to find my bearings in that strange land called California. I have spent most of my time this last week on the website, and I hope to have it up with 10 days or so. For now, it is just the digital photos. All the sailors on board are waiting along with you for its publication, but they've seen the photos on board. I hope within three weeks to get the film back and scan the best slides for the website, too. After that, I'll look at publishing the logbook on the web. As I look back over my writings in the log, I find I've written too much and said too little. The challenge of compressing the vastness of Antarctica into words that ring with truth is beyond me this tired afternoon, and may be beyond me for some days to come. I shall therefore keep my journals closed until I can see them with new eyes, and hopefully the peace of a quiet room and hot fire can someday stoke the coals of my memory until they ignite the words I am looking for today.
Topher's Tales - Antarctica 2001 - The Final Chapter
It's 2:00 a.m. and for those of you who know me well, you won't be surprised to find I'm at my desk at home working on the 39 rolls of film I just picked up from the lab. I am reminded one more time of the extremities I have encountered throughout this vacation. The intense tropical heat of Buenos Aires, the frigid cold of a night watch at the helm on Drake's Passage; the water as flat as a mirror in the Lemaire Channel, and as curvy as camel humps on our return through the Drake; the high of seeing Paradise Harbor on a gorgeous blue-sky day, the low of not seeing Cape Horn at all as we pass in the black of night.
I never know how the film will turn out, and I avoid setting expectations as a photographer. Too many things can happen to the film from the time you buy it until it hits the light table as a finished slide. In looking over the finished product from this trip, I find once more extremes in this voyage. I hesitate to talk about this in e-mail, as this is more behind the scenes secrets of the job than high seas adventure, but the emotions are so strong, and the photographs are such an integral part of the trip for me, that I am once more dragging you back into my tale.
First, the bad news. I usually shoot without filters. The film I use compensates well for most conditions. Every book I read about photography in the Antarctic, however, comments about the brightness of the snow, and most suggest use of polarizing filters. Following the advice, I used polarizers quite often. It was a disaster. Roughly 40% of the film was destroyed because of the overcorrection the polarizers induced. Another 10% you will find attractive, but if you knew how it would look without the polarizer, you'd be crying with me at the loss of intensity. The impact was far higher in some areas, especially icebergs, where roughly 80% of my shots are simply gone. You could say my iceberg disaster was Titanic, but at least I'll live to shoot another day.
I am reminded, however, of Frank Hurley, the photographer of Shackleton's Endurance expedition. He originally shot over 500 photographs. When they had to move across the ice flows, Shackleton made him trim the load down to roughly 120 images. Frank had to leave behind over 75% of his work, knowing that this was a once in a many lifetimes journalistic miracle of photography. He decided to destroy the glass plate negatives, because he knew that if he did not, he would spend the rest of his life wanting to return and retrieve the lost images, unable to move forward with his life until it was done. At least I did not have to purposely destroy my work.
The images taken by Frank Hurley that remain are considered by many to be the among the finest journalism photos of all time. Today, original prints of the photographs sell at auctions for extreme sums, so it cannot be said that his was a loss at all. He produced some of the world's greatest photographs, even though some equally great photographs will remain forever shattered within the ice of Antarctica.
It is with this thought uppermost in my mind that I have some great news as well. Some of the shots that did come out are stunning. Perhaps 10 are in the top 20 photographs I have ever taken. The high that coursed through my veins as the images leapt from the light table reminded me of hanging over the upper t'gallant yardarm, furling the sail as a Cowboy of the Antarctic. I come back to my reference to this place as the Garden of the Gods. I can't help but think that God somehow felt I was taking away too much of his soul on this trip, and only wanted to let me escape with enough to tantalize you, not satisfy you, leaving some mystery for further exploration. It certainly makes me want to return, knowing what I now know about how my equipment responds to all the various conditions we encountered.
I will put some of the best in a top shots gallery on the web, but it will have the www.tophers- tales.com (NOT UP YET!) logo splashed across it. It will take a little time to burn CDs for sale, which will have all the digital work (200+ images) and a screen saver of the top 20-40 slides sans logo. When I do, I'll let you know. If you're family it will be free, everyone else who is on this list today can get it at my cost, which should be something less than $10 or so plus a couple bucks for the mail. Also, if you just have to have one of the Top 20 to use as a background for your computer, you can always e-mail me and I'll e-mail 1 or 2 happily. I can send more, but if your not on a high speed connection with a minimum of 10mb in your e-mail account be careful, as the images make big file sizes quickly, and I have been known to tie up a 56k modem for an hour or more.
I'm working hard on the full website, but just to go along with this e-mail, check out the following two pages for some idea of what I mean about the highlights.
www.tophers-tales.com
www.gafftop.com
Please note these are very quick scans done at 1:00 am, some of the actual photos are brighter and clearer with deeper colors. Take care, Topher
Copyright 2001-Topher Croddy