Month: February 2024

We set off from Vernadsky two days ago. The break did us good, but now we want to continue. For most Antarctic travelers, the southernmost point is reached at the latest here at the Ukrainian Station or even a little to the north after passing through the Lemaire Channel, at Petermann Island, and it’s time to turn back. But not for us. We have the time and inclination to head further south. Adelaide Island is our destination.

Across the Arctic Circle to the south

On the one hand, there may be some opportunities for the Mountaineering Team to let off steam on land for a few days. On the other hand, we have taken Ivan on board, a biologist from Vernadsky. And for him, our journey south is a rare and wonderful opportunity to pursue his passion and science – the study of Antarctic plants, especially mosses – and to collect samples at selected locations along the way.

We want to head south as quickly as possible to Marguerite Bay between Adelaide Island and the Peninsula / mainland. The weather is not exactly at its best: it is cloudy, gray and wet. The water – almost black – is dotted with small white whitecaps and numerous icebergs and bergy bits. After four hours, however, you can usually see the smiling faces of those on watch, dripping with wetness. The weather doesn’t make anchoring in the evening easy either: a first attempt at Marie Island fails because the wind is too strong from the wrong direction for the spot, and we have to discard other options because the depth is too great. We sail south for another two hours until we finally drop anchor in a bay near Cape Bellue.

It’s still wet and gray when we cross the Arctic Circle at 66 degrees 33′ 55” at around ten o’clock on Wednesday. A reason to unpack the bottle of rum and clink glasses. It’s never been so crowded in the wheelhouse. My watch has just started, so I have the good fortune and honor of being at the helm during this special event, but I also get a glass in my hand and share my rum with Neptune.

The gray remains with us south of the Arctic Circle, paired with decent waves but also sufficient wind, and we can set sail for a good four hours until we reach the north of Adelaide Island. We keep to the mainland, passing Isacke Passage, Hanusse Bay and the narrow Gunnel Channel to the east of Hansen Island. The clouds hang low, the little we can catch of the landscape along Hinks and Lawrence Channel is icy and glaciated. The wind from the northeast picks up to almost 40 knots, the search for an anchorage for the night is again not easy, but we find a small bay. The entrance is barely recognizable, icebergs are stuck on an offshore moraine. Only on the second attempt does the anchor hold, we have 80 meters of chain in place.

Unfortunately, the night is extremely restless. Ice is constantly drifting through the small bay, first in, then out again, and the icebergs that were stuck on arrival are also on the move again thanks to the tide. The anchor watch has a lot to do to keep the Selma halfway clear of them. At least we have support from the moonlight. The anchor is also tugging at the chain, the alarm goes off several times and more than once we think it’s going to break free. Fortunately, this doesn’t turn out to be the case, but hardly anyone on board really gets any sleep, and after a short night we set off again early before more ice drifts into the bay and blocks the exit.

We have a coffee at four o’clock and weigh anchor at five o’clock in the morning. In the morning, the British station of Rothera comes into view. Alan was here a few years ago as a field guide and radios the station. Unfortunately, despite this supposed bonus, we don’t get permission to call at the base.

Leonie Islands

In Ryder Bay, we drop Ivan off on Leonie Island. While he searches for mosses there, we anchor off Lagoon Island and take the Zodiac across. Rothera asks us on the radio to keep an eye out for signs of the bird flu virus. On entering the island, the smell of decay is quite foul. Five not too long dead skuas lie in a narrow area around a small lagoon. This could be a sign of the virus, they are old birds, all without any recognizable external injuries. But a little later, we identify a larger group of elephant seals lying here lazily, dozing and digesting, as the reason for the foul smell. A large pile of huge brown bodies nestled close together. From time to time, a head rises briefly, sneezing or burping, looks at us troublemakers with huge saucer eyes, only to dive back into the cuddly confines of the others immediately afterwards. Or a fin is stretched out to scratch its belly or back. It’s wonderful to watch this peace and comfort, which is only disturbed when one of the animals thinks it wants to turn around, to which its neighbors first snort and complain, only to slowly jerk their clumsy bodies back into place. However, they are only clumsy on land – in the water, these massive animals move surprisingly elegantly and quickly. This is demonstrated by a specimen that suddenly appears directly in front of us while we are waiting on the shore for the Zodiac, only to dive down again immediately afterwards in shock at our presence and quickly seek refuge.

Kayak trip

We decide to spend the night here. So we still have time for an excursion around the islands. Some of us choose the Zodiac. Unda, Gerhard, Karen and I set off in three kayaks. We paddle our way around some beautiful icebergs and turquoise-blue ice floes and discover a small bay where we can observe penguins, Weddell seals and elephant seals at close range. But they take no notice of us. Just as we are about to head back towards Selma, Karen spots three whales that are obviously heading in our direction. Just the day before, Unda told me about her desire to meet whales in a kayak. To paddle with them. At eye level, so to speak. And now that’s exactly what happened. An hour of whale watching at its finest. The course lines of the whales and our kayaks crossed at just the right moment, and we experienced one of the most wonderful and moving moments of this trip. But Unda has already written so beautifully about this.

The encounter with these three humpback whales, especially the moment when one of them surfaced right at the bow of our kayak and right in front of my feet and next to us, its head, the huge body, shiny black, close enough to touch … it was breathtakingly beautiful in the truest sense of the word.

Strangely enough, we were neither startled nor afraid – there was simply no time for that. But it took a moment before we dared to breathe again, to really understand what had just happened, how incredibly lucky we were that Unda’s wish had come true in such a wonderful way.

Ivan, who we picked up again in the evening on Leonie Island, was also happy with his haul: the many samples of mosses, lichens and grasses. We actually felt like celebrating after this day. But a small glass of wine will have to suffice this evening, because we want to weigh anchor again very early the next morning and set off. To the southern tip of Adelaide Island, where we finally want to start our long-awaited mountaineering tour.

We had already set up the kayaks three days ago. Pjotr had been inspired by SY Podorange, where we can moor them well on deck. The dinghy has made a bit of room and now they are snuggled up on the starboard foredeck, their red color matching the Selma perfectly.

Of course, they are at their best when in use, as they have already proved themselves twice.

Ursula and I did the first test on Hovgaard Island. While the others went on a snowshoe hike, we took it easy, paddled between flat rocks and icebergs and enjoyed the silence. We are always delighted by every penguin sighting, it’s impossible not to smile when we see these funny animals. From the kayak, silently and at eye level, taking our time, it is particularly intense. Ursula is paddling for the first time in her life and immediately falls in love with this form of transportation, which I have long been addicted to.

From a distance, Woij keeps an eye on us in the dinghy and could be with us in no time if we need his help or the leopard seal shows too much interest. But we feel comfortable and safe and are only happy about a speedy return trip at the end, when Woij takes us in tow.

We must have raved about our trip, because two days later all six available kayak places are taken when we set off from Vernadzky Station, first to Wordie House and then on a trip around Galindez Island. This round trip is a little longer, but the kayaks prove to be stable, comfortable and with good straight-line stability. We are out for about three hours and enjoy our trip.

As I write this text, we are already heading further south towards Adelaide Island and hope to make intensive use of our kayaks there. My dream is to meet a whale then, at eye level so to speak. We’ll see 😉

At eye level with whales

Two days later, we are on a short exploratory kayak trip off Lagoon Island when we see three humpback whales swimming in the small sound between the islands. They were moving slowly, perhaps feeding.

We immediately start paddling, an imaginary line where our paths might intersect, and the plan works. We get closer and closer to them and are soon only a few kayak lengths away from them, then between them. We see one to our left and another to our right, hear them blow, watch them rise and fall. We are fascinated and excited, hardly dare to breathe and at the same time try to paddle, look everywhere and take photos.

The humpback whales are very close, but don’t seem to take any notice of us. Suddenly, however, one appears right next to the boat, touches it on the bow and makes a wave as it dives down, causing our two small kayaks to rock considerably. Whether out of interest in us or by accident, we don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. We are absolutely overwhelmed, happy and full of adrenaline. We don’t know what to do with all the feelings that are flooding us, we look at each other and are happy to be able to share this experience and see the same fascination in the faces of others that we are experiencing ourselves.

Happy and full of gratitude for this gift, we watch the three whales for a short while before they move on and we return to Selma.

Before you can see Vernadsky, the Ukrainian station, you can smell it. At least the day before yesterday afternoon, when we arrived, the wind carried the smell of the resident Gentoo penguin colony (gentoo penguins) towards us from afar. Soon after, not only did lots of penguins appear in the water and on land on and between the rocks, but also the station buildings.

Vernadsky Base

We took a break here for two days, hid from the storm from the SW, filled up on energy, water and diesel and visited the Ukrainians. The station is known for its hospitality towards small sailing yachts. The Selma and Piotr are welcome guests after many years, and Piotr has close friends here.

In a small bay close to the station, we lay quiet and sheltered. At the entrance, the resident leopard seal greeted us and drifted past us on its floe. For the first time during the trip, we not only dropped anchor but also deployed four shore lines. We spend almost two hours doing this. On land, we look for suitable anchor points in the form of rocks or large stones, lay slings, deploy floating lines with the dinghy, attach them to the anchor points and then gradually pull them tight from deck until everything fits and the Selma is securely moored. Just as we have finished, another yacht, the Mon Coeur, turns into the bay and moors up next to us. Gennadi, the Ukrainian skipper, is also a good friend of Piotr. He made the Mon Coeur seaworthy again years ago, refitted and extended it. He proudly tells us about it and later shows us every last corner of his boat. Everything is bigger and more comfortable than on the Selma. The engine room alone, where two Mr. Perkins are on duty, is as big as our entire saloon. The cabins each have their own bathroom, the kitchen is huge and it’s warm. Far too warm for our standards. We’re glad to be back on the Selma later, we’ve got used to the 10-15 degrees below deck and love it just the way it is.

A warm welcome

Piotr is invited to the ward in the evening. It’s a special day. It is February 24th. Today marks the third year of the Russian war of aggression in Ukraine. Of course, this is extremely present here at the station, even though home is unreachably far away: it’s 15,168 km to Kyiv. However, many of the 26 station members currently working here were at the front before the season and / or will have to return to the front after the changeover in April. They all fear for their families and friends back home. This painful reality is a daily reality for the people here, especially on this day. It also catches up with us in our happy and peaceful “bubble” on board the Selma. We may be at the end of the world down here in the deep south, but we are still a part of it.

All the more moving is the warm welcome we receive and the hospitality we are shown during these two days: we are given lots of fresh bread and a large pot of borscht, a detailed tour of the entire station and insights into its history and research work. The former British station has been run by the Ukraine since 1996 and is named after the Ukrainian geologist, mineralogist, geochemist and biochemist Vernadsky.

Historical pictures on the walls fill the corridors of the station, the group photos of the respective wintering teams of the station’s history – whether British or Ukrainian – hang in the staircase to the upper floor. We are allowed a glimpse into the laboratories of the biologists, seismologists, geologists, meteorologists … We get a hint of the complex relationships between climate change, warmer temperatures, migrating penguins, their guano, the subsequent growth of first-colonizing algae … and the resulting changes to the islands and landscapes of the Antarctic Peninsula. The station, which shares Galindez Island with a colony of Gentoo penguins that has been growing for years, can tell you all about it.

Wellness

But the best part is the hot shower followed by a visit to the sauna.

After a long time, we enjoy the luxury of hot running water. The station’s women’s shower is currently mostly unused due to a lack of female staff, or is used as a temporary storage area for various scientific samples – numerous numbered bags are piled up next to our clothes. A curious glance reveals the contents: these are Ivan’s mosses, which are awaiting further scientific examination.

But the sauna – or banja – is the biggest thing! A small wooden hut on a rock about 300 meters from the station building is waiting for us. There are two ways to get there: by land through the middle of the penguin colony or by boat. We choose the sea route and the dinghy. An adventurous, somewhat weathered wooden ladder leads up a rock to the hut. The steps are slippery, as is the forecourt. Like the ladder, the small wooden deck is occasionally used by penguins, which stand, lie and call all around us, right next to and behind the sauna. The scenery is simply incredible.

We quickly get rid of our wellies and clothes and slip into the cozy warmth. Enjoy the 90 degree dry, crisp heat, the steaming infusion. Afterwards, we stand outside steaming in the frosty cold. Think about it for a moment and then scramble down the slippery steps, over the rocks and dare to dive into the Antarctic Ocean. Afterwards they are electrified, full of energy, everything tingles like a thousand fine needles. We stand outside in the twilight grinning, enjoying a cold beer and the view of the sea, icebergs and penguins. We warm up in the hut and then slip back onto the wooden benches by the hot stove. We indulge in this luxury three times before moving over to the station’s bar, cleaner and warmer than we have been for a long time. Here we are welcomed with music, drinks and a small buffet. It was a wonderful evening together with our Ukrainian hosts and the crew of the Mon Coeur – with beer, wine, cocktails, pool billiards, stimulating and moving conversations that not only accompanied us during the midnight crossing to Selma.

Wordie House

We start the next morning with a late, sumptuous breakfast and look forward to a day here in Vernadsky. No anchoring, no watches, no cold hours at the helm… just a whole day off. Free, so to speak. Well, not quite. First we get a delivery of fuel. Four heavy 200 liter barrels of diesel are winched on deck. While Piotr takes care of filling our tanks in the following hours, we set off on a kayak trip.

We paddle to the neighboring Wordie House on Winter Island. The former British Faraday Research Station is a historical monument from the early days of Antarctic science, built in 1947 and closed in 1954. The former main building of Station F was named after James Wordie, a Scottish polar explorer and geologist who, among other things, took part in Shackleton’s Endurance Expedition as scientific director. The building stands on the foundations of a former hut of the British Graham Land Expedition 1935-1936.

Today, Wordie House is a small museum: visitors are taken on a journey through time, 70 years back to the early days of the British Antarctic stations. The rooms, all in their original condition, offer a small insight into scientific work and station life. Historical measuring instruments and scientific material in the workrooms, the workshop and equipment such as diving gear, snowshoes and dog harnesses bear witness to this. The kitchen, including supplies and food, would still be ready for use. The adjoining lounge is a living room and bedroom in one. Some of the jackets are still hanging on the beds, shoes are on the shelves. Games, books, darts and the guitar have provided variety during the long, dark winter months. I love these trips back in time, breathing in the smell of bygone eras that still lingers in the rooms. Sometimes you think you can still feel the presence of those who once lived here.

A short ascent to the neighboring glacier and summit of Winter Island offers a beautiful panoramic view of the station and the Argentine Islands. We then continue kayaking between and around the islands, past glacier-blue icebergs, leaping penguins, passing cormorants (Arctic Shag) and crabeater and Weddell seals lying lazily on floating floes. We also encounter the leopard seal again, but this time it shows no particular interest in us. After four hours, we pass the station again and return to the Selma.

Crew extension

In the afternoon, the mountaineering team sets off once again for the neighboring glacier. Safety training is on the agenda. Alan, who regularly works for Mountain Rescue in Scotland, patiently practises various crevasse rescue techniques with us. After almost three hours, we are frozen through and finish our training session.

The Selma is now moored near the station’s small wooden pier and has stocked up on fresh water. We move together, rearrange our supplies and make room in the aft cabin to take Ivan on board. The biologist will accompany us for a few days; our journey south is a great opportunity for him to search for samples in remote places that are otherwise out of his reach. Meanwhile, our underwater drone remains at the station to support the scientists there.

Tomorrow we continue south. Now with 12 men on board, newly assigned guards, a thirst for exploration and lots of curiosity. And the great certainty that we will be back here again soon in this wonderful place – at least to drop Ivan off. But perhaps also to enjoy the warm Ukrainian hospitality and the most beautiful sauna in the world one more time.

We leave the incredibly beautiful but restless anchorage early in the morning. Just around the corner, the spectacular entrance to the Lemaire Channel awaits us. This six-kilometre-long strait between the peninsula and the offshore Booth Island is very narrow, measuring just 720 m wide at its narrowest point. Plenty of room for us small yachts, even if we have to slalom through the ice. Large cruisers approaching announce their passage on the radio, as only one ship at a time can pass through the canal. On both sides of the canal, the mountains rise up to 1,000 meters above sea level. Coupled with numerous glaciers, this is a spectacular backdrop that makes the passage an impressive experience.

Numerous blue icebergs await us on the south side, and Hovgaard Island – a larger island in the middle of an archipelago of numerous small, mostly flat islands that stretches out to the west and south. The anchor drops at around nine o’clock. The island is covered by a gently rounded, snow-white glacier cap. Most of us want to climb its 368-metre-high peak. Meanwhile, Unda and Ursula prefer a short kayak tour to the neighboring penguins.

We put our snowshoes in the Zodiac and are accompanied and followed by a curious leopard seal during the crossing to the island, just like on Astrolabe Island. A little too curious for our liking, after a while it starts to repeatedly graze the side walls of the dinghy with its head and body, dives under us, swims at us again … It is easy to see in the crystal-clear water, its strength and elegance are impressive, as are its huge head and suddenly open mouth from close up. Once again we have the image of those pointed teeth in the orange rubber before our eyes and accelerate. So does the leopard seal. And it is fast – of course, after all it loves to chase penguins as fast as an arrow. But we can’t really shake it off. We are glad when we scramble ashore, wish Voj a safe return journey, put on our snowshoes and are ready to go.

It takes us just under an hour and a half to climb the hill, which looks so inconspicuous from below. Small black dots in the white, vast landscape. The glacier is covered in snow. The higher we get, the more beautiful the view of the archipelago, the countless blue-white icebergs floating like ice cubes in the sea, the southern portal of the Lemaire Channel and the peaks of the Antarctic Peninsula, which unfortunately remain largely hidden in higher layers of cloud. And very small down there, between all this splendor, lies our red Selma.

It’s good to get our legs moving again and we really enjoy the variety of this snowshoe tour. Back on the coast, a skua takes an interest in our snowshoes and we discover an old depot, still full of supplies and emergency equipment. Alan identifies it as clearly British due to its contents and the color coding. On the way back we remain unmolested this time, Voj and we take a different route with the Zodiac so as not to dispute the leopard seal’s territory again.

After some refreshments, we weigh anchor and set off, heading south. It’s about two hours to the Ukrainian Vernadsky Station. This is our next destination. We want to pay a visit to Piotr’s friends here and take a two-day break to find some peace and quiet and avoid the strong winds forecast for the next few days. We are excited.

We set off the next morning, wanting to continue our journey south. We quickly leave the Argentinean station Almirante Braun in our wake. It’s still gray and cloudy, but the sun comes out in the Ferguson Channel. And soon we have a good 20 knots of wind from the SW. We set sail and the Selma is in her element. We enjoy the sailing between the peninsula and Wiencke Island and cruise south, tack after tack. At last we have the opportunity to practise this in good conditions and without any permanent risk of ice collision. It’s great fun. We sail into Flanders Bay and then westwards to Cape Renard. The wind decreases, the ice increases. We swap the sails for Mr. Perkins, slalom again and marvel at the countless ice formations and icebergs around us – one more beautiful than the next, shades of blue so deep you could sink into them.

At Cape Renard, the endlessly beautiful scenery is completed by jagged alpine peaks and glaciers, a few penguins and the odd Weddell seal and leopard seal on a floe drifting by. Later, we take the Zodiac through a labyrinth of dense and moving ice to get a closer look at the seals. The effort is rewarded – although they are snoozing comfortably, they take notice of us, raise their heads and give us a quick glance before resuming their cozy slumbering pose.

Cape Renard remains our anchorage for the night. The sun slowly gives way to dusk, the clouds in the sky glow a dramatic orange-gold over the peaks.

As calm and beautiful as the evening ends, the night is unfortunately exhausting. The combination of lots of ice, strong currents in the bay, the tide and constantly shifting winds keeps the ice watch constantly on its toes. Icebergs come in, and as soon as they have been guided past the Selma, the wind shifts and/or the current changes and they drift back and towards us again. We only concentrate on the bigger chunks. Every five minutes we use the pole and try to keep plaice and bergy bits at a distance. With such a strong current and the speed of the ice, this doesn’t always work. And above a certain size, you’re left behind anyway. That’s when the skipper and Mr. Perkins have to take over. There’s not much sleep to be had, neither on deck nor in the bunks, where the constant rumbling on deck and along the side of the ship robs some people of their sleep.

We set course south. We leave Tower Island and Trinity Island to starboard. The uncomfortable weather and numerous icebergs remain our companions. Spotlights are installed on the bow for the night. It starts to snow in the evening. In the light of the bow floodlights, the strong wind blows the snowflakes into white horizontal stripes, stroboscope-like. Visibility is zero. We leave the lights off and prefer to stare into the darkness. With the help of the radar, we work our way south through the night. The dawn takes its time. The watch at the helm becomes a test of patience. Only slowly do the first shadows of the icebergs emerge from the darkness, so that we can finally rely on our eyes again. The snow from the previous night covers everything on deck white and wet. Shoveling snow is the order of the day.

The daylight returns, it clears up a little, even the sun makes an appearance. We slowly approach the well-visited part of Antarctica and occasionally encounter a cruise ship. For the most part, however, it is whales that we see in the Gerlache Strait. They usually come towards us, passing us at some distance to the north. Often individually, sometimes in pairs, every quarter of an hour. At some point we stop counting and the rower’s loud call of “whale” is heard only rarely.

We stop briefly at Cuverville Island in the afternoon. The sun shines over an alpine glacier backdrop. The scenery is fantastic, penguins are calling and jumping around, the island is ablaze with colorful lichens and mosses. We meet the Spirit of Sydney and anchor near her. Darrel’s yacht would also have been an option for us – but we are very happy to have opted for the Selma.

On a small island lies the wreck of a small wooden boat next to a huge rusty chain – the question of how the two fit together cannot be answered, they are probably remnants from whaling times. A Gentoo penguin (gentoo penguin) colony lives on Cuverville. We go ashore and have time to observe the colorful hustle and bustle. Here, too, there are numerous chicks, hungrily hurrying after their parents, indecisive swimmers, curious specimens who may be surprised at us strange giant penguins. A penguin highway – a narrow track in the snow – leads up the hill. It looks funny when the little guys hike up, especially when they come towards each other and decide who gets to pass the other first.

The exit from the bay is extremely icy and takes a lot of time. We pass the Errera Channel and the Graham Passage. Narrow, alpine peaks to the left and right, covered by glaciers. At midnight, we drop anchor in Hidden Bay, south of Paradise Bay, a tiny bay surrounded by glaciers. We spend the night here, well protected. The anchor watch is particularly beautiful this time: the full moon disappears behind the glacier and gives way to a clear starry sky that stretches across the firmament and between the masts of the Selma. The ice around us remains mostly calm, only the glacier cracks and bangs from time to time, a small avalanche goes off somewhere, you can hear it rumble and minutes later the wave crashes into the bay. The Selma rocks gently back and forth and lulls us gently to a well-deserved sleep.

We have now been traveling on the west side of the Antarctic Peninsula for three days. And – compared to the east side – in a different world. Both the landscape and the weather have changed.

After starting on Tuesday morning in Hope Bay, Antarctic Sound, we sailed through the day and night. In the Bransfield Strait it has become gray, cold and wet, and it keeps raining. Wind around 20-25 knots from the SW. We initially set course for the South Shetlands, then cross to the south. Our destination, Astrolabe Island, emerges from the fog at dawn. A colony of chinstrap penguins nests here. Landing proves to be difficult. We can’t climb more than a few meters up the black, rocky coast: on the left, a group of fur seals are dozing on the ice, on the right, the penguins are in charge. The weather is so uncomfortable that even they stand doubtfully on the shore and seem to be delaying the step of diving into the ocean for as long as possible. We decide to explore the coast from the dinghy. A whale passes nearby and as it dives we are visited by a leopard seal. Curious, he makes contact and seems very interested in the orange rubber thingy we are sitting in. It follows us, dives down again and again and suddenly reappears next to the boat or underneath it. It is incredibly fast and easy to observe in the clear water. Up close, it looks imposing, its head and mouth huge, no longer as friendly and smiling as the ones we met slumbering peacefully on an ice floe. We feel a little queasy, the thought of a clash of teeth and rubber with an uncertain outcome makes us reach for our paddles, at least as a precaution. This mutual encounter lasts more than half an hour before we retreat to the safety of the Selma.