Caption: Photos courtesy of Len  Samborowski. 

 

Trip of lifetime

to Antarctica

By Len Samborowski 

Between the 7th and 18th of January I traveled to Antarctica. Stepping foot on Antarctica was a childhood dream. Thank you “White Fang.” Those Jack London literary images led me, during my time in the Army, to Alaska and the Yukon. I was 26. To complete the arc from Barrow to Usuahia took me another 34 years. It was worth the wait.

7 Jan.  2015 – 

The flight from Bradley to Miami takes 3 hours and then another 8 down to Buenos Aires where I meet up with the guides and passengers of the National Geographic / Lindblad “expedition.” We sleep over at the Caesar Park hotel, in an upscale (think Boylston Street in Boston) section of Argentina’s capital. 

Next morning, another flight, destination Ushuaia, the southernmost city in South America. We spend a few hours in the area. On a bus we ride through the Alberto de Agostini National Park, stop by the southernmost golf course, and roll past the “train at the end of the world.” We board a tourist catamaran and explore the Beagle Channel running between Navarino and Tierra del Fuego Islands. In the Beagle Channel we spot petrels, sea lions and thousands of Rock Shag, a type of marine cormorant. As we pass by the small islands we’re introduced to guano shading: white guano means the birds are feasting on fish; pink guano equals krill and green guano, algae. Pink guano is the healthier ecological choice.

By late afternoon we board the National Geographic Explorer. This will be our home for the next nine days. There are 147 passengers and 85 crewmembers aboard the Explorer. 

9 Jan. to 11 Jan. – At Sea

While the scenery through the Drake Passage is spectacular, so are the people. Everyone seems accomplished and well traveled. My travels around three continents pales in comparison to the adventurers onboard. Most have visited five continents and many are completing the “seven-fecta” with this sojourn to Antarctica. 

I sit with a different group during each meal and a meet a cast of characters worthy of a James Michener novel. There are the two guys from Iceland that rode their motorcycles from Prudhoe Bay to Ushuaia. A youngish 70-year-old woman who has more than 2,500 hrs in Cessnas and seaplanes. Lawyers and doctors galore. Authors, therapists, investment bankers, school teachers, ex and active duty military, jewelry makers, amateur philosophers and casino operators. Except for the average age of the ship (estimated at 65+) this could be an ideal Noah’s ark. 

 As we sail south I spend many hours on the bridge. The ship is piloted by Oliver Kruess. He’s a ship Master for over 100 polar expeditions. Unlike other expeditions, the Explorer and Captain Kruess, allow an open bridge policy, that is, anyone can visit the ship’s control room and watch the orchestrated voyage along the peninsula of Antarctica. Although packed from port to starboard with radar, radios, and navigation systems, the captain is truly the most important instrument on the bridge. Kruess stands majestically at the helm and maneuvers the 367-foot cruise ship around ice floes as easily as Julian Edelman sliding past Seahawk defenders. 

Kruess steers the 6,400-ton ship and lectures his rapt audience. Without breaking routine he points out humpback, minke and killer whales, sooty shearwater albatross and white-chinned petrel. He explains the difference between new and young ice, and the subtle distinctions between brash, frazil, shuga and slush ice. If Yo-Yo Ma had a sea worthy doppelganger it would be Oliver Kruess. 

12 January – On the Continent

It’s 8:50am. I made it! My boots touch down on the coldest, windiest, driest, highest continent – Antarctica; an ice mass bigger than the U.S., a place where no government or sector principle of sovereignty is recognized. In other words, no one’s in charge and it seems to be working just fine.

We come ashore at Brown Bluff, on the northern tip of the peninsula in Hope Bay. Walking was difficult. It’s hard to get a solid foothold. It’s 18 degrees; warm enough to make the snow slick. Every few feet I sink into a mushy hole up to my knees. It is a tough trek. I am breathing heavy as I crest the top of a hill. Our guide asks us passengers to take a moment and soak in the experience. It is overwhelming. Hard to describe really, a feeling of the supreme power of nature and a realization of our insignificance and yet importance as a part of it all.

Penguins

During my six days on Antarctica I saw tens of thousands of penguins; Chinstrap, Adelie and Gentoo penguins, part of the Pygoscelis Genus. Funny birds, clumsy on land yet agile and powerful in the water. Penguins don’t sneak up on you. You can smell them before you can hear them, and hear them before you see them. 

Penguins are social creatures, loyal to their chosen mate and family, hardworking and nest focused. Their social organization is called a rookery. A rookery is interesting: Daddy penguins piling rocks to build a nest (security), adult penguins feeding fledglings (nurturing), mature birds chasing fledglings around the rookery (discipline?), fledglings huddled together in small groupings called a cresche (teen center?). There appears to be a definite order and design to the honking, smell, and first glance chaos of the penguin rookery.

Magic

Perspective – it’s a funny thing, keeps changing on you all the time. Travel to Las Vegas in your 20s and the sparkle and lights capture your interest. Ascend an ice-covered hill in Antarctica at age 60 and the electric lights don’t seem as electric anymore. The new neon is the sun’s reflection on the snow and brash ice. The real illumination emanates from the beneath the iceberg and radiates out and up until you’re blinded by the brilliance and power of the solitude.  

15 Jan. 10:45am, in the midst of Leggamand Bay

The Explorer stops at 670 06’ South, 660 44’ West. We can’t move any further south as the ice is too thick. We take the Zodiacs to the edge of the ice pack and climb onto the white. Behind us, many miles behind us, is civilization. In front of us is an endless expanse of white. 

By my calculations I’m 7,900 miles from my home in Woodstock. I could walk another 1,900 miles south and encounter less people than I would meet during a trip to the grocery store. 

I walk toward the edge of our landing area. I’m alone with my thoughts. The wind is blowing. It’s cold but my head and soul is on fire. I’m standing on Antarctica. Wow! 

Len Samborowski has lived in Woodstock since February of 2007. A 30-year Army veteran, he retired from the military in 2006. Len is currently an assistant professor of management at Nichols College in Dudley.