Dangerous Antarctica?

Source from:  Dec 09, 2007 - bismarcktribune.com By CAROL M. RUSSELL 12/10/2007

About the author Carol M. Russell, MPH, was chief of program services, Tobacco Control Section, California Department of Health Services, where she oversaw the Local Programs and Evaluation/Data Analysis Units before retiring and moving to Bismarck. She grew up in Minot. Her brother and sister and their families also live in Bismarck and Minot, respectively. "Winter is icummen in ... and how the wind doth ramm!" wrote the poet Ezra Pound. As North Dakota blows into winter, Antarctica warms to its summer where, undoubtedly, some of our residents will head this winter. You can't go there, however, without assuming some risk: temperatures, wind, ice and whatever else nature can throw your way. The recent sinking of the cruise ship Explorer in Antarctic waters points that out most vividly. Temperature-wise, there isn't much difference between our cold winters and their summer, at least in the Antarctic Peninsula, where I traveled last January. Temperatures ranged from 35 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit on a calm, sunny day to much colder, at 10 degrees and lower. The coldest temperature recorded in Antarctica, or on Earth for that matter, was 129 below in 1983 at the Russian Vostok Station, 100 miles from the South Pole. Antarctica is a continent larger than the United States even if you add Alaska, and it's the largest wilderness area on Earth. Its pole lies almost 2,500 miles from the tip of South America. If all of the Antarctic ice melted, the oceans would rise 60 feet. The continent belongs to no country but is a cooperative venture among countries (there must be a lesson here). It also is inhospitable, unpredictable and potentially dangerous. If you fall into the water, you likely will die. Expedition leaders always cautioned us to dress for the worst as the weather can change in seconds, with winds up to 100 knots. We also started the expedition with mandatory shipboard evacuation drills we prayed we would never have to use. The journey begins Getting there was a long trip, with a break in Buenos Aires. From there, I flew over snow-peaked mountains and steel-colored bays into Ushuaia (population 80,000), at the Argentinian tip of South America and boarded the French ship MS Le Diamante with more than 200 alumni and guest scientists from universities across the U.S., Canada and France. From Ushuaia, we crossed the Drake Passage past Cape Horn, through the mid-channel Atlantic and Pacific convergence where seas can get rough and temperatures drop, to Antarctica - a passage of 621.2 miles and 36 hours that, thankfully, was smooth. Our first landfall in the South Shetland Islands slowly emerged out of a dense fog where we learned you can often smell penguins before you see land. No one ever tells you about that about Antarctica. As if on cue, thousands of penguins, looking like tiny orcas, leaped and zoomed through the water alongside our ship to welcome us to their territory. We always dressed in layers: tall waterproof boots, layered socks, long johns and waterproof pants, layered tops, polar fleece hoods or caps, Gore Tex gloves and the ubiquitous bright red parka. When we waded ashore after our French lunch and brimming with strawberry tarts, Floating Islands and blueberry miracles, penguins looked askance at what looked like a waddling new breed of red-coated penguins. Antarctic arrival After two days in the South Shetlands, we sailed into the heart of the Antarctic Peninsula, where we made several zodiac landings amid frozen splendor. It's impossible to exaggerate the beauty of Antarctica. Dangerous or not, Antarctica has a drop-dead beauty. It's so beautiful you can't, as the saying goes, wrap your eyes around it. Even when fierce, dark clouds hover over a leaden sea, you gasp. Barren islands brandish rich Antarctic colors - unusual plants, lichen and penguin poop. The icebergs are a symphony of shapes and sizes, floating like giant deranged jewels flashing crystalline whites and brilliant blues that taunt our comprehension and our cameras. Blues glow like incandescent creations from other planets. Can something so beautiful possibly be on our Earth? Wildlife abounds as well. Penguins, of course: chinstrap, gentoo and adelie, all with pink feet that look like they have toes painted with black nail polish. King and emperor penguins - the latter of "March of the Penguins" fame - are further south toward the pole. Chinstraps, who have a thin black stripe under their chin, number more than a half-million on the South Shetland's Aitcho and Half Moon islands, but their colonies are greatly reduced due, scientists think, to fewer krill, the tiny shrimp-like creatures that much of the wildlife feed on. Resident whales run the gamut from the rare blue whale that is seldom, if ever, seen (we were told they are there) and is the largest animal on Earth - a bull elephant can sit on its nose - to minkes, orcas (really Antarctic dolphins) and humpbacks, who put on an elaborate show for us in the Gerlache Strait. Seals abound: the massive southern elephant seals, largest seal in the world, whose males grunt and bond as if watching a football game; weddells, who weigh up to 1,000 pounds; the 2.5 million aggressive fur seals; crabeaters; and the fascinating but dangerous leopard seals, who have a lot in common with great white and tiger sharks. They have a huge head and mouth, and will eat most anything, including bites out of zodiacs. Birds, besides penguins, provide rapture for birders: giant petrels, skuas, frigates, Antarctic cormorants and many others. I will say the albatross get a bum rap. They don't bring bad weather - bad weather brings them. And on one cold, windy passage, a small black storm petrel flew past our ship going the opposite direction. It turns out that was one smart bird. Heading home Lastly, we rounded the Antarctic Sound into the famous Weddell Sea - famous because that's where Sir Ernest Shackleton's ship, Endurance, was trapped and crushed in pack ice during his 1914-17 expedition. Ensuing was the most famous nautical rescue of all time, when Shackleton and five crew members sailed a 22-foot open boat across 800 miles in the Drake Passage from Elephant Island to South Georgia Island, to get help for his men. They returned to Elephant Island and every man was saved. Knowing its history, this sea did not disappoint me. Ice, ice and more ice everywhere, and icebergs bigger than our ship. Cold. Not a place to linger. Our final landing, appropriately enough, was Devil's Island. From there, we sailed straight into hell. Hurricane-force winds and a monstrous, heaving sea tossed our ship about like a rubber duck as we headed back across the Drake Passage to Ushuaia. In the turbulence, all we could do was cling to our beds that we wedged against the walls while the captain assured us the engines were holding. I looked out our window, worried that a towering swell would blast a canistered life raft through our window, and we were on the fifth deck. This fear was not unfounded. That canister was later swept into the sea. Of course, we had the deep-down dread that if we had to abandon ship, we would never survive these seas. In the violence, great doors were peeled from their hinges and a grand piano was tossed upside down. It seemed an eternity before we got close enough to South America where our captain found shelter from the wild sea. At 3 a.m., Ushuaia glittered serenely around its bay as our ship limped to its pier. Safe at last. And so, voyagers, go to Antarctica, risks and all? You bet. Enditem