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As I was putting together my previous post on ice in the Southern Ocean, I realized that half of my favorite photos depicting interesting icebergs and noteworthy landscapes came from this one zodiac cruise in Cierva Cove. So I decided to dedicate a full post just to this one experience. I don't really have much text to go with it, not a whole lot to say that isn't self-explanatory, or a pointless list of adjectives that add little-to-nothing to the photo. Therefore, pretty much just sit back and enjoy the virtual ride ... I present Cierva Cove.
This was a place with whom my wide-angle lens made particularly good friends. Yet again we had glassy mirror waters and beautiful weather for this expedition. I'm so in love with the dynamic nature of the scenery in terms of color and "mood" -- look one direction and the skies are blue, reflecting on the mirror waters; look the opposite and it's a dark cloud-covered sky whose waters are subsequently that beautiful gray and even black that compliments the ice so splendidly. I have to say, the black waters were my favorite. While the photo just above is one of my very favorites from the trip, I think this photo below is pretty cool because it shows simultaneously both the bright blue water underneath the blue sky on the right and the dark water underneath the clouds on the left, as well as the beautiful aqua color that icebergs usually have just beneath the water's surface. Actually, the more I write about it, the more I like it. Add the snow-covered peaks and you've got pretty much the iconic colors of Antarctica. (missing just the yellow glow as I described in Wilhelmina Bay)
A member of the crew told us that the Norwegian polar explorer, Captain Fridtjof Nansen, could navigate through an ice field by studying the clouds because they reflect the surface below them differently depending on whether they are over open water or over snow and ice. As an explorer in the era of the "Golden Age of Discovery" in the late 19th century, there of course were no GPS or radar instruments to help him. Men admirably navigated the globe using the tools provided by nature herself.
Cruising around through the ice fields, whether the water be blue or black, often evoked a sense of adventure such as the early explorers must have felt when everything was a vast mystery, so uncharted, and their vessels were so vulnerable to the forces of ice and weather. Little corridors and alleys like these always made me smile with the excitement of wondering what lay on the other side of the corridor.
Although the black waters were my favorite, the blue waters, especially when cradling the reflection of a white landscape, were stunning. Especially on the mirror-smooth surface.
This one is a little difficult to parse at first; I like the scene for its chaotic composition of color and shape, the glassy reflections broken by the bits of ice in the water.
In spite of the dazzling glassy reflections, the fields of ice in the black water, and all the magical formations, probably my two favorite photos are the two below because I really like the icicles hanging down like a little forest of crystals. (and upside down forest, I guess)
Entering the slush zone!
The different textures of the individual icebergs were perpetually fascinating. And I love that deep, vibrant blue found specially in glacial snow.
And finally we head back to the Sea Spirit, where a hot towel and cup of hot tea awaits us as we re-board the ship, my eyes still wide with residual wonder.
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Although it's a true statement, it kind of cracks me up. The first sentence in the Eyewitness travel guide for Buenos Aires about the Recoleta Cemetery begins: "One of the world's great necropolises ..." I just have never really thought of a necropolis as something that would be put on a Top 10 type list of the "world's greatest," even though I love cemeteries, and I have my own favorites. And now Recoleta has vaulted into my undisputed "Number One" slot.
This is a monster article, I'll just confess up front. I cringed while I excluded a lot of photos of mausoleums I liked, and yet, this article contains more photos than any other I've posted in the entire history of my blog. There is so much history and information that could be shared about the cemetery and the people entombed therein, about the structures themselves, etc. I will try to leave most of that to the whim of your own curiosity ... you can look up more information on any of these things on your own if you're interested via the almighty Google. Though I'll try to be slender in text, as I slimmed down the number of candidate photos, you're still left with a rather portly post all the way around. I love photographing doors and locks, so this was a paradise for indulging that love. I can only offer my sympathy for how long it might take you to scroll through, but I hope earnestly that you will take that time, because I really want to share all these photos with you, my dear reader. :)
We visited the cemetery twice in the one-week span of our visit to Buenos Aires, and after spending several hours each time, we still have not seen the whole cemetery. That might make sense for a place like Highgate in London, which spreads out across 37 acres. But Recoleta is a tightly-packed condensed cemetery in the middle of the city, covering an area of only 14 acres, but with a capacity twice the size of the number of graves in Highgate. How do they pack in so many bodies?
The "city streets" are lined with above-ground mausoleums shoulder to shoulder, just like the streets of any traditional European city are lined with houses shoulder to shoulder. Many of the mausoleums look just like little houses, with doors and windows. Inside, there can be up to three levels underground to hold caskets that fit into slots on each floor. There can be as many as 30 coffins in a single mausoleum. There are very simple, small ones, and huge ostentatious ones that looks like miniature Greek temples or castles; some made out of stones or bricks, and some out of shiny marble. There are statues of stone and bronze. The interiors of large or wealthy family mausoleums have large sitting rooms with offering tables, stained-glass windows, flower vases, statues, etc., like a mini chapel.
Ahead lies the vault of a wealthy Argentinian family, Dorrego Ortiz Basualdo, designed by a famous dude in the style of a French chapel. It's considered by some to be one of the highlights of the cemetery, and has even been pronounced "the greatest" (or "grandest") in the cemetery. I don't think it's the largest, but perhaps the most elegant.
Mausoleums and statues represent a vast spectrum of styles, tastes, traditionalism, and modernism. It's a wonderful feature of the place, that here is absolutely no homogenizing of styles, each family has its unique expression in their eternal resting place.
I often felt like I was in a fake city such as you'd be walking through in an amusement park or in a movie set. There are even "street signs" to point to some of the most famous mausoleums. And just like you would read on a webpage or book page about the highlights of a city, you'll find lists about Recoleta titled, "outstanding mausoleums," "greatest mausoleums," "top ten features," "famous tombs," etc. Within the cemetery, there are directions to the most famous sights. The street sign below, for example, is pointing toward the mausoleum and obelisk erected for the 7th president of Argentina, Domingo Faustino Sarmiento. The following pics are more examples of how it looks to me like a quaint European city, just kind of miniature scale. Notice the modern high-rise in the background ... so you see you the cemetery is literally smack-dab in the middle of the (living) city.
Several presidents lie commemorated here as well as the overwhelmingly beloved "Evita," wife to President Juan Perón from 1946 until her death at the very unfortunate age of 33 in 1952, and who the popular musical, "Evita," is about. She was proclaimed the spiritual leader the nation shortly before her death. But such a saintly titled belies her controversial role. Recoleta was not actually her first resting place, but her remains were eventually moved to her family's mausoleum and now it is perpetually adorned with flowers from admirers. Many visitors to the cemetery beeline straight to her tomb as the only thing they really want to see. It's a very humble mausoleum, walking past it you would never suspect what a famous figure lay resting inside. Many, many famous politicians, military men, writers, scientists, musicians, etc., rest here in coffins inside a mausoleum.
I like it that there are both heroes and villains to modern-day Argentina resting here. Below is the tomb of General Juan Lavalle, who spent a brief and rather ignominious period as governor of Buenos Aires province in 1829. He executed the reigning governor to obtain his post. Later on (after his governorship) he planned a military attack against Buenos Aires with the French until they retracted their support and made peace with the Federalists instead. As a Unitarian, the Federalists were Lavalle's arch enemy. I hate quoting Wikipedia, but this is kind of interesting regarding his death north of Buenos Aires: "Afraid that his body would be desecrated by the Federales, his followers fled to Bolivia carrying Lavalle's decomposing remains with them. Hurrying over the Humahuaca pass, they finally decided to strip the skeleton by boiling it and, after burying the flesh in an unmarked grave, carry the bones, which are today buried at the Recoleta Cemetery."
The green pillar belongs to one of Argentina's national heroes, Admiral William Brown, the founder of the Argentine Navy. He was actually born in Ireland and grew up in Philadelphia and had quite the action-packed and interesting life. He immigrated to Argentina after being held prisoner of the French in the Napoleonic Wars and retired from maritime life. Then re-entered, endured a series of wars and created the navy in Argentina (also being its first admiral). But, what caught my photographic interest was not the national hero's monument, but the humble stone mausoleum beside it. It belongs to a war veteran as well, General Tomas Guido, who served in the war of independence from Spain. I read that Brown's monument was built partially from the metal of melted down cannons from ships Brown once commanded, and that Guido's stone tomb was built by the hand of his son.
So I'm bouncing around kind of haphazardly here in organizing (? ummm perhaps not a relevant term) or at least in presenting the photos. Here are a bunch that I like specifically for their doors. Some of them could certainly be mistaken for the doors to a house if you didn't know they belonged instead to a mausoleum.
I like the next photo (which is simply a zoom in on the one above) for the reflection. It's a little chaotic to figure out. I like the Celtic crosses at the top of the mausoleums poking into the blue sky. There are two reflections of me, one on each side of the doors. The second photo I took as a conscious selfie.
Are you curious yet about what the inside of these house-like mausoleums looks like? The photo below captures only the ground level and the first below-ground level, but there are stairs leading down to two more levels further down. Each level has several layers of shelves/niches for coffins. Some of the mausoleums were run down and decaying, no longer kept up by family (who may be all dead or moved away by now) nor by the cemetery itself, whose resources help maintain some of the mausoleums ... and the insides could be just as ruined as the outside, with coffins sliding out of their niches. We saw one coffin where the lid had slid partially open and we could see the human bones inside it!!
Many of the interiors were gorgeous. I especially liked the ones with stained-glass windows. All the photos I took of the interiors were shot through the locked gates protecting open-air mausoleums (no solid doors) or through the bars of glass-less windows in doors. But a lot of the mausoleums you could not see inside at all or else only through glass. Here are some of the stained glass interiors I liked.
And here are some examples of statues and carvings and offering tables inside. Some of the items are so beautiful and elaborate, I'm glad this is a tourist destination so they can be seen by a lot of people.
I like this one, which seems somehow particularly creepy with its door ajar as if to say, "Welcome ..." in a James Earl Jones-type voice. "Won't you come inside." And then of course it's all over: the door slams shut behind you, the coffin lids open and the bones rise up to strangle you. Though, it is Buenos Aires ... I suppose they could simply offer you a glass of malbec.
I like the following two for how they depict layers of construction and decay. Notice the small cross still in tact in the middle of the first wall?
I like the plaque below to commemorate the "artista de la guitarra." Such a more musical title for a "guitarist." Many mausoleums have multiple plaques on the outside walls to commemorate the individual inhabitants of the coffins inside.
I think Recoleta would be one of the best places on earth to have a scavenger hunt! Confined in a relatively small space, yet countless details to which clues could point -- in the plaques, in the doors, in the statues. I wonder how many statues there are in the cemetery, if you were to go count them!
I like the skyline in this photo below. This is what you see everywhere when you look up in the cemetery -- crosses, angels, men and women, temple tops, minarets and other fanciful adornments. So an important note if you visit the cemetery, always look up! (In addition to every other direction, of course.)
But stone is not the only statue material. I would venture to guess it might be the most common, but there are loads and loads of bronze sculptures and statues as well.
Liliana Crociati de Szaszak is not a famous person, but her tomb is one of the most popular in the cemetery. Outside of the mausoleum, she's represented in a life-size bronze statue wearing her wedding dress. After her dog followed her in death, a statue of him was added beneath her hand. That's what I read, anyway. But it's curious that her statue was made with one hand outstretched into the air like that. I think it would have looked a little strange with nothing under it, so maybe the sculptor had planned for the dog from the beginning.
I like the clash of simple and opulent, functional and ostentatious. One of the things that makes Recoleta so interesting is a lack of codes -- no right or wrong design. Even though it's like a city, there are no neighborhood code-enforcement officers monitoring it to restrict creativity to a homogeneous row of buildings.
I like pretty much every facet you could think to mention about the cemetery. I like every style of mausoleum and tomb, including the simple, the decaying, the shiny and new, the grand and the elaborate. I like the free-standing ones in the middle of the city streets, often at a crossroads, like little castles or temples. This one is like a miniature European cathedral.
If I were to have sought out a particular tomb, it would have been that of one of my all-time favorite writers, Jorge Borges (I didn't find it). He is one of the most celebrated authors in the world, and surely the most famous Argentinian author. But he was vehemently opposed to the presidential Peróns, and the nationally beloved Evita. From him: "Perón was a humbug, and he knew it, and everybody knew it. But Perón could be very cruel. I mean, he had people tortured, killed. And his wife was a common prostitute."
Of course I couldn't leave without some photos of the locks and keyholes. Many keyholes had small dried flowers stuck into them.
A feature that often lent some artistry to locks, keyholes, statues, window corners, etc., was the cobwebs. Weird as it sounds, the cobwebs seems particularly nicely designed, geometrical, symmetrical, and artistically placed as if someone conscientiously added them with a brush ... not a paintbrush but a cobweb brush.
And finally, what would a photo essay from a cemetery be without the obligatory cemetery cat? Seems cemeteries are always a peaceful haven for the strays.
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While the majority of solid objects visible in Antarctica are various forms of white -- snow and ice -- it can be quite striking when the underlying rocks poke out, often in jagged peaks or rocky towers. Sometimes it seems like the land was built from bits and pieces ... as if giants piled a bunch of rocks on top of each other in some kind of game or children's toys, like Jenga or Leggos. I'm sure erosion must be a pretty fierce power here with the weight and movement of all that snow.
I've already mentioned several times the spectacular weather we had on this cruise. It's made clear when you sign up that landings or zodiac outings cannot be guaranteed to happen each day; it is all weather-dependent. And also the ship's course may change from day to day, even hour to hour, if weather or ice conditions change, making an originally intended destination inaccessible or perhaps making a different one a particularly good prospect. On our last full day of the expedition part of the cruise (before heading back toward the South Shetland Islands and into the Drake Passage), we had an extra special treat in getting three expedition activities! That evening, a spot that supposedly is not often accessible was open and so the captain took us there -- dinner was delayed so that we could have an evening zodiac cruise around a place called Spert Island. This was a treat indeed. Not only for the extra activity, but it was an interesting place and very different from anything else we'd seen. Here, sharp spikes of rock poked up out of the ocean.
The water was this incredible green color that I've never seen before. It depended on which direction the sun was relative to the photo and on the exposure length of the photo as to how well the green color came out on "film." So some of these pics the water is black, but the true representation of it is the pics where it is the astounding green color.
A very cool feature of the area was a series of arches and narrow passages through the rocks. It really felt like we were on an adventure such as one that might take place in a fantasy movie, braving the ancient lands of a lost or magical civilization, with mystery lurking around each corner.
The late-day sun and the low cloud ceiling made for some lovely colors in the sky. At 8:00 p.m., it was still quite a ways until sunset, which happened somewhere around 11:00 p.m. (though it stayed light well after that) but the sky had what I typically think of as sunset colors.
I love books about Antarctic explorers (though I've by no means read an authoritative number, just a few, but I've found them all riveting, and intend to read more in the genre). Hmmm .... perhaps here is my opportunity to plug my all-time favorite book, "Shackleton's Forgotten Men" by Lennard Bickel. Many people know the story of Ernest Shackleton's ill-fated attempt at crossing the Antarctic continent and how he and his men ended up estranged from their ship and survived a harrowing sea crossing in a measly life boat to Elephant Island and South Georgia. An exceptional feat (though more due to his ship's incredibly capable captain who was a deft navigator with a knack for dead-reckoning, than to Shackleton himself). But most people do not know of the party who landed on the other side of the continent tasked with laying food caches for the Shackleton party so they didn't have to carry their whole expedition's worth of food with them. Like Shackleton's ship, theirs was damaged in the sea ice and they were marooned on the continent, most of their own supplies were lost and yet they carried out their duty to lay the caches while they themselves nearly starved. Three members of their team died in the endeavor. If you ever wonder what the human body might be capable of, these men will show you the remarkable strength and endurance it can have. And in the end, the men carried out this feat in vain, for Shackleton never showed up. They are the epitome of the unsung hero. If you ever are to receive a birthday or Christmas gift from me, you can probably formulate a good hypothesis that it will be either "Shackleton's Forgotten Men" or my other favorite book, "Babylon's Ark." haha.
Anyway, in reading these various polar exploration books, I had always tried to imagine the landscape as described (as there are few photos from these early 20th-century expeditions). And while I have a more vivid visual imagination than most, I still had a hard time picturing a ship among icebergs, vast crevasses on glaciers, a ship being crushed by ice, etc. (While on the Sea Spirit, they showed a very good documentary about Shackleton's "adventure" which had quite a number of photographs and even film footage ... you know, moving pictures! I was pretty enthralled with the video footage.) While I was riveted by the anxiety and apprehension that the explorers felt while navigating the polar waters in their wooden ships, I just found it difficult to find a mental image that I had any confidence in. So part of my excitement in making it to Antarctica was finally understanding the landscape and icescape. The best illustration of it, and the best part of the Spert Island zodiac cruise, was when our boat driver asked if we wanted to try to find our way through a jumble of icebergs as a shortcut back to the ship. If we could not find passage, we'd have to back out and go all the way around the way we had come and be even later for dinner. He presented us these options (try the channel or head back now) as if there might be anyone who would be upset over being late for dinner when we had the opportunity to explore a passage through icebergs in Antarctica! Bah! I can't imagine. (I was especially keen since we turned back from a similar opportunity while kayaking at Cuverville Island -- and had to settle for just watching a whale swim by, poor us, haha).
So ahead of us lay a jumble of icebergs and we moved ahead slowly through them. I imagined a wooden ship, creaking in the waters, the crew looking ahead anxiously, wondering if they would find passage or be turned back.
All around us was ice and uncertainty. Then suddenly we emerged from the ice forest and there was completely open water ahead with the Sea Spirit at the far end. I just felt for a moment the exhilaration those old-time crews must have felt when they saw open waters, having successfully made it through unknown passages. How they must have cheered at the sight. We saw a pair of giant petrels in the water picking at what looked like a dead fish. We'd seen the southern giant petrels on land earlier and were told it was a pretty neat sighting (I guess not super common). So here they were again!
Some of the other icebergs we saw during the zodiac cruise at Spert Island ... hard to tire of photographing and feeling in awe of them. Not the best photo quality, sorry.
So it was of course important to me that I step foot on land during this cruise to be able to properly claim my badge of having been ON all seven continents. At Orne Harbor we were told this was our opportunity, and Erik and I skipped the kayaking to get on the continent. Hurray! My one and only lifelong goal definitively accomplished.
Zoomed in to the snow-covered peaks surrounding Orne Harbor.
To get back down the hill to where the zodiacs waited to shuttle us back to the ship, we were allowed to slide down on our coats like a sledding run. Our friends from across the hall (with whom Erik polar plunged) were at the top with us and neither he nor Erik could get themselves to slide down the trough that other people had made. Erik kept getting stuck at the hips and decided he was too wide to plow through the trough that way. So, he cleverly turned himself around and slid down on his back head-first like a speeding bullet. This was so funny -- I can't really explain how hilarious it looked -- our friends and I laughed so hard. It was one of the more entertaining moments of the trip.
We're pretty bad about taking photos of ourselves together on trips, but wanted to make sure we caught some on this momentous trip to a location which we will surely never have the opportunity to visit again! I posted this first pic on Facebook and received some amusing comments about my lens somewhat dwarfing me. haha. It doesn't really look like it, but Erik must standing on a slope because I'm really not *that* much shorter than him!
But I think below is my favorite of Team Johnson. This is where passengers who signed up to camp out on land one night dug their pits into the snow and slept in mummy-tight bivvy sacks. How do I know how tight they were? We had originally signed up for this activity. I had figured we should do everything that was offered. I had no illusions that it would be comfortable ... I figured it wouldn't be a particularly pleasurable experience, just a once-in-a-lifetime experience to sleep outside in Antarctica. But several things made us change our minds and back out. One was learning we had to dig our own sleeping pits, and my hands were already so taxed by kayaking and holding my big camera lens all the time; the other was the claustrophobia that overtook us after we were given our gear and counseled to try it out in our room so we were familiar with the process of getting in and out of them. After realizing what an ordeal it was to get in and out (and I would surely have to get up to pee in their provided bucket), we returned the camping gear and just climbed the hill during the day, and slept soundly and cozily at night. The common report from those who slept out was that they "slept" out ... most of the people we talked to were either cold or uncomfortable and were mostly awake, though I don't think anyone said they regretted it. And we didn't regret backing out.
Now, if we had this kind of blubber to insulate us, we would have been just as cozy sleeping outside as our bony little bodies were inside!
One of the funniest things about being around the elephant seals in particular was the sounds they made. A couple times I didn't even realize there were any nearby because they blend in with the rocks and my focus was on the penguins. How did I realize they were there? I didn't spot them with my eyes. I heard them with my ears! They make all these noises that sound like a chorus of farting. It sounds like The Bog of Eternal Stench if you happen to know the movie, "Labyrinth." To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where all the noises came from and if they were all from the same place -- their throats or the other end of their bodies! This is a young male elephant seal with something to say.
It's amazing how all the seals can make lying on a pile of rocks look so cozy. They just nestle right in and look so content.
I loved scenes where penguins were walking by the seals so nonchalantly. But if you've been following my blog for long, you probably already know that I have a particular fondness for animal-scapes that have multiple species in them. This first pic below makes me think of the Seven Dwarfs heading off to work at the mines, industrious little critters that the penguins are, while the seals are just basking in the sun in unabashed laziness.
Many times the seals we encountered had open wounds and red-streaked fur.
And one day we saw how they got them. These were a group of young elephant seals fighting on the shore at Penguin Island.
Have you ever seen a seal flipper curled like this? Up in Iceland we saw some whose flippers were kind of like this -- like crude, floppy hands. But this pic almost disturbs me with how creepy the flipper looks! Seems like some weird Gothic, vampiric creature.
But back to the main theme of this post ... the land forms. The penguin's point of view.
Often, the clouds enhanced or even made the landscape. For example, this little island that looks like just a pile of rocks in the ocean is only of interest because of the clouds. The next pic down, I like how the dark umbrella of cloud rises up almost looking like smoke.
A random selection of shots taken from the ship. You start to get a feel for the general character of the landscape, which was pretty consistent along our journey (save Spert Island).
The snow often turned that lovely golden color that often comes with the lowering late-day sun.
And so I wish you goodnight, dear readers. A shot from the ship with the moon in the far corner. This is actually taken with my 70-200 lens, when you might be tempted to think I took it with the wide angle. Don't dream about seals with freaky flippers! (but do dream about magical green waters and snow-capped peaks ... :)
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When I stopped making posts in real-time (or near real-time) while traveling and backed off this blog a bit to write only upon inspiration and free time, I started organizing posts by more broad topics rather than chronologically. And so it is with Antarctica ... penguins, kayaking, now a focus on ice. I will win no awards for logical and well-ordered photo essays! But here is a collection with a theme of ice. Obviously, this is the primary defining feature that makes traveling the seas around Antarctica so special, magical and other-worldly. So allow me to begin with what is probably my number-one favorite photo from the trip. To me, it represents in a majestic fashion the things I came to Antarctica to see -- the variety of icebergs and penguins. (and blue is my favorite color ... maybe that adds to the appeal) Can you see the penguins on the smaller iceberg in the middle of the photo? They help provide the sense of scale. Big scale. If you were ever to view one of my photos larger (right-click), this is the one to view.
Now to anyone else, this next pic will seem like a really lame photo, but it was the first major iceberg we saw from the ship, which the expedition leader announced we were coming toward so we could rush on deck to see it. So, for me, having seen nothing else like it in my life to date, it was exciting and worth documenting. It's kind of surreal to come across these huge blocks of ice, big as an apartment building, just floating serenely, quietly through the ocean. It's mind-boggling to realize that only a small fraction of the iceberg's total volume is visible above the water. Why is that? Because of the different densities of freshwater ice (originating from snow) and seawater.
So there are many types of icebergs. I have used to date, and will continue to use, the term generically for any ice formation sticking up out of the water, for ease of the lay person's reading, because I think most of us non-polar-scientists and non-climatologists don't care about the distinction and find the unfamiliar terms merely distracting. But for the record, if you're interested, I present to you the technicalities of what to call floating ice on water. This is copied from the NOAA website:
"To be classified as an iceberg, the height of the ice must be greater than 16 feet above sea level and the thickness must be 98-164 feet and the ice must cover an area of at least 5,382 square feet. There are smaller pieces of ice known as “bergy bits” and “growlers.” Bergy bits and growlers can originate from glaciers or shelf ice, and may also be the result of a large iceberg that has broken up. A bergy bit is a medium to large fragment of ice. Its height is generally greater than three feet but less than 16 feet above sea level and its area is normally about 1,076-3,229 square feet. Growlers are smaller fragments of ice and are roughly the size of a truck or grand piano. They extend less than three feet above the sea surface and occupy an area of about 215 square feet."
The colossal tabular icebergs are particularly useful to scientists, for they can date the age of the iceberg much like you can a tree using the tree rings, by counting the striations in the exposed cliffs of the iceberg which has detached from a glacier; each winter a new layer of snow is added and you can see a faint line between each near year's snow, falling after the previous one has melted and compacted. You can see not only age, but also the general climatic conditions of each year based on the height and chemical composition of its layer.
I've seen small glaciers calve before, and of course members of our kayaking club experienced one first hand. Can you even imagine a chunk like the ones above separating from its mother and floating off? Here's a bit of snow in Wilhelmina Bay that looks ready for launch.
Check out the face of this glacier, the topography and colors. If you ever thought snow was just white ... you have been corrected. On the far left you can see some of those striations like tree rings I mentioned above.
One of the loveliest places we visited to see smaller icebergs -- the bergy bits and growlers -- was Wilhelmina Bay via zodiac cruise. For these "cruises" (two to three hours in length), smaller rubber zodiacs were deployed from the ship with 10 passengers in each. For the most part they all traveled around the site of interest to basically all the same places, but often different drivers (one of the expedition crew) would explore different little nooks and crannies of a bay. If one boat saw something of particular interest, they'd radio in to the other ones to come over and see. It seemed like we were always in a zodiac doing the radioing rather than responding to somebody else.
Our tour around Wilhelmina Bay particularly emphasized the peculiar lighting and coloring that often beset the Antarctic landscape. I didn't keep an actual journal or diary on the trip (though in retrospect I wish I would have), but I did write down some occasional notes that I wanted to be sure to remember. I didn't know how well my photos would evoke reality, so I wrote down for myself so I would be sure to remember of Wilhelmina Bay, "... the mountains in the back illuminated yellow from a seemingly unidentified source as if they are creating their own light, that they glow from within themselves; they’re glowing [really from the sun, of course] under the low ceiling of gray clouds, then the dark peaks thrusting up out of the glow, and the slate gray water, then a neon-blue iceberg in the slate gray water in front of the glowing golden mountains. Once again the water like glass so still and smooth." I took two cameras on the zodiac, my wide-angle with a warming filter and my 70-200 with no filter. These first pics below came from the wide-angle with the filter, which really brings out the mystical dark nature of the water, which was something that particularly stood out to me while there, and the moody feeling of the place. The first one isn't a very exciting photo but it depicts the "infinity pool" feeling of the bay, like the horizon there on the right is the literal edge of the world.
The rest of the photos I'm sharing from Wilhelmina were taken with the 70-200 with no filter. But these first two illustrate, I think, the layers of colors that I described in text in my notes, with the yellow, blue and gray.
Some various icebergs with interesting topography in them and icicles.
A lone penguin at the edge of the sea ice extending out from the land in Wilhelmina Bay. I think he is saying to himself Bug Bunny's famous line, "I knew I should have made a left turn at Albuquerque."
We also had some visitors right next to our zodiac! These seals surfaced very suddenly right next to us; it was kind of a miracle I got my camera up quickly enough to get a photo in.
I also wanted to remember the funny behavior of the seals and wrote in my notes for that day, "Three seals right next to the zodiac, one hopped onto the ice sheet and inched his way back, the way seals do, awkwardly flopping across the land. Then he rolled around on his back as if he had an itch he was trying to scratch on the ground, squirming and wiggling. Then he would stop that and do a very slow log roll. Then squirm again, then log roll, over and over several times."Seals were a fairly common sight on both ice and land. I'd only ever seen wild seals on the pier at San Francisco, so this was quite exciting to me. I especially loved them on the ice. For, like the penguins, this to me is their iconic and unique habitat. Here are a few more we spotted on the ice or in the water on other days.
The most prized sighting in terms of seals was the leopard seal. This was one of the things that if a zodiac saw it would radio into the other ones to come over and check it out. They're not too common to see, unlike the common crabeater seals and weddells. If I remember correctly, we saw three.
Show us those pearly whites! Er, those kind of yellow, vicious-looking things. Wouldn't want to get my hand caught in there!
A few more icebergs from other random locations during our Antarctic journey that I think are pretty cool:
Here's another shot that illustrates that interesting lighting I like with darker colors in the background and lighter-colored ice in the front on the gray water.
I'll close out this look at icebergs and some of the life found thereon with my faves ... those silly little penguins on a chunk of floating ice like a couple of bowling pins ready to knock down. I'm looking down on them from the ship's deck. You can see how the ice of the icebergs is extending down into the water in the light blue and aqua coloring of the water. I like this pic also for the contrast of the vibrant blue and the crisp bright white. Obviously on a gloriously sunny day!
More ice to come .....
please note all photos in this post can be viewed larger by opening in a new tab (right-click)
I had never traveled via ship before we signed up for this cruise to Antarctica, so for me it was pretty exciting and interesting. This post is largely for those of you who might not know what it's like onboard a ship. We were on the ship "Sea Spirit," which accommodates I believe 110 passengers. Something very near to that, anyway. When I tell people we went on a cruise to Antarctica, I think a lot of them are picturing Celebrity Cruises-type ships that are like floating islands, servicing many hundreds of people, with swimming pools and casinos. Umm, no. Now I always call it an "expedition cruise" to separate it from the typical Caribbean cruise. Here's a little diagram to show you where our main activities took place.
The ship was, by my reckoning, very comfortable -- far more luxurious than I imagined, to be honest. By the time we booked the trip, the two lowest grade of cabin were sold out. So we were in the "superior suite" class. Check out our digs:
There was a steward for every few cabins whom you could summon for anything you needed. Often ours (who hails from Guatemala) would be in the hallway when we returned from an expedition and he'd open our cabin door for us. I always try to look people in the eye when I talk to them, but he had a gold-rimmed tooth in front that I found I could never stop staring at, haha. They did bed turn-down every evening with mints on the pillows. If we left stuff lying around haphazardly in the room, we'd usually come back to find the clothes that had been strewn around the room folded neatly on the bed. Oftentimes we came back to find little towel animals waiting inside for us. I must admit I always delight in these things. (an elephant here)
For dealing with the ship pitching in rough seas (this mostly happens only during the crossing of the Drake Passage between Ushuaia, Argentina, the port city, and the South Shetland Islands), there are railings next to the toilet and inside the shower and all shelves have rails across them. In the living area, all dresser drawers and cabinet cupboards require an extra push to close them, they have little latches to lock them closer. A couple times on the passage over, we had not sufficiently fastened them all and in the middle of the night, dresser drawers slammed full open as the ship pitched to the side. I personally liked the movement while lying in bed and never felt ill.
The funniest thing was that all the hallways were lined with barf bags stuck into the railings at regular intervals. Sickness, I learned from Erik, can come on extremely swiftly and unexpectedly. A seasickness victim may not have time to run back to their room and may not have the luxury of being discreet in their upchucking. It was like some kind of amusement park fun-house or something trying to walk down the hallways during the Drake Passage. And we were told that we had such mild seas during our crossings that the crew was referring to it as the Drake Lake. I feel slightly disappointed that we didn't get to experience what a ship feels like in rougher seas. I was not alone ... a lot of passengers said the same thing when talking amongst ourselves.
And just in case something unfortunate were to happen ... we had to go through an evacuation drill on the first day. Here I am sporting a life jacket which I have managed to follow the directions and put on properly.
Sixto, the beloved and legendary bartender of the Sea Spirit, whose homeland is Costa Rica, told us a harrowing story of a large cruise ship he was working on in the Straight of Gibraltar that lost all of its power in a storm and therefore had not just no electricity, but no means to steer the ship or keep her upright; it pitched so violently that the slot machines came unplugged and slid from one side of the room to the other. No one could even get to their cabins, they held on to what they could for several hours; Sixto said he held onto a pillar in the bar room. OK, maybe I don't need to experience THAT kind of rough sea.
Here is the bar lounge on the Sea Spirit, which included nightly music at the piano, 4:00 p.m. hot snacks, and 24/7 jars of cookies, tea and coffee. Erik and I sat here sometimes looking through my pics from the day, downloaded onto our laptop. I regret that I didn't take a photo of Sixto. (he's probably on a bunch of other people's blogs, though, haha)
The one part of the ship that was criminally underused by us ... we only got in it on the last day ... was the hot tub on the lunch/grill deck. On the warmer days, lunch was offered outside on this deck. It was also a lovely place to sit and watch the sunset. The peeps in the first pic are a mother and son from Germany with whom we often ate meals.
I enjoyed the warmth of the hot tub water ... but can you guess what Erik did? When we first started the trip, I thought I might do it and Erik said "no way." But it turned out that I thought better of the situation and realized my heart would probably stop and then Erik would be stuck carting my lifeless body home. Erik, on the other hand, spent too much time with Sixto who talked him into participating in the polar plunge! He took a few shots of rum ahead of time for courage and one afterward for congratulations. Our neighbors in the cabin across the hall were a very nice couple, originally hailing from Britain and Sweden but now living in southeast Asia, and she was a brave soul, too! Erik said his technique was to simply walk off the boat edge rather than jump or dive so he'd have less distance to swim through the water back to the ship. I believe he captioned this pic on Facebook something like, "I was just walking along minding my own business when this happened ....." I think his technique looks suspiciously penguine and that he'd been studying the penguins for guidance.
All the plungers got a certificate verifying their deed. Erik said he's going to frame it and put it on the wall of his office ... it was a far greater feat, he said, than acquiring a diploma (which sits somewhere in an unknown box ... presumably). And if he ever has to write a resume, will be sure to include it, haha.
We didn't spend much time in our cabin, primarily only to change into our expedition clothes twice a day and typically nap in the afternoons, then sleep at night -- for which we had thick, black-out curtains to darken our cabin since it never got truly dark at night. But even in the cabin, we were treated to lovely scenes passing by. Actually, the only place we couldn't always see outside was in the dining room below decks. But just outside it in the hallway were porthole windows right at the water level, which I enjoyed watching out of ... you couldn't see the landscape or icebergs so much, but you felt the motion of the ship through the water as it sloshed up and down over the window. But here are some typical views from our cabin window.
The ship had an "open bridge" policy, so that it was basically open all the time for passengers to walk through and hang out in, even to talk to the captain (a hearty Russian fellow) and crew if they wished. The only time it was closed was while traveling through areas of denser icebergs, when the captain and crew were very busy delicately guiding the ship and needed full concentration on the work at hand. There were cameras along the sides of the ship and I saw the engineer walking back and forth along the deck during these iceberg navigation times. It was interesting to hang out in there for awhile just to see how a bridge operates -- the information that various crew gives to the captain, what he does with that info and passes it along to the helm, etc. My favorite scene, for some weird reason, in the 1990s Titanic movie is when the ship first hits the iceberg and the officer runs to flip the switch to close the watertight doors and you see the lights lighting up for each door. In the Titanic museum exhibit that has traveled around the States (I've seen it twice), they have that watertight door indicator panel on display. So I thought it was neat to see that same type of panel on this ship. I really, really wanted to yell, "Close the water tight doors!" But I probably would have been kicked off.
After awhile I felt rather fond of the ship and it felt like a bit of home as it became familiar and the daily routine sank in. Ordinarily I probably wouldn't like a ship crowding into a nice nature landscape, but here it was different, seeing my mobile home in the landscape, knowing it was what brought me there. I liked to take a picture of it in the surroundings of wherever it had brought us -- from one magical spot to another.
Here she is docked in port at Ushuaia, Argentina. This is when we first laid eyes on her from our hotel room the night before boarding. We could not have guessed what amazing sights and adventures she would imminently lead us into! Can't help developing fond feelings for the thing that carries you into your dreams. :)
We had brought some cards and games and books with us, but we had very little down time to engage in any of these. The expedition leader came over the intercom (speakers in every cabin and all common areas) usually about 7:00 a.m. with a wake-up call, "Good morning, good morning dear passengers ..." in her German accent. First breakfast, then preparing for the morning expedition which usually launched by 9:00 a.m. (for kayaking this entailed putting on all our gear as described in the first kayaking post; for zodiac cruises or landings, it was donning snow pants, rubber boots, various layers, life-vest (a smaller one than in the photo above). Then the morning expedition followed shortly thereafter by lunch. Then we usually napped, then prepare for the afternoon expedition which usually launched around 2:00 p.m. Then back to the ship to be met with hot tea in the lobby, and after changing out of expedition wear, it was just in time for happy-hour appetizers and drinks with Sixto. Then before we knew it, dinner at 7:00 p.m. We found various things to do in the evenings, but usually found ourselves tucked into our beds pretty early after an exciting day ... somehow elevated levels of excitement kind of wears you out! Plus if we kayaked or hiked on an island, that was physically tiring to us kids who aren't in very good shape!
Whenever there were particularly spectacular icebergs or whales to be seen, the expedition leader would come over the intercom to notify the passengers of which side of the ship to see them on. I really appreciated these heads-ups, otherwise we would have missed some neat sights. Didn't get any good photos of whales, but we did see them from the ship on a several occasions. Not quite as exciting as seeing them in the kayak, but still pretty neat. Here is a pair leading the ship onward into the sunset.
Of course, these waters, particularly in the South Shetlands, were mined for whales for many years in the 19th and 20th centuries. I was so stunned when the expedition leader pointed out that the whale bones we saw sometimes on the beaches of islands were there from the whaling ship days! They've lain there for decades. It was a sad reminder of the often cruel methods whalers used to capture whales and of the quantity of these magnificent creatures deleted from the oceans by the frivolous desires of humans.
But the worst thing we were told about was related to this rusting cauldron on a beach. This is correction from my first post -- I mixed up some things in my memory, as I know that Antarctic explorers often ate penguin and I was thinking this was a pot for cooking them. And I remember being told here on the beach that "they were thrown in alive." The horror that my little brain blocked out until Erik just reminded me, what the situation was far worse than just throwing the penguins into boiling water to cook. In fact, the cauldron was used to render seal blubber. So they were cooking seal fat, not penguins. Do you know what the penguins were used for? For firewood!! The sealers would throw the penguins on the fire itself like kindling. Because of their own high fat content, they apparently burned very well. As I've explained and shown you in my penguin posts, they have absolutely no fear of humans and they cannot fly or run very fast, so they're easily caught. Literally, on these islands it wasn't, "throw another log on the fire" (there are of course no trees), but "throw another penguin on the fire." I know that it was an era in which animals received little-to-no empathy or recognition as anything beyond a renewable consumer product, whether it be for eating or wearing, or what have you, but geeze, using as kindling is just unfathomable to me.
Some islands sported the reminders of the human history that has touched this region in decaying remains of wooden boats. A seal lies in the middle of the ribs of an old boat still mostly under snow.
The G9 camera that we took kayaking was often used by Erik on land, and we often traded it back and forth. I'm not entirely sure who took the picture below, but I think it's a really good one when you look at all the details captured (such as the seagull and penguin) and the composition and lighting (check it out larger!) .... which leads me to strongly suspect that Erik was the photographer. He took some close-ups of the old boat, as well.
So people have come to this part of the world to explore, to claim bragging rights of being the first to do a number of things on this continent, to hunt whales, and now most commonly to see it as a tourist or to do research in one of the many research stations scattered across the South Shetlands and the continent itself. I forget how many different countries have research stations here. But it's quite a few. Argentina has the most, sort of surreptitiously making the biggest footprint to be able to call the continent its own. You can tell which country each station belongs to by the national flag, often painted on the outside of the buildings. Here are a couple Argentinian ones we ran across:
I had no idea, and it seems to me crazy and terribly short-sighted, that the international treaty banning all military activity and territorial sovereignty claims, which preserves Antarctica as a global treasure and resource for exploration and research expires! In the year 2048. So a lot of countries are kind of staking out footprints under the name of research for if and when the treaty dissolves and the place turns into a potential conflict zone for ownership rights, which could include mineral rights and establishment of military bases. In case you're wondering, for purposes of the treaty, Antarctica is defined as all land and ice shelves south of 60 degrees south latitude. There are currently 53 countries party to the treaty, including some that seem so unlikely to me, such as Papua New Guinea and Monaco.
We visited the inside of the Chinese Great Wall research station. It wasn't a riveting expedition away from the ship, but I thought it was interesting and worth seeing what the inside of these stations looks like. Far more comfortable than I had imagined. The station had a basketball court and the Chinese researchers had ping pong tournaments with other research stations. Lounges, a huge kitchen, lots of rooms with computers and scientific equipment (pretty much none of which were being currently used, strangely). The gigantic snow-cat, however, was surely a regular employee!
There was a traditional Chinese bell outside. A Russian station had an orthodox church. Many countries build facets of their traditional culture into their stations.
Can't really tell where this dilapidated one is from, but I thought it would make a good backdrop for some story about somebody stranded in Antarctica for the winter, haha. Maybe a thriller involving deranged killer penguins.
Penguins do, in fact, take over anything abandoned by humans. These barrels make lovely nesting spots!
Having nothing to compare it to, as this was my only experience on a ship, perhaps my word is less valuable than somebody else's with broader experience. But for what it's worth, I would recommend both the ship, the M/V Sea Spirit, and the expedition company, Poseidon Expeditions, for anyone looking into their own Antarctic cruise. I also did something else for this trip that I have never before, which is book it through a travel agency. I'd also recommend them, Swoop Antarctica -- I was glad for all the advice and information they provided to me, considering I had far less idea what to expect from this trip than I normally do before traveling.