Antarctic Peninsula

Regions

Ship type

Available dates

Budget

Scroll to content

By Teresa Machan

MAY 16, 2024

SHARE
Facebook
X
Linkedin
Copy link
Link copied

Antarctic Peninsula destination overview

It was early morning in Paradise Bay, and I was woken by the gentlest of wake-up calls. “It’s minus three, sunny, and quite beautiful out here,” said our softly-spoken expedition leader. ‘Out here’ was somewhere on the Antarctic Peninsula.

I arrived on deck to see chunks of ice bobbing like pearls in the bay. Snow-covered peaks threw reflections in the glassy water. Distant snow islands dazzled. I hadn’t expected to be on deck and drinking in lungfuls of Antarctic air before coffee – but who of us really knows what to expect on a trip to the White Continent?
The Antarctica of my imagination – flat and featureless – was no match for the saw-toothed ridges, fjords, inlets, and protected bays that characterise the Peninsula.

What to pack, when to go, how to get there, and how cold will it be… these are common questions for those considering an Antarctic or polar cruise. I packed too many socks and fleeces, underestimated the sun's intensity, and wished I’d read up on the birdlife and topography before I left home.

Our ship’s early spring departure on October 3 meant it was the first passenger ship into Antarctica that season. Leaving behind the frosted peaks and twinkling harbour lights of Ushuaia, on the southern tips of Argentina, the Greg Mortimer sailed slowly along the Beagle Channel before turning west towards Cape Horn and the Drake Passage.

The Drake, a 600-mile body of water where the Atlantic and Pacific oceans meet, is the stuff of shipwreck legend and a rite of passage that makes the prize, Antarctica, feel extra special.

You could get lucky with ‘Drake Lake,’ but it’s more likely to be something between the ‘shake’ and ‘lake’. The early icebreaker vessels that carried the first tourists to the Antarctic Peninsula have made way for purpose-built expedition ships that comfortably carry their passenger cargo. At peak Drake, we hit seven-metre waves, but Greg Mortimer’s inverted X-Bow handled it well.

During our crossing, there was no discernible noise, vibration, or lift and thud ‘slamming’ that exacerbates the discomfort of a rough sea crossing. On half a Kwell, I managed to walk around, attend wildlife lectures, and eat three meals through the six—to seven-metre swell. But there were plenty who holed up in their cabins for the best part of two days.

We reaped the benefits of an early sailing. Sea ice lingered but didn’t disrupt our itinerary. Huge wind-weathered icebergs lurched from pools of cerulean blue. We enjoyed long, light days that segued into spectacular rose-gold sunsets. During our eight days in the Southern Ocean, we saw only one other vessel—a working ship called the Albatross.

Each day brings fresh insight from a crack team of wildlife experts and opportunities to explore – on foot, snowshoes, kayak or zodiac, and possibly by submarine or helicopter, depending on your ship. Penguins steal the show ashore, but there are historical sights too, including the remnants of whaling stations and researcher and explorer huts.

Port Lockroy, on Goudier Island, was the birthplace of the British Antarctic Survey. It’s now a post office and living museum complete with work tools, meteorology equipment, posters of mid-century movie stars and a kitchen with an aga, jars of military pickle, boxes of blancmange powder and recipes books for meals including fricassee of shag and seal brains on toast (one prepared seal brain, three reconstituted eggs, one dessert spoon of tomato sauce, three ounces of butter, some grated cheese and a little nutmeg). I would’ve been happy with dry bread on board that night.

Back on deck, I was soon joined by a pair of snowy sheathbills who flapped and flirted, nodding their heads furiously in a mating ritual. I shed a layer and felt the spring sunshine warm my back. Coffee could wait.