Sunday, 11 January 2015
At Sea — Drake Passage
Position @ 8:50a: 60° 19’ S / 61° 33’ W
Temps: Hi @ 7:30a … 41F (5C)
If the plan of an expedition doesn’t fit on the back of an envelope, it is over-organized.
Bill Killman (Explorer/Mountaineer)
A good night’s rest — thanks in no small part to the much flatter and softer pillows Marjorie, our room attendant, provided yesterday after we asked if there were any other pillows on board. The rolling movement of the ship as it continued across the Drake Passage overnight was negligible again ... more or less like a gentle cradle rocking us to sleep. And no diesel fumes in the cabin, so the smell on Friday night was an anomaly after all. Three cheers ... hip, hip hooray. OK, once is enough ;-)
The third day of the expedition finds us still in the Drake Passage.
Before I get into the meat of the post … I’ll be interspersing images of seabirds throughout regardless of whether they are associated with any particular paragraph. There wasn’t much to see today as Ortelius continued across the Drake Passage, so I gave into the lure of the seabirds and photographed them even though the light was horrible.
A flock of Cape Petrel flying near the ship. They are also known as Pintado [painted] Petrel.
We woke up to another Drake Lake this morning. It’s so nice to have such a tranquil start to our voyage. When Don came on the PA with the wake-up call, his voice reflected his pleasure in the calm conditions — 15-20 knot (17-23 mph/28-37 kph) winds from the east; a low pressure system way back behind us. He noted that the water temp was 41F (5C) and dropping fast ... a sign that we were going through the Antarctic Convergence. The Convergence is described as the line “… where cold, northward-flowing Antarctic waters sink beneath the relatively warmer waters of the sub-Antarctic.” It’s not a definitive line, mind you; rather, more like a band where the water temperature drops suddenly.
The Antarctic Convergence is the squiggly dashed line encircling the continent.
Before concluding with his daily quote, Don said that we now belong to no one single nation, but to Antarctica … meaning we are past 60° south and inside the Antarctic Treaty Zone … Antarctic political waters, if you will. He also explained that the ship’s heading had been charted to the Nelson Strait, in the South Shetland Islands … anticipated arrival around 7:00p. Those plans hinge on the continued benevolence of the Drake Passage, of course.
Cape Petrel were first encountered around the Cape of Good Hope … hence the name.
It was essentially another uneventful day at sea. Albeit a colder one. The temperature drop, now that we've gone through the Antarctic Convergence, is noticeable. Whereas we could go outside with a light jacket yesterday, warm layers were essential today ... and will be for the foreseeable future.
Cape Petrels forage by sitting on the water. They create a gyre by
paddling their feet, and pick at the trapped prey to feed.
It’s not that warm inside the ship either — with the exception of Deck 3, which is quite cozy … I’m guessing because of the proximity to the engine room. Somehow the heating system must have been messed up during the recent reno of Deck 5. I’m resisting wearing additional layers around the ship for now as I will need them when we go ashore. Mui spoke with Michael, and he gave us a space heater to break the chill. Small it might be, but it has made a huge difference in the cabin. Considering the danger of fire from such devices — always a major safety concern on a ship — I was surprised they even have these heaters onboard. We have promised to not just turn it off when we are not using the heater, but unplug it as well. We also turned off the air system, which is pushing cold air in an effort to keep the lower decks comfortable.
Who’s that interloper flying with a couple of cape petrels? …
Speaking of the ship, Ortelius is not a quiet ship. No matter where you go, the hum of the engines is ever-present ... louder in some places; less so in others. We’re getting used to the rhythmic sound, however, and already it is fading into the background as white noise.
… Why, it’s a southern fulmar; also known as the Antarctic fulmar or the silver-grey fulmar.
Appropriate names considering where we are and the coloring of the bird’s plumage.
Our morning lecture was about Antarctic exploration history — two parts, with a 20-minute coffee break in between. Victoria Salem (British), the historian for this expedition, is a graduate of Cambridge University, with a degree in Anglo-Saxon, Norse, and Celtic/English literature. She also holds a Graduate Certificate in Antarctic studies from the University of Canterbury in Christchurch, NZ.
For this lecture, she chose to highlight four expeditions from the Heroic Age — three of which I was familiar with; one was new to me. She explained that she picked these expeditions because their focus was the Antarctic Peninsula areas we will be visiting in the days ahead. Her lecture was filled with anecdotes, not technical details so much … we listened with rapt attention. She’s quite the story-teller.
Fascinating history — made all the more so by a good story teller.
The mandatory zodiac briefing was moved from 11:00a to 11:30a to give us a break since Victoria ran over her allotted time — not that we were complaining. Then the zodiac briefing was postponed again for a sighting of fin whales. Even though the ship altered course a bit, the whales remained distant ... they were obviously traveling. Still, we were able to see blows, fins, and backs reasonably clearly ... about all you can hope for from this species, which rarely fluke-displays when diving.
fin whales are the second largest species of the whales we might see in these waters.
They seldom show their fluke when diving, so this is about the best we can hope for.
And if I am not mistaken, that's an albatross flying on the horizon.
By noon, we were finally in the lecture room. First, Don did a show-and-tell on the layers of clothing he wears on landings — a strong hint to the passengers that they should follow suit. Next, Jim Mayers, the assistant expedition leader, went through the zodiac safety briefing. Nothing new in any of this for us, but always good to sit through these briefings as a reminder.
This is not what Don recommends wearing when we go ashore in Antarctica ;-)
[Pictured here is William Speirs Bruce serenading an emperor penguin in full scottish regalia.]
Lunch was at 12:30p. On the topic of food — let me just say that we won’t go hungry. The dishes are acceptable, but I know one foodie-couple is not so keen on the dishes being placed in front of them.
The consommé was hot and served to warm us up, but it was a bit on the salty side — as was the ham and pea soup yesterday. I think we have a heavy-handed soup chef as the rest of the dishes are much less salty. We have mentioned it to our servers, who will pass the message along to the galley. Today’s main course was described as spicy meatballs, served on a bed of mashed potatoes. The meatballs were not spicy in the sense of being hot; I nibbled on one. I finished all my mashed potatoes, though — very tasty.
The wanderer is the albatross with the largest wing span.
As you can tell from the bird photos in this post, I spent some time on deck photographing seabirds this afternoon. From what I could tell, there were plenty of cape petrel (aka pintado [painted] petrel), and some wandering and southern royal albatross, as well as southern fulmar. I didn’t spend a huge amount of time clicking the shutter, and after a while I set the camera aside and just enjoyed their presence. There were considerably more birds today, but still not in the numbers we saw on our first expedition in these latitudes. It’s all about the winds for them, and so far, Mother Nature has been rewarding us with calmer conditions, which don’t work well for these birds — especially the larger species, such as the wanderer.
With an average wing span of 10 feet (3m), the Southern Royal Albatross
is the second largest seabird after the wandering albatross.
My birding was interrupted by the call to let us know it was time to vacuum our gear in preparation for the upcoming landings. This is a mandatory policy that has been implemented since our first visit to the Antarctic Region. I took a snapshot of one of the slides on the TV screen in the observation lounge where the team had assembled four or five vacuums for our use. It explains quite well the reason for the policy.
Passengers were called to the lounge by deck and their names were checked off as they entered. We took our backpacks, insulation layers, and outer layers when our turn came. Vacuuming everything thoroughly, we paid particular attention to velcro fasteners, zippers, pockets, hoods, and such.
Footwear — in this instance the gumboots provided by the ship — will go through a decontamination bath before disembarking and again when re-embarking the ship. We’ve also been asked to shuffle around in the shallows before re-embarking the zodiacs that transport us to and fro on landings ... something we're used to doing in polar regions where we find ourselves traipsing through wildlife colonies — if you get my drift ;-)
The southern fulmar is an abundant species, with a population of approximately four million birds.
At 6:30p, we re-convened in the bar for a briefing — a welcome addition to the daily program. I’m all for flexibility when it comes to expeditions, but it’s good to have at least a little sense of what might be awaiting us the next day. In this case — a very busy day, with the wake-up call scheduled for 4:15a!
Tomorrow promises to be a busy day with two landings in the South Shetland Islands —
weather, sea, and ice conditions permitting, of course … keeping fingers crossed.
Don also gave us an update on ice conditions. As of this moment, the Lemaire Channel is chock-a-block ice, and we may not be able to go through that way if it doesn’t clear up by Tuesday. There are other ways to get where we want to go, but it surely would be a shame to miss what is one of the most scenic passages in Antarctica. Ice may also prevent us from getting into the Ross Sea — actually, we can probably get in, but getting out without backtracking may be a problem, and no one wants to be stranded in the ice as happened with Akademik Shokalskiy last December.
The 9 January ice chart shows an ice band stretching
600 NM (690 miles/ 1,110 km) in the Ross Sea area. Along the 180° parallel, the typical entry point into the region, some of the ice is quite dense — around 8/10ths to 9/10ths coverage, which would give even true icebreakers a hard time. Ortelius can operate in 1/10ths to 4/10ths ice coverage — yellow, green, and blue on the chart.
Of course, we’re still 2 weeks away from when we need to be concerned about the Ross Sea Region and anything can happen in that time. Don will continue to assess the situation and consult with Captain Ernesto on alternatives. In the meantime, the planned helicopter flights to Peter I Ø [island] may be canceled to conserve fuel so we can use the choppers for recon flights as necessary to find our way through the ice. Not getting into the Ross Sea to see the shelf and the huts would be a bummer, but we came on this voyage knowing there was a distinct possibility that just might be the case.
Speaking of ice. The first iceberg was sighted at 1931 ... that's 7:31p. We were at dinner, but the bridge was keeping a lookout since a bottle of champagne was at stake for the winner of the "first iceberg contest." Alas, we didn't win. It was quite distant from what Second Mate Sam told me when I stopped by the bridge before my evening stroll on deck. No matter — there will be plenty more icebergs to see in the days ahead. Hopefully closer ... but not too close :o)
Off to bed early tonight … that 4:15a wake up call will come soon enough ;-)
We went to bed last night with the helicopter leaving on a recon flight to scout out a lane of navigable water. We were already asleep when Don broke into our slumber to advise us that a 60 nautical mile (70 mile/110 km) long lead with ‘reasonable’ ice had been found and that the ship was heading that-a-way. Comforted that we’d be making progress through the ice overnight, we turned over and went back to sleep again.
