December 20, 1999
The Falkland Islands are a paradise for bird watchers- you might see the striated caracas (a rare bird of prey), flightless steamer ducks, dolphin gulls, the black-browed albatross and red-breasted meadowlark. Bird watchers, eat your heart out!
We're now approaching West Point Island, a small privately owned island of the Falklands. A couple, Roddy and Lily Napier, owns a sheep farm here, employing about 40 workers. That's the extent of the human population. But there are plenty of penguins, and we plan to make two landings on the northwest coast of the island.
This is our first zodiac landing by sea, and we are informed that this type of expedition landing is to be taken seriously. Shane, Ocean Explorer's head zodiac master, shepherded us all into the Mayfair Lounge-our main gathering spot, last night. He gave us a no nonsense lecture on inflatable zodiac behavior: exactly how to hold your hand with the crew as you jump aboard, where to step on the inflatable pontoon edge, how to sit and hold on to the rope.
"When I say sit, you sit! When I say stand, you stand," he said. He emphasized that SAFETY, FLEXIBILITY AND PATIENCE must be observed where zodiacs are concerned. I couldn't agree more-especially with the many impatient people we have aboard! We have all received numbered zodiac cards. We've tried on the ship's waterproof boots we'll need for a pebbled beach landing on the other side of the island. We've received detailed instructions on how not to walk on the waist high tussock grass so as not to injure the environment and how to behave when we reach the first penguin rookery, standing 15 feet away and not touching the penguins.
We arose at dawn on December 20, stood on the deck and drank hot coffee in anticipation of our first zodiac voyage to shore. It felt much like the invasion of the Falkland Islands! We were ready for anything in our long johns, three pairs of socks, waterproof boots, polartec vests and waterproof jacket and pants, with camera and binoculars in ziplock bags for protection against the wet two-mile zodiac ride we were about to take.
Well, guess what? We didn't take the zodiac ride! And I have to admit I was relieved! I've never had the experience of boarding a zodiac at sea, and I was more than a little timid about this venture when I got up at dawn and felt the ship pitching and rocking, a clear signal on bad conditions out there in open water. On the deck, the wind at almost gale force, was whipping the gray sea into huge swells and waves slapped up against the ship. All bets were off. There would be no landings that day!
Falkland Islands-Another Attempt
December 22
We left the coast off of West Point Island in high winds and headed through the South Atlantic for Port Stanley, the capitol of the Falkland Islands. A territory of the United Kingdom, the Falklands lie between latitude 51 and 53 and longitude 57 and 62, about the same latitude south as London lies north. The islands are 300 miles from the South American mainland and are primarily composed of two main islands with several hundred smaller ones. Strong winds and an average annual temperature of about 38 degrees make this a bleak and forbidding land of low-lying hills and bogs, with low shrubs, coarse tussock grass and cliffs fringed with large coils of kelp.
This is the place fought over by the British and Argentina since the early 19th century, and when Argentine troops seized the Malvinas (as they continue to be called by Argentina), April 1982, a war broke out that lasted several months. We saw remnants of that war when our own troops landed at Port Stanley on December 23.
I woke up ready for the zodiac-landing attempt-but I could see trouble ahead for the "Penguin Encounter" I had signed up for. Our three tenders-slightly larger boats that hold up to about 50 or more-- were having a tough battle with the sea as they tried to move up aside the ship at the metal stepped platform.
We watched from the decks above as the tenders swung around and
bounced up against the metal platform. Several boat windows crashed against the rail and shattered. The crew continued to put people aboard. They grabbed passenger's arms securely and handed them off to people in the rocking tender below. Some people were lucky. They got a rocky but early successful start. Meanwhile, the zodiacs were also handling 10 passengers at a time and popped people onto the boats a little easier. I watched from the open deck above, a little anxiously, to see what I'd have to do when it was my turn. But there was trouble ahead.
By late afternoon the penguin encounter trip was abandoned for safety reasons-we would have had to go around the island to Sparrow Cove, and high winds and waves were pummeling the zodiacs. But we could make it safely to the Port Stanley dock, and I jumped onto the zodiac without trouble, sat on the pontoon and held on as we got sprayed and rocked around until we reached shore about a mile away.
Port Stanley is a small village of brightly colored metal houses with brilliant sienna and purple giant lupines and other flowers growing in manicured little gardens in every front yard along the sea street. It's typically English, with about 96 percent of the population British. This is reflected in the shops, pubs, and accents of the people. When the British took it over in the 18th century as a safe anchorage for sailing ships, this place was called "the most miserable bog hole" of the island, but it boomed during the California Gold Rush of the 1850s as a place to repair ships attempting to make it around Cape Horn. After the brief period of whaling ended, commercial whaling and sealing gave way to commercial wool production. Today, there are 600,000 sheep on the islands and scattered farms are providing the wealth---along with frequent stops by ships heading for Antarctica.
Our zodiac dumped us at the dock, and I walked with a friend along the sea coast street enjoying the brilliant sunshine and vistas of the harbor. By late afternoon we found the Upland Goose Hotel, an immaculate white-washed little building with nobody but ourselves in it! I consoled myself by having "high tea" with a friend, since I hadn't seen the penguins that day. It was a wonderful little interlude. A lovely lady who served us tea and cakes in a cozy little room with a fireplace told how she was born and raised on St. Helena Island, off the coast of African Angola. Napoleon was exiled there, she said. When the Falkland Island War broke out, she went to Ascension Island where the troops were, and along with a number of other St. Helena natives. She won't stay, she said. It's too cold and isolated and the wind never stops blowing.
Prices on the islands are very expensive because everything must be imported, but our high tea came to just $6 for two. We knew she had done us a favor! Back on the ship starting at 10 p.m. we celebrated a full moon and the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. The sky stayed light almost all night, and we were due to go through the "convergence," the confluence of the waters of the South Atlantic and Pacific sometime around 5 a.m. You can expect some turbulence, we were told. That was an understatement!
Heading Due South Toward Antarctica-The Water Turns Cold
December 23
I awoke to wild pitching, rocking and rolling at 4 a.m. and clung to my bed to keep from falling out. I understand some ships have straps to hold you in, but this one has never sailed in Antarctic waters! It was daylight-it never really got totally dark last night. I could feel the cold Antarctic air seeping into my stateroom as I watched the waves outside my porthole window rise and disappear across the horizon. I finally decided to get up and go out on deck to get a better look despite the cold..
When I got to the Sun deck entrance, I stepped over heaps of broken glass that had toppled from the bar. All around the ship the same thing was happening in staterooms. People later told me unsecured lamps, bottles, cosmetics, etc. slid off their tables and a number of people got hit in the head. One lady has a black eye this morning. There are probably others in the same boat.
Out on deck I hung on for dear life. Huge white capped and foaming waves in an aquamarine sea crested across the horizon. Gale force winds blew everything that wasn't tied down. Every once in awhile, you could see a gigantic wave rise above the crests and head toward the ship. I clung to the railing to keep from being knocked off my feet while I tried unsuccessfully to take a good picture of the waves.
After awhile, the wind got to me so I went inside, joining a few other hardy souls who had gotten up to watch the sea at dawn (only there was no dawn).
Another huge surge hit the ship broadside. This time it knocked over some of the tables, and glasses from the bar crashed to the floor. The impact caught the three people I sat with unawares-- they slid to the floor tangled in a heap, but there were no injuries.. Luckily, I had planted my feet firmly in the right direction and didn't get caught. Nobody was injured, but tables, glasses and food slid through the room again.
And that was just the morning. The temperature is now one degree (probably that's Celsius.) We're still chugging along due south toward Antarctica. It's getting colder, and we're expecting icebergs today.
We're headed for the South Shetland Islands and will do zodiac landings in Antarctica tomorrow, the day before Christmas.
