Flying in a Penguin to an Antarctic Dream
Expect the Unexpected
I was positive penguins could not fly—at least not in the air. Yet, unless my eyes were deceiving me, I was about to fly 1,242 km (772 miles) on a Penguin from Punta Arenas, Chile, over the treacherous waters of the Drake Passage to Presidente Frei Station on the southwest shore of King George Island, Antarctica.
The Penguin landed on a 1,300-meter gravel runway and then…? I admit, it was my maiden flight on a Penguin, so I did not know what to expect next.
We received our marching orders. Exit the Penguin and follow the road directly in front of us for one kilometer to the edge of the water. The ship was already docked and ready for boarding. Our luggage would be transported separately and delivered to our rooms.
Walk, one kilometer? Hold on! No one gave me that memo BEFORE I boarded the Penguin. I WAS NOT dressed to go for an icy stroll in the harsh Antarctic weather conditions. All my winter clothing was in my luggage. Fortunately, I at least had a light blanket that I took on the Penguin with me, so I wrapped it around me.
When I stepped onto the runway, I thought I heard a familiar sound… ping, ping. Was that my phone? The wind was roaring and swirling around me, so there was only one way to tell if I had reception. I hunkered under the Penguin and dug my phone out of my pack. “Yes! I can’t believe it. I do have a connection.”
Standing beneath the shelter of the Penguin’s chubby underside, I turned my back to the raging wind and keyed in Hubs’ cell phone number. He answered. I hollered over the roar of the gale whipping all around me, “Hi! It’s me!”
“Hey!” Hubs replied, obviously surprised to hear my voice, “Where are you?”
“Antarctica!” I yelled, hoping he could hear me over the howling hurricane.
There was silence followed by more silence. Then he half-chuckled and responded, “Antarctica? Nothing about you surprises me.”
The connection didn’t last long, and it would be days before I had reception again. After talking to him, I wrapped my blanket around me and raced across the windblown, snowy pathway to the Antarctic Dream before she set sail without me.
I was as cold as Frosty the Snowwoman when I boarded the Antarctic Dream.
The ship doctor, a young pup who looked like he just graduated from med school, jumped at the opportunity to give me his lecture on preventing hypothermia by dressing properly for the cold Antarctic weather. Born and raised in Canada, I knew full well how to dress for severe winter weather conditions. I refrained from telling Dr. Youngpup that the problem was I had NO information or communication from the expedition. (Recall from the last episode that due to a calamity of errors, someone forgot to make sure I received information about the expedition.)
Consequently, I had barely set foot on board the ship, and my reputation preceded me: the Queen of Seasickness, aka the Problem Redhead, had arrived.
Dr. Youngpup’s wife accompanied me to my living quarters, the ship’s executive suite, which I was given to reduce my odds of spending the ENTIRE expedition in my cabin barfing from seasickness.
The Antarctic Dream was a luxury polar cruise ship with a capacity of 80 passengers. It was outfitted with 4 passenger decks and 40 double external-view cabins.
The ship was originally built by Haarlem Shipbuilding Company in the Netherlands for the Chilean Navy, specifically to service Chile’s scientific bases in the Antarctic Territory.
Launched on June 11, 1958, the Antarctic Dream was originally christened the PILOTO PARDO in honor of Luis Pardo, captain of the Chilean cutter Yecho that valiantly rescued the 22 stranded survivors of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s failed Endurance Expedition from Elephant Island in August 1916.
Three failed attempts had been made to rescue the Shackleton crewmen from Elephant Island before Pardo decided to take on the challenge. Captain Pardo’s exceptional talent in maneuvring the Yecho through the Antarctic ice ultimately led to the success of the daring rescue operation.
Note: Frank Hurley, the photographer of the Shackleton Expedition, was one of the men stranded on Elephant Island. He took this photo. Because he survived, there is a full photographic account of the entire failed expedition.
Miraculously, although the survivors spent 127 days stranded on the desolate, isolated shores of Elephant Island, not a single life was lost.
Piloto Luis Pardo earned recognition as a national hero for his actions that defied polar odds.
The Chilean Navy decommissioned the ship Piloto Pardo in 2003.
The ship was privately purchased, refurbished into a cruise ship and its name changed to the Antarctic Dream.
With 42 passengers aboard, the Antarctic Dream set sail from King George Island, southeast into the Weddell Sea, destined to arrive at Paulet Island by the following morning. As passengers, we had an hour to get settled in our cabins before the first item on our itinerary - a mandatory orientation meeting to receive our expedition gear and safety training.
Note: Weddell Sea is misspelled on this map.
My cabin had a 12-inch circular portal window with two-inch tempered glass for safety purposes. The portal window could not be opened, but it had an attached steel cover that could completely encapsulate it and seal it watertight when necessary.
The pipsqueak 12-inch portal didn’t bode well with my vision of sitting in front of a large window in my cabin watching crystal-white icebergs and frolicking penguins pass by in the azure-blue Antarctic waters.
Perhaps it could still happen with a few slight modifications. Putting my pilates skills into action, I nimbly hoisted myself up onto the night table. From there it was a one-shot deal. I stood on the table, s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d my torso, and c-r-a-n-e-d my neck like a giraffe until I was at eye level with the portal window.
That was ingenuity at its finest!
Or maybe it was nutty.
I could have gone upstairs to the passenger’s lounge viewing area and sat in one of the big armchairs in front of the panoramic windows.
The word portal is derived from the French word “port,” which means “door” - door hole.
Portals first appeared on ships in 15th-century warfare when the 12-inch diameter was established to accommodate cannon balls. The sailors opened the portals, loaded the cannon balls, ignited the charge, and BAM BLAST!!
When the sailors were finished having a blast, they secured metal covers over the portals to close them and keep the water out. Then they sailed into the sunset and lived happily until it was time to stuff more cannonballs into the portals. These days, portals are in ships, so passengers can develop creative ways to look outside.
Every cabin on the Antarctic Dream had a portal. Surely I wasn’t going to complain about having a pipsqueak portal window when I was already given the preferred executive suite. The Antarctic waters were going to rock the boat enough without me rocking it more over trivial matters.
“ATTENTION PASSENGERS THE MANDATORY ORIENTATION MEETING IS STARTING IN THE LOWER AUDITORIUM IN 10 MINUTES. ANYONE WHO DOES NOT ATTEND WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO PARTICIPATE IN THE EXCURSIONS. REPEAT. ANYONE WHO DOES NOT ATTEND THE MEETING WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO PARTICIPATE IN THE EXCURSIONS.”
Wow! That almost made me jump out of my skin! It was the first of many announcements that would come BLARING DIRECTLY into my cabin over a PA system at all hours of the day and night. Given that I was traveling solo, it STARTLED ME every time a man’s voice suddenly started BOOMING in my cabin. It inevitably took a few seconds to register that the “man” in my room was in the ceiling.
I got the message LOUD and CLEAR, I needed to head to the lower auditorium and participate in the orientation.
As expected, we received our itinerary and safety guidelines, and then we were issued our expedition gear.
We were required to wear the jackets, pants, boots, and gloves the expedition issued. Furthermore, expedition-issued clothing was NOT optional; it was mandatory. For obvious reasons, they wanted everyone dressed properly for the harsh weather. That quashed any plans I might have had for being an Antarctica Fashionista. The “expedition issue” clothing was boring and typical of what I would have expected, EXCEPT the boots. Their selection of boots had me completely baffled!
Here is the type of boot I expected. Sturdy, waterproof, warm. Suitable for polar weather.
We were outfitted with RUBBER BOOTS! Plain, ordinary, unlined, splash-in-the-water RUBBER BOOTS. It was so incomprehensible I have to repeat it because I still don’t believe it myself! We were outfitted with RUBBER BOOTS!
I felt the frostbite on my feet just looking at the thin, unlined rubber boots! Surely, this was a joke. No, they were serious.
I had to play the game by the rules if I wanted to participate, so I found a pair that fit me. This was going to be interesting—very interesting.
During Antarctica’s summer, in late December, it is light 24 hours a day. The perpetual light plays havoc with sleep schedules. However, that first night I was tired and ready to call it a day. Fortunately, while I was at the orientation, someone closed the pipsqueak portal in my cabin, so the atmosphere was very conducive to sleep.
It took a while to get used to the constant sound of the large chucks of ice slamming and hammering against the hull of the Antarctic Dream, but she was specifically equipped with an ice-strengthened hull for polar navigation. I’m not one to worry about much, especially things I have no control over. So I got into bed and listened to the pounding, cracking ice with a sense of amusement.
It added to the excitement of the adventure.
Watch for the next episode of the Antarctic Series as I go to Paulet Island. I promise you, it was a VERY INTERESTING place.
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I can't wait to find out how the boots worked out!
Are you sure this was a Chilean vessel? Given the strict operating guidelines, it sounds more like a German operation.