BROWN BLUFF, Antarctica ― Go ahead. Tell people you’re traveling to Antarctica and wait for the responses: “Wait, what? Did you say Antarctica?”

“Be sure to get a selfie with a polar bear, OK?”

“You’re gonna freeze your (you-know-what) off!”

And, perhaps most frequently, “Why?”

I did say Antarctica. It was penguins, not polar bears, we would see aplenty. We didn’t freeze our you-know-whats off; it was chilly, but I’ve felt colder skiing in Mammoth.

That left only the question of why, and before this long-overdue vacation, I didn’t really have an answer.


Why take three planes that deposit you in a former penal colony? Why board a ship that will then cross some of the world’s most treacherous waters? Why travel to a place about which one early explorer wrote, “Polar exploration is ... (the) most isolated way of having a bad time which has been devised?”

Apsley Cherry-Garrard, the author of that line and part of Robert Scott’s 1910 expedition to the South Pole, had it rough. He survived; Scott did not and died knowing he had failed to beat Roald Amundsen to become the first to reach that elusively hostile point: 90 degrees south latitude.

For my two adult sons, Carl and Christian, and me, our two-week adventure was infinitely easier than Cherry-Garrad’s. It was only after we’d been to this place ― at once harsh yet fragile, bleak yet majestic, complex yet simple ― that we knew why.

It’s not easy getting to Ushuaia, the Argentine town at the southernmost tip of South America. From Los Angeles International Airport, it means about 18 hours in the air (unless you stop in Buenos Aires, which we did and I recommend) before you reach this embarkation point for about 90 percent of all trips to Antarctica.

Along with our gear ― three carry-on bags, three parkas (provided by the tour company), three sets of Wellington boots rented in Ushuaia, assorted video and still cameras and numerous 32GB memory cards plus a laptop ― we boarded the Explorer, a National Geographic vessel that can carry 148 passengers in its 81 cabins. (We had a triple cabin. They are scarce and sell out quickly.)

The Explorer, an ice-rated ship whose steel hull can cut through the frozen stuff, is small enough to get into bays and inlets so we could easily go ashore but large enough to withstand the tempestuous Drake Passage.

Sometimes it’s referred to as the “Drake Tax” ― the price you pay to travel the 1,100 or so kilometers from Ushuaia to the Antarctic Peninsula. We would cross this confluence of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans twice, a 36-hour transit that can often test the mettle of even the most seasoned sailor. The weather gods smiled on us, and our passages going and coming were relatively calm, so we never needed the freely dispensed seasickness medication.

Now, with the Antarctic Peninsula coming into view, it was showtime.

The Explorer is equipped with about a dozen 10-person Zodiacs and three dozen two-person kayaks, key to getting us close enough to let the White Continent work its magic.

Over the next seven days, our expedition took us to Half Moon Island in the South Shetland Islands, then Brown Bluff, Cierva Cove, Enterprise and Danco islands, through the Lemaire Channel and Gerlache Strait, to Booth and Detaille islands, and finally Port Lockroy, the British outpost with three year-round staffers.

Each morning ― at least, the clock said it was morning, though during our December trip, the sun never really set ― we would rise by 7 a.m., eat breakfast, then head for the Zodiacs or kayaks for the first of two outings.

Deposited on land, Lisa Kelley, the expedition leader, and her staff of 14 naturalists introduced us to the ubiquitous penguins and taught us how to differentiate among the species. For Adelie penguins, we were to look for white feathers around the eyes. The chinstrap was easy to spot because it looked like its name. Gentoo have a black throat, a big tail and a white mark above each eye.

Whatever the species of penguin, the 75 million that live here share some common traits: They seem fearless, they toddle like wobbly waiters and, like all living creatures, they excrete. After our visits to the rookeries, our boots were covered with their strong-smelling souvenirs (Boots were washed thoroughly and disinfected when we disembarked and reembarked).

Seals too are an important part of this animal ecosystem. We saw the fearsome leopard seal, including one sitting alone on its own ice floe; Weddell seals, which can stay under water for more than an hour; and the slender crabeater seals, which generally feed on krill, not crab.

Countless species of seabirds, which often came arm’s-length close, wheeled and turned overhead, their cries punctuating the chilly (temperatures were generally in the high 20s) summer air. We watched predatory skuas as they tried to pluck an unsuspecting penguin chick from its nest. In our Zodiacs, we zoomed alongside porpoising penguins scooping their fill of krill. And then there were the whales: the distinctive (and, at one time, nearly extinct) humpback, weighing in at as much as 36,000 kilograms; the minke, which can reach speeds of 40 kph; the even speedier sei (pronounced “say”), which motor up to 50 kph; the sleek fin, which can be as long as 22 meters; and the feared orca, also known as the killer whale.

They breached and sang and showed their flukes and left us amused at their antics and amazed at their majesty.

We were awakened about 3 one morning by Kelley’s voice on the public address system alerting us to pods of orcas swimming alongside the ship. From the deck, we could see them turning over on their backs, playing and flirting with us.

Our jaws dropped when we saw the natural wonders of this vast land: fields of icebergs, along with calving glaciers that cracked like a rifle shot as they sent ice crashing into the water. We traversed valleys, ridges and bluffs, including a four-mile hike through soft snow on which an almost 350-meter elevation gain left us winded.

It is odd to think of the 5.5 million square miles of this continent as a desert, but it is. It receives little precipitation, but when it does snow, it stays put. As a result, more than 99 percent of the land is covered with ice that’s as much as 5 kilometers deep in some places.

Our waterproof pants and parkas as well as gloves, balaclavas and long underwear kept the elements at bay; our naturalists kept us safe. Like the explorers of the early 20th century, we were dazzled by the fierce beauty, but we were never in danger of anything more than aesthetic overload.

Like any good cruise, this one made the most of mealtimes; the food and service were excellent, and the casual ambience made it easier to relax after a day filled with the exhilarating tension of many firsts and even more superlatives.

Each day, the eminently personable and knowledgeable staff recapped what we had seen using videos and stills, often shot that day, and charts. As we listened to their presentations, so fascinating that we always longed for more, the big picture of Antarctica began to emerge. It’s a microcosm of the delicate balance of the Earth’s climates and ecosystems, a giant science project that offers important lessons about the issues affecting our globe.

These debriefings also gave us a chance to appreciate anew the passion the staff and crew brought to their roles as nature evangelists. Afterward, we felt duly deputized as ambassadors of Antarctica.

Our fellow passengers also had a chance to share their “aha!” moments with one another: the distinctive call of the Adelie penguin that betrays its identity; the cherubic face of a Weddell seal; the slightly fishy-smelling “blow” from a whale; the 3 a.m. surprise play date with orcas.

Each day was a tsunami of photo opportunities. As a father, though, I was gratified to see my sons occasionally put down their camera gear and simply immerse themselves in an experience unlike any other.

We came home with plenty of photos, of course (but no selfies with polar bears ― they live at the other pole). But the memory of our experiences in this nearly blank slate ― largely unspoiled, wholly seductive ― is the portrait we’ll treasure for a lifetime.

By Eddy Hartenstein

Eddy Hartenstein is chairman of Tribune Publishing, the Los Angeles Times’ parent company. ― Ed.

(Tribune Content Agency)

(Los Angeles Times)