The wooden airport terminal is charming. A local Marine Expeditions staff member, Pablo, holds up a sign for Wendy and me. He takes us straight to the ship, the Petrov. Ian Shaw greets us. He’s working on the ship. Ecstatic to see Canadians, and, possibly, women.
The Petrov just sailed from Hamburg in 2o some days. The crew is new to the tourist operation; their former work was on a Russian scientific ship. I didn’t realize this is the Petrov’s maiden tourist voyage.
I’ve enjoyed travelling with Wendy—she’s great and adventuresome.
Wendy and I headed for dinner. I was deliriously tired and worried about our provisions.
The food and wine were disappointing. Haven’t found the good Ushuaia restaurants yet. Two ship staff were at a table beside us and three others at another, dining with the captain and first mate. We were shocked when the man selling red roses pushed two onto us. I looked over at Tomas’s table and he smiled. Tomas—the macho Polish-Argentinean penguin specialist. Who sent us the flowers? Adorable and ridiculous at the same time. Then Andy walked over to us and said, “Do you ladies want us to chaperone you home?” Was he serious? Is it still 1900?
We walked back with the slew of them. One Russian guy said to Wendy, “Good night. And good feelings.”
I am so sick of purchasing items for the camp. I know it is important but I am aware of the paradox we are setting up. The Russians are starved for money, there is no longer much money for Antarctic sciences. Keeping the bases is also about political presence.
A few Russians tell Lena she has a good Russian accent. She laughs. She has too many responsibilities. She has $300 to purchase fresh food for the Russians tomorrow as their ship with provisions is delayed.
I want to build a home out of recycled things.
I respect the Russian ship crew member they call MacGyver. “He can do anything with a comb.” Pyotr made aprons from the leftover linen for the ship tablecloths.
To buy, to do:
1.extension cord
2.transformers
3.double-check volunteer arrival dates
4.note for Bill Davis (ship expedition leader)
5.blue bag for Petrov
6.radios/charger
7.tape deck
8.more pillowcases
9.check provisions
DECEMBER 8, 1995
WTFlowers and bushes in bloom. One minute we are in sweaters and jackets, the next T-shirts. Food arrives to ship three pages short of my original dry goods order. Thank goodness Kevin, the chef on the Petrov, is willing to help out. Arrange to meet with our supplier Gualdasi tomorrow before we set sail to see if he can send the missing items with our perishables on the Multanovskiy. Head to a supermarket to confirm translations and then a late dinner with Dave and his new girlfriend. Black sea bass en papillote, an Argentinean white and good company. We catch up on tree-planting gossip and struggle through the purchase order. What a relief they both speak Spanish. Return to ship. Sleep.
DECEMBER 9, 1995
WTProvisioning fiasco continues. Kevin, Lena and I meet with Gualdasi in his family home. Serves coffee, freshly squeezed OJ, and we sample a succession of products paraded through. Ordering is a language lesson and diplomatic challenge. What is dulce de leche? How do you serve it? Sure, I’ll try it. Leave feeling confident my food order will be filled somehow, someway, but aware I’m going to be faced with some creative challenges over the next few months. Back to ship. Launch after phone call to Mom and Dad, unable to reach P.
CDWe set sail at approximately 5:30 p.m. The weather is wet and a bit chilly.
It is a slightly sad yet romantic moment when the pilot comes aboard the ship to take us through the Beagle Channel. Soon we’ll be on our own in the Drake Passage.
We see Ushuaia fading in the background. The most southerly town in the world is out of sight. I have a lingering feeling of fear mixed with anticipation we are travelling to a remote place via the roughest ocean in the world and will be left on the other side.
For lack of energy to explain the concept of the Russian-Canadian environmental expedition to the Russian crew, Lena now describes Wendy and me as scientists.
I am mellowing out. Because of a schedule change I have no control over, we have four extra unexpected days until Lena, Wendy and I are dropped at Bellingshausen. We get to see more Antarctica with the tour group.
DECEMBER 11, 1995
CDThe Drake is relatively smooth: the Drake Lake, as opposed to the Drake Shake last season. In a hurricane-like storm in the Shake at night we rolled in our bunks. I liked it, but many were seasick.
I don’t want to return to Toronto. I like working outside of the office. Being here is already refreshing for me. I wish I could stay longer. I am reminded the world is full of possibilities and how lucky I am.
I don’t miss K much. I mean, I think of him lovingly—he’s got good zest.
Many days on the ice soon.
I like finding out new things about me. I must take better care of myself. I know I should live on my own, stop seeing K probably, and get myself into a really good environment.
Whales—I wish I could see a whale. I have a headache and greasy hair.
Notes from session with Gerry Spiess, motivational speaker, on the tourist part of the trip with us, not the project: After two failed solo sailing trips, he broke a record sailing the world’s smallest vessel across the North Atlantic: a homebuilt ten-foot boat he likened to a ‘sawed-off pumpkin seed’. Spiess studied Scott and Byrd to understand failure. He planned for a sixty-day sail, provisioned for ninety and arrived in fifty-four. He said the biggest danger was hallucination, being alone. “We talk to ourselves but say bad things. But we don’t say bad things to other people so I created other ‘friends’ and held discussions. Otherwise I could have died from despair. The brain is fascinating. I created a third person so the two of ‘us’ could talk about ‘him’; it was very helpful.”
Gerry on Leadership:
•Shared vision
•Coaching—giving part answers, delegating
•Energizing the people
•Conflict resolution and team building
•Stop pampering
•Pay attention to details
•Face confrontations and don’t fear different opinions
•Speak your mind
•If you think it, do it
WTThe ship is a big cradle rocking us to sleep. Some passengers appear only for meals and then pad back to their cabins to nap. Outside it’s just water, sky and seabirds—we’re all waiting for the first iceberg sighting.
Enter calmer waters today at Deception Island, old whaling station. Desolate, beautiful and historic. I wonder about what we will find at Bellingshausen and its relative historic importance; what we have the right to remove and what should remain. To bed thinking of a million things, waking regularly, wondering what the continent will be like tomorrow—my birthday. First exam dream.
DECEMBER 12, 1995
CDFelt blast of Antarctic air when I went on the ship deck at 6:30 a.m. Only two of us were out there. On the Petrov they put the coffee on early. I couldn’t sleep. Antarctica! Silent and serene. An oblong block of the whitest ice floated not far away. I thought it might be thousands of years old and maybe I’m the only person ever who saw it in that form. I studied the other bergs and when I looked again at the ice cream berg it was aquarmarine, reflecting sky, sea and the sunrays. I couldn’t stop smiling. That iceberg was secretive; perhaps I could only see a tenth of it. Antarctica goes on impossibly like the forever horizon. I don’t believe in heaven but if it exists, it must be this, upside down.
This ship is our miniscule spaceship in the massive ocean, our trip through the Drake Passage to the Southern Ocean like entering the moon’s orbit, only horizontally.
Humpback whale fluke, Southern Ocean, Antarctic Peninsula, 1995
{Carol Devine}
Abandoned whaling station, Deception Island, 1995
{Wendy Trusler}
A wonderful night too. Except for Tomas taking it as a personal affront that I got out of his Zodiac tonight before he gave word. He can’t understand the high I had from setting foot on Antarctic land. Surely he’s not grown too used to the wonder of Antarctica.
I am pleased with almost everything. But I blew up the slide projector. The bloody expensive transformer didn’t convert the current as it should have. I carried the steaming transformer to the lower deck and a Russian guy said he’d show it to the chief engineer. If we don’t get it fixed the lectures for the volunteers will be dry—not good.
Wendy, Lena and I had fun in the cabin sewing expedition patches on our team coats. The engineer in crooked glasses came and said he was sorry he couldn’t fix the projector. I was sorry he was sorry. Lena said at least we could use it as a table for our thread.
WTBrilliant birthday. 33 candles.
8:00 a.m. wake-up. Present from Lena before I’m even out of bed and then Tomas arrives at our door with another. Just what I need: a poster of Brad Pitt.
Sun and first landing on the continent—Neko Harbour. Built a snowman, made snow angels, sat on a rock. So surreal—more monument than place. In a less hostile climate these mountains would be ski runs and I’d be in the lift line with everyone else.
Another touchdown on the continent at Paradise Bay. Lay in the snow, gazed at the sky. Caught a glimpse of an iceberg being born—I always seem to just miss them. Zodiac ride through cocktail ice back to ship.
Argentinean guests to ship for dinner. Yummy lamb with chickpeas and sesame sauce. Cake and champagne. Sauna and shower. This ship has all the mod cons—dried my hair today with a blow dryer so no fear of frozen braids. Drinks at the bar and now finally to bed.
1:00 a.m.: It’s still daylight and I like to watch the icebergs out by my porthole. Tonight we drift; motors will start in the early a.m.
DECEMBER 13, 1995
CDNo idea of what day it is. A sailors’ party for Wendy’s birthday last night. Ouch—my head. This is a cool ship and the crew is proud of it and make it a special, safe and good place to be.
My first whales. Enormous humpbacks. So close. I shuddered at the sight of their serpent-like roll out of the water. Frightening at first. I felt like a mouse. But then I recognized their flukes. Beautiful animals, unbelievable and magical. Tender species. Free.
Lena said on a ship she feels like a grain of sand with the great sea all around her.
I fell in love with Antarctica last night. I knew I was in love when around 11:00 p.m. I stood on the deck and wanted to be alone in Paradise Bay.
There was the small, warm touch of life: the resurrected (after a fire) Almirante Brown station with a single light on. Above the minute spots of buildings were mountains crusted with a mauve glacier. Someone tried to talk to me but I needed to be alone, like I do now. I felt the vastness and the power of this bay. The mountains, the icebergs a testimony, a reminder of what we can’t possess, only respect.
I felt so happy and still do. Again, like my subconscious mind brought me to the right place in time. I don’t want to leave that feeling of connectedness to the mountains and bay but the moment has passed.
I think K’s arms aren’t big enough for me.
WTSpring weather is more like winter today. Squalls and pack ice thwart passage and landing plans, but Carol, Lena and I are happy to savour the comforts of home while we can. Picked up freshly laundered and folded clothes below deck and then spent time in the ship’s hold checking our inventory and bartering foodstuffs with Kevin. I know I’m obsessing, but I want to hit the ground running when we land.
Carol’s lecture generates interest in the project. Many are envious, especially the crew who love Antarctica. Presentation on explorers was fascinating: what really has changed since the 1820s? Many of the dangers are still the same. Perhaps that’s why I keep having the exam dream. I’m anxious to get moving. All this fuel and nothing to wear it off on.
Clouds lifted at 6:00. Sun. Landed on the continent for the last time at Charlotte Bay. Carol and I hiked up a rise in thigh-deep snow to lie in the sun and look out over the water. Slid and rolled and somersaulted down. Two penguins came up to us—they don’t know the rules. Caught last Zodiac ride back to ship. I can’t wait to get to Bellingshausen.
DECEMBER 14, 1995
CDTonight, glory around me in the form of water, ice sculptures and sun.
Ten days until Christmas Eve. I think it is Thursday although the day of the week has little bearing other than meaning we must leave the ship for the real work of this project to begin: pre-camp at Bellingshausen.
DECEMBER 15, 1995 // BELLINGSHAUSEN
CDI am living on land. Major culture shock yesterday, transported not only to Russia in a matter of seconds when the Zodiac dropped us off, but to what felt like Soviet Russia. A most adorable thing: as we were about to leave the ship Pyotr helped us with our boxes and then asked where were our potatoes, “Gdye kartofil?”. It was inconceivable to him an expedition would not have potatoes amongst its provisions. He rushed to get us some from the ship’s cook.
Lengthy goodbye from MEI staff and we feel sad. The guys do three circles in the Zodiacs, say goodbye again on the radio. It seems as if news of the valley was there are women at Bellingshausen. Reportedly there had been no women living there for 26 years.
I did a quick walk around the station and drew a diagram. Debris everywhere, large and small, next to buildings, in the mud, piled on the beach and in a terrible landfill. Chicken bones. There will be plenty to do. The amount of debris is overwhelming and makes me realize that the Russians have a long-term project and expensive task ahead.
There is an international glacier study going on near us on the island. Scientists from Brazil, France, Uruguay, Russia, Chile and Argentina. The glaciologist from Brazil tells us, “The season is harsh, and the summer is taking a long time so the project is delayed.”
Met a Brazilian journalist who is interested in what we are doing here.
Met two Sashas, Ilya, Sergey, Maxim, Yuri and others.
The guys were in the mess hall. It smelled like onions. They were preparing to vote in the Russian elections. They sat and peeled potatoes together while the Russian doctor, Sasha, explained voting procedures. Polls closed at noon and they sent a telex to Saint Petersburg with the results.
Sergey asked where I learned some Russian; I said near Sochi. He asked if I was a ballerina there. No; I picked plums near the Black Sea. “Nyet, ya kolkholsnizta,” I said. (“No, I’m a collective farm worker.”) He laughed. Gets them every time.
Cool but sunny good weather. Sergey got mad when I said I didn’t need a hat; I’m from Canada. Pretty Czech boys disappeared on Nelson Island glacier, he replied.
The Russians have a one-year supply of food here. I’m embarrassed our big store is to arrive tomorrow and will be replenished along the way. We won’t have more food than them but we’ll get fresh food more frequently and we’re going for (Antarctic) gourmet. I am stressed about the weather and hope the ship comes okay. Positive thinking.
One case of our beer appears to be missing. There is nothing to say.
WTHappy Birthday, Mom.
Finally we are at Bellingshausen. Cookies and care packages from the ship’s kitchen. Excited at the sight of snow and the promise that I’ll be able to use my skis. Our own iceberg in the bay and penguins too. Mosses, lichens and rocks. The sun shining, beautiful, but through the mist it is moon-like and ominous.
Greeted at the beach by a military tractor to carry our provisions to a barrack-like building. Aren’t actually allowed to help—just like on the ship. Taken to our temporary bedroom in the hospital, obviously the nicest room available.
Buildings are well-constructed and warm. Main building with mess, kitchen, and a variety of other rooms and diversions: a film room with an expansive collection, library and games room with a ping-pong table and dented pool table. Décor is sixties, but seems like a lot of money put into it initially. Transportati
on—all military. Concerned when we first tour the complex—wondering where people will sleep and how we’ll function sharing a kitchen and dining room.
Fears abated later when Sergey gave us the building up the hill for our headquarters, and my sleeping quarters too. He was sweet to name it Canada House. It’s charmingly rustic and steeped in Soviet history. The room best suited for the kitchen is windowless, with no hot water, zero counter space and dusty-rose walls, of all colours, but it beats cooking in the tent Carol scored from the Canadian government. A secret room hidden behind the sliding shelf in my kitchen will make a great pantry once I clear out the old radio wires. Everything is coming together; now I can put my mind to enjoying this place and our project. I just have to sort out where to store food so that it’s closer at hand. Walking a quarter of a mile to get eggs in the morning is not going to fly. Language doesn’t even frighten me much anymore. It will come. French and Latin 101 are going to be my saving grace.
{Sandy Nicholson}
Wendy’s cold storage shed behind Canada House, 1995
{Wendy Trusler}
Volodya Cook scooping flour for bread, 1995
Looked through the Russian cook’s kitchen after lunch. He’s very cook-like in his whites and his kitchen a no-nonsense room: nice enamel cookware, boiler and hot plate running constantly, large industrial mixer and bread ovens. Menu what I’d expect of a camp diet: noodles, meat, broth, root vegetables and lots of spuds, tea and coffee—but the diluted fruit compote to drink is a surprise. Dry biscuits and jam—jam in everything.
Tour of surrounding area this afternoon—discouraged by garbage buildup and open burning. Meet Brazilians who are part of an international group of glaciologists camping on the glacier two hours away. We’ve been invited to go there in a couple of days.
We’re spoiled. Every place we stop we’re offered hot drinks and sweets. Vladimir and Ilya served coffee in their Russian Bear Den. It’s by far the coolest building we’ve seen—high ceilings with a loft and a massive whale rib tied to the balcony railing. Both meteorologists. Vlad studies satellite photos of sea ice and makes a new ice map every ten days. Says he led the first American ski tour to the U.S.S.R. in 1975. Wants to be tutored in English and show me places to ski.
The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning: A Polar Journey Page 3
