Post the Eighth

Neverending journey indeed!  Great scott, but I had little idea when typing that last post how much more real that sentiment grew to become.  (And Limahl is SO off my Christmas card list).

Two (2) more nights it took us to find a way through the pack ice.  Two (ii)!  It was like Groundhog Day on ice.  (Icehog Day?)  The daily routine was to wake up in the morning, shamble up to the bridge and be disappointed – but unsurprised – to discover that we were heading in the wrong direction, and that Davis was further away than it had been at bedtime.

The jokes around the table at mealtimes about not reaching Davis grew so bitter that they were souring the milk

But, on the third day, happiness!  Joy!  Wonderment! Chocolate!  The captain had managed to find a route through the ice that not only didn’t thicken into an impenetrable wall of… uh… impenetrableness, but actually opened out into beautiful, beautiful blue water.

Even better, after several hours of ice free steaming – land!  All across the ship the smiles were so broad that people’s teeth were at risk of sunburn. 

And here is that land.  Not only land, but somewhere underneath that cloud – Davis!  (Also, hiding somewhere in this picture – Swim-Swim, the photobombing penguin).

Where's Wally?

So on we sailed, closer and closer.  Smilier and smilier.  As we approached the coast the ice started to build up again, but not so much as to impede our progress.  People started gathering at the bow to watch our approach.   As did I.  (Secretly I wanted to get to Davis first.  And WIN!)  While I was there, I took this opportunistic (and characteristically mediocre) photograph of an Adelie penguin on one of the floes we passed.

Yes, there is a penguin in this photo.  Don't be rude.

Exciting, yes?  Of course it is.

As we neared the coast the amount of ice and number of grounded icebergs increased significantly.  Accordingly the ship was slowed to ensure a safe passage.  Not necessarily a bad thing – it gave those people who owned a camera (i.e. everyone) ample opportunity to capture the stunning scenery we were gliding through.

By way of example…

Even I couldn't muck this up.

I think the skipper might have a sadistic streak.  The closer we got to our destination, the more slowly he drove the ship.  At one point it seemed that if he had been going any more slowly we would have been going astern.  No doubt he had sound operational reasons to reduce his speed, but they would be just useful excuses to explain the real purpose; his torturing of his eager passengers.

At last though, we rounded one of the grounded icebergs and… DAVIS!

Or maybe it was Legoland.  Difficult to tell at a distance.

By this stage not a single expeditioner remained belowdecks.   Even those who had raised seasickness to an art form found that the occasion was sufficient to warrant getting up.  (And the sea was perfectly calm too, for that matter).  Everyone crowded the upper decks, seeking that special vantage point.

By this stage I felt that the best vantage point was to be had on the very highest point on the ship (Called, for some arcane reason, the ‘monkey deck’.  Mariners are weird).   And here is a photo I took from there, showing the expederati on the bow jostling for prime position.

Jostling

After a while the “Ooh, we’re getting close to Davis” thing was starting to pall on me.  After a while, you can only deal with a few hours of “Ooh, we’re getting close to Davis” at -2°C before the novelty grows whiskers.

At some point I turned to look behind us, and felt that the scene that presented itself was worth sharing.  So here – cop a load of this:

Scenery.  Antarctica has some.

Purdier’n yer best Sunday dress, ain’t it?

But, as it turns out, we were indeed getting close to Davis.  Very close, in fact.  Close enough, indeed, to take this photo.

Home.  For a little while, anyway.

As I later discovered, that red building up the back was to be my home until February.  Ah, home sweet (multi-coloured) home.

However, by this stage it was 9:45 at night.  Far too late to do anything other than drop the anchor and wait until morning to begin transferring personnel and cargo by helicopter.

So, I would have to be patient.  As will you, since I am not writing this blog any more today.  Nosir!

The riveting detail of travelling from ship to shore will be covered in the next breathtaking instalment of Jeff of the South!

Till then!