Abel Tasman Kayaks - Day 1: Off (but not out)

The rain, it rained all night. And it was still raining when we were picked up by the Abel Tasman Kayaks shuttle that took a bunch of us to their depot in Marahau. We crossed several rivers brown and swollen by rain - the Wairau was particularly impressive - but as we drove past farms and vineyards into the hills, the sky gradually cleared and by the time we were introduced to our kayak, it was, hooray, a lovely sunny day. The depot was also flooded along the middle, but fortunately they had all their kayaks stacked up out of the water (haha) and there was a bit of grass for us to practise our drills on. I hand it to AT Kayaks, they're certainly thorough. Positively American. 

It wasn't just how to paddle a kayak and put on a lifejacket - rather terrifyingly, it was also how to escape a capsized kayak and then climb into it again. Plus pumping, flares, all that. And then there was the waiver to sign. Pretty nerve-wracking stuff, even if cheerfully delivered. It's not as if we were going in a guided group - oh no, we were heading off out to sea, solo. Yay. Five minutes later, at the beach, we had to demonstrate we could paddle, steer, turn and reverse - and then we were off, and were straight away on our own.

The Baby and I were sharing a double kayak so the work was halved, and we were able to chat which was nice, and reassuring - once we'd established trust re steering, etc. It was a bit choppy, and there were rocks to avoid, but we soon got into the rhythm and, looking at the map, realised that it was very large scale and that in fact today's distance was very do-able, despite not setting off till mid-morning. It helped that we'd been advised not to try to go round the off puttingly-titled Mad Mile today in the wind - no argument from us - and to camp a bit closer than scheduled tonight.

So we pootled along the coast of Abel Tasman National Park, with its bush and rocks and occasional yellow sand beaches, its shags and seagulls, and got to Watering Cove in time for a late lunch of rolls and salad (all catering done by the Baby, good for her). The site, just above a sandy beach, was flat, but very small given that a number of other kayakers were heading there to overnight too for the same reason as us, so we pitched our tents straight away. Good thing, too - when we came back later from our walk, it was elbow-room only. No big deal, but not quite what I'd expected. This is New Zealand! We don't do crowds in the bush...

Anyway, the afternoon we spent walking to Anchorage on the other side of the headland, which was even busier: long beach, big DOC campsite, masses of kayaks lined up on the sand, water taxis buzzing in and out, people swimming and sunbathing... So we wandered on along the impressively well-maintained track and took a detour to Cleopatra's Pool, where there's meant to be a natural rock slide between pools in the river. But with all the rain we've had, the water was gushing down and - sorry to sound feeble again, it's really not my usual state - it didn't appeal to me, though the Baby did her best to give me the willies.

Back at Watering Cove - which is surrounded by picturesque sea-sculpted rocks, one of them just like an elephant's head (with eyes and ears carved in by some anal type who didn't trust anyone to see it for themselves) - we (she) cooked our boil-in-the-bag dinner which came with wine tonight. Very impressive. Other people were cooking up their meals too, not all of them as efficiently as the Baby, who has had long practice with her kit. I heard one young boy, clearly a novice, asking loudly "Where's the kitchen?"

We ate by the beach, the sun lowered behind more cloud, we settled down for the night in our tents, arms and legs equally tired from the day's exercise, and it seemed odd to me that we were in a remote location, far from a road, and yet it was busy and noisy with people chatting right up close. And then, quite quickly, it went quiet and all I could hear were the waves on the beach and the occasional hooting of some unidentifiable night birds.

Willing and Abel

Although I'm a Lego fan from way back, inducted my daughters into the cult, have trodden on my share in bare feet, and have crates of it still in the cupboard, unable to get rid of it because it's an investment - and also, well, LEGO! I was still surprised to get this present from the Baby for Christmas. But it was a symbol: the real present was a 3-day kayaking/camping/tramping trip with her in Abel Tasman National Park at the top of the South Island. Brilliant!

So today I ferried and bussed to the airport and flew down to Nelson to meet her. This town, beloved of retirees, normally vies for the top of the nation's Sunniest City poll, but not so much right now - according to the shuttle driver who collected me from the dinky airport, it's all Australia's fault. That's easy to accept at face value, but she did support it with some meteorological science, in that the horrifyingly hot weather there sucks tropical rain down here.

My trip before last, the Kenya/Uganda/Rwanda one, in a truck and tents, helped set me up for the basic level of accommodation on this one. Mostly we'll be camping, but tonight we get to luxuriate in beds at the Prince Albert Backpackers hostel in Nile Street. I can't recall staying in a backpackers before - lost in the mists of time, I'm guessing - but this seemed pretty good: not fancy, certainly, but we had twin beds with an ensuite, and downstairs it was like a jolly pub (complete with English landlord), serving excellent food in huge portions.

Afterwards, lying in bed listening to the rain pouring down, and knowing there's a lot of exercise ahead of me, only a thin yoga mat to sleep on, and no bathrooms at all, I was just grateful for a last night of relative comfort. As well as slightly anxious that perhaps last week wasn't the best time to have a squamous cell carcinoma cut out of my shin... (Yeah, sorry. But watch out for nasties like this, ok?)

Post Silver Explorer post

Aaand it's back to harsh reality today - up early for the last breakfast, we got back to the cabin suite to find Ivy and Ralte busy stripping the beds. Our suitcases, put out last night, were gone already (to be next encountered on the carousel at Buenos Aires' domestic airport). The bing-bong on the PA, that up till now has signalled an interesting - even exciting - message from Tim or the Captain, this morning gave us our literal marching orders, and our cards were swiped for the last time as we left the ship with no ceremony other than the expedition leaders lined up to shake our hands at the bottom of the gangplank. No trumpets, no banners, nothing.

It would have been slight consolation to have had the hour and a half that was mentioned at one point for a bit of a look around Ushuaia, bit in the end it was not much more than half an hour. Most of the shops were shut, not opening till 10am, but there was still plenty of interest: brightly-coloured houses, a wide range of architectural styles including half-timbered and Austrian, there were a couple of museums, the waterfront, a Hard Rock Café, various monuments including one to Eva Péron, and to the Malvinas dead. On our bus tour back before the cruise, I'd seen lots of declarations, official and not, about the Malvinas being Argentinian, but had no time to find any to photograph this morning.

And then we were into the tedium of travel: Ushuaia airport, waiting, being bussed out onto the LATAM charter flight and squeezing into a 777-300 with absolutely no leg-room, even for a shortie like me. It didn't help that the Swiss woman in front of me reclined her seat fully straight away, got crabby when I asked her to lift it when the breakfast service began, and then slammed it back the moment the food was cleared. Well. There was my entertainment for the flight sorted. I spent the next three hours randomly poking and pushing the back of her seat as I crossed and uncrossed my legs and genuinely tried to fit them into the tiny space. Of course she objected, increasingly angrily, but I merely smiled and pointed out that if she moved it forward just a bit, we could both be comfortable. She actually shouted and shook the back of my own seat at one point, before eventually and suddenly giving in, and relinquishing the full recline. Win! (Selfish, inconsiderate cow.) (Her, not me.) (Natch.)

The rest of the journey was uneventful. Silversea herded us into different coaches at BA domestic airport and ours headed off to the international airport, Ezeiza, a ring-road journey that the guide said would take 40 minutes "because tomorrow is a holiday". Turned out, because tomorrow was a holiday, everyone was on the road not giving way to anyone else, and the trip took two hours. But that was ok, because we had eight hours before our flight left just after midnight. Sadly, we were too early even to check in, so we parked ourselves at a café upstairs not far from a Malvinas memorial (that explained "The immediate cause [of the Malvinas Islands War] was the fight for sovereignty of these islands, taken by force in 1833 and dominated since then by the United Kingdom.") In contrast, there was also a Hard Rock Café with clothing once owned by Prince, Elvis, Michael Jackson and Elton John.

The airport is new and fancy, and we had ample chance to experience it because the VIP lounge would only allow us in as Priority Pass card holders after 11pm. So we sat and watched as the remaining few Silver Explorer passengers guests (and staff crew) dispersed in various directions, the Americans amongst them grimly anticipating delays and discomforts associated with a storm that was bringing sub-Antarctic temperatures and conditions to shocked eastern cities.

None of that for us. We eventually boarded NZ31, pleased to be in familiar surroundings again, and settled into this much roomier 777-200 for our 12-hour flight (again, a much shorter journey than for many others on the Silver Explorer, which was a nice novelty). We took off over the lights of the astonishingly huge city, flew uneventfully south-west, crossed the Date Line while sleeping and landed around 5.30am. We then took a horrendously, hideously expensive taxi to the city ($80, instead of the $38 out there), had a short wait for the ferry which we shared with umpteen eager cyclists aiming to "do a thousand metres" (total climb) on a 50km route, and got a cheerful taxi back to our house which, despite an exceptionally powerful storm hurtling through yesterday, was still standing unscathed. Always good.

Silver Explorer, Day 18 - Sorry

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

The Captain warned yesterday of a gale overnight, and no-one was quite sure if it was a joke or not, because that’s how he rolls – but in fact so did the waves during what was almost the dark (further south, the sun has been setting around 11pm and rising again before 3am, and the bit in between has never even approached what you might call dark).

This morning though it was calm again, and there ahead of us, too rapidly getting larger, was land: Tierra del Fuego, and the end of our voyage. Everyone is sad about it. It really has been so special, and though some people (mainly the ones who got soaked in the downpour in Stanley while I was in the museum knowing nothing about it) would have liked a bit more sunshine, general opinion has it that we did well, seeing Antarctica in all of its moods. Well, most, anyway. I can cope without experiencing a blizzard.

When we got back to our cabins suites after breakfast, there were our suitcases laid out on the bed – a pretty brutal sort of hint. We had already received disembarkation instructions last night. There was a little note from our butler Ivy offering to do the packing. That’s an interesting concept and almost tempting, but I’m passing it by. Too many decisions that only I can make, really. And thank goodness for my expansion zips, which were the reason I bought this particular suitcase ages ago, and which it’s been ever since a mark of honour not to use. Silversea gives you a puffa jacket as well as an outer parka, both of them very well made, but they’re something else to make room for. Along with the two blouses I didn’t wear, tch.

We took a break to listen to Anthony Smith’s talk about the art of bronze casting – something apparently random but which he managed to link to everywhere we’ve been – Ushuaia, the Falklands, South Georgia and even Antarctica have had bronze busts or statues that we’ve seen. The one in South Georgia was actually by Anthony himself: a bust in the museum, of Ernest Shackleton (of course). It was actually fascinating, to be shown the many stages in the process of creating a bronze, and Anthony is clearly multi-talented.

We’ve been impressed by the depth of knowledge of all of the lecturers, and have particularly enjoyed the talks by Anthony, Luke and Cory, who know their stuff inside out and communicate it intelligently and accessibly. And then it was Denis’s turn, to play the full-length version of the video he’s been compiling and without a doubt going cross-eyed and without sleep during the last couple of days to complete. Of course he has the big lenses, multiple camera bodies, and even a drone – but the talent and expertise help, too. It’s fabulous, and a wonderful reminder of the places we’ve been, the things we’ve done, what we’ve seen.

And so that was pretty much it: there was the Captain's jolly auction of that lovely map (it's gone to Chicago, for US$1300); then some drinks in the Panorama Lounge before dinner, with chairs at a premium as groups of new friends made the most of the last chance to be together; followed by dinner ditto; and then the ritual putting out of the packed and labelled suitcases before bed, and setting the alarm for the last breakfast, and the eviction at 9am as the crew work like crazy to make things ready for the lucky new consignment of passengers guests, who have all those good things ahead of them while we trudge through the tedious bits of flying back home again, our adventure over.

Silver Explorer, Day 17 - Smooth sailing

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

At the daily Recap/Briefing a couple of days ago, someone asked Expedition Leader Tim what the forecast was for Drake Passage. “Doesn’t matter,” came the breezy reply. “We’re doing it anyway.”

There’s no denying though that it’s been weighing increasingly heavily on everyone’s minds, this two-day sail from the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula back to Tierra del Fuego: we’ve seen the maps, noted the arrows and colours, consulted the key telling us ‘swells of 8-10 metres’. I’ve just read someone’s blog myself, from only a few weeks ago, where someone was tossed down the stairs and broke a leg, having to be medevac-ed away, while everyone else was confined to their rooms (and beds).

But it’s looking as though we are going to be lucky – as, honestly, we have been all through this cruise. We’ve seen all the wildlife, we’ve experienced all the weather, and now it seems as though our earlier rough crossing to South Georgia will be the worst we’ll be able to bore people with back home, because the dreaded Drake Passage today looks like Drake Lake.

Flat, calm, glossy blue, under an equally blue sky dotted with white clouds – we could be in the Mediterranean. Or at least New Zealand. It’s a gift. It’s tempting to peel off the Scopoderm patch (source of suspicious wonder to Aussies and Americans, who can’t even get it on prescription, let alone buy it over the counter). But that would be tempting fate, surely; so on it stays.

I’m blaming the drugs for my falling asleep in Danny’s quite amusing lecture about spending a winter south of the Antarctic Circle. Every day there have been three or four Powerpoint talks by the expedition staff about things we’ve seen or would like to, and they’ve mostly been good: Cory’s this morning about orcas was especially professional and interesting, if rather sad and depressing (she was restrained in her references to SeaWorld, but no-one was in any doubt about her opinion). We’ve all learned a lot.

I also learned a bit more about the ship today, discovering, on this second-to-last day, a deck I hadn’t been on before, and routes I didn’t know. It was such a gloriously sunny day (although still very cold) that it seemed a waste to be inside, so I was out prowling. Not much wildlife, though, apart from some petrels and albatrosses – and apparently some hour-glass dolphins behind the ship at lunch, though I couldn’t actually spot them. This is why Luke is never seen without his trusty binoculars round his neck – even when he’s dressed up in a suit and tie, as all the staff were at tonight’s Captain’s Farewell in the theatre.

After a typically droll and amusing speech, Captain Piers introduced the staff for our chance to applaud what they’ve been doing for us; and drew the raffle for the engraved decanter and similar that have been on display outside the restaurant for the last week. Tomorrow there will be an auction for a personalised map of our route that really is lovely and would make a fabulous souvenir – I’m sure the money raised (for the crew welfare fund) is going to be substantial.

Silver Explorer, Day 16 - Polar opposites

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

"I would have done it," said the old guy who, despite Silversea's polite dress code suggestions, pads around the ship in odd socks. "But I didn't want to." I did, though: the infamous Polar Plunge. I stripped off to my togs on the black sandy beach of Telefon Bay in Deception Island, one of the South Shetland group, and hurtled into the water, under, and out again – my fastest immersion ever. Apparently, some found the stony beach hard on their feet. I didn’t have time to notice.

The water wasn’t as heart-stoppingly cold as I’d been fearing all along; and also the bit that I’d really been anxious about, getting back to the ship afterwards, was quicker and much less uncomfortable than expected. In no time at all, I was luxuriating in the jacuzzi on the rear deck, watching through the steam as the rest of the Plungers earned their (actually disappointingly boring) certificates – about 45 of us in all, a third of the passengers, amazingly.

It was all about opposites today: hot and cold, black and white, volcanic and glacial. We woke to low cloud as the ship approached Neptune’s Bellows, a narrow gap in the island's flooded caldera (with, the Captain told us, a large rock lurking under the water right in the middle – fortunately the Silver Explorer didn’t do a Milford Wanderer). Inside, everything was monochrome, even more striking after yesterday’s glorious Technicolor. Geologist Wolfgang tried to communicate his wonder at things like craters, volcanic bombs and so on, but most of us just listened politely. Or maybe that was just me.

The walk around the craters got more interesting when we came across a crab-eater seal, and then saw little streams of bubbles along the shore. There were patches of warm water (the volcano last erupted in 1970); also striking layers in the snow bank along the beach; and icicles. But naturally it was the Polar Plunge that really livened up the visit, with much shrieking and laughter.

Afterwards, easing our way out to the open sea again, past the remains of a wrecked fishing boat that hadn’t been so careful, we headed in improving weather to Half Moon Island, which was as glamorous as yesterday’s locations. Sharp, clear mountains, big glaciers, stony beaches, red castle-like rocks, blue sea and sky, and lots of penguins. They were mostly chinstraps this time, roosting in noisy rookeries, patiently waiting for eggs to hatch or nuzzling the fluffy grey chicks that they had tucked on their feet under their bellies (not an easy thing, to transfer them from one parent to the other at the shift changeover). There was a lot of squawking going on – shouting at an opportunistic sheathbill flitting through the colony looking for a titbit, greeting a returning mate, or just joining in when a neighbour started hooting. Luke provided an interesting running commentary.

After a while, though, I went down to one of the beaches where penguins were coming ashore, and just sat and watched and listened. Waves were breaking, small icebergs, transparent and white, were clinking together, as well as doing their fascinating rice bubble thing: snap, crackle and pop as the air bubbles inside them burst. Even the tiniest bergs were audible - when I had watched them from our veranda drifting past on the glossy sea, each of them was surrounded by rings of concentric circles caused by the popping. Penguins popped out of the water to stop and preen themselves before returning to their nests, and in the distance I could hear them hooting. (I could also smell them, but let’s not destroy the ambience I’m trying to build here.)

It was so beautiful, and personal, and special, and such a privilege to be there to experience it all. Not many people do: so I’m really, really grateful to Silversea for enabling it. And also for doing it all so well – especially the unhurried excursions ashore, that allow the time for exactly this sort of sitting back and soaking up. Brilliant.

And then, with a distinct and universal sense of reluctance, we climbed into the Zodiacs again for the last time, and returned to the ship. We ate dinner – with multiple photo op interruptions - as Antarctica’s islands receded into the distance, glamorous to the last white peak and rocky black monolith, while ahead of us lay the dreaded Drake Passage, roughest stretch of water on the planet.

But before that there was the Crew Concert to enjoy in the theatre: singing and dancing that was enjoyable in itself, but all the more so for showing us another side of the people who have been looking after us so well for the last two-plus weeks. (Yeah, shocking photo, but it was after dinner, and these guys are no slouches at keeping wine glasses topped up.)

Silver Explorer, Day 15 - Best New Year's Day ever

With thanks to Silversea for this hosted cruise

Oh wow, 2018. You’re going to be an incredible year, if New Year’s Day is anything to go by. Simply the best ever, people.

It began with the Silver Explorer sliding into Neko Harbour in Andvord Bay on the Peninsula – so, actual mainland Antarctica again, the real thing. It was an overcast morning, and changeable, but we saw some good reflections of the towering glaciers around the bay. One of them is particularly active, frequently calving and causing minor tsunamis on the beach where our Zodiacs landed – I say minor: one of them was evidently big enough to flip a fortunately empty Zodiac once - so we weren’t allowed to hang around on the beach just in case, and were sent straight up onto the snow.

I followed the trail of red flags uphill, under strict instruction not to stray, because of the chance of crevasses. When I got to the top, I could see for myself what might lie under a coating of snow: opposite was a tall glacier that was riddled with deep, blue crevasses. It was tempting to hope for a spectacular calving, but I remembered the Gentoo penguin rookery down below and tried not to. One bit did still fall from the face, though, in slow motion and with a low rumble, which was sufficiently impressive but not enough to make a wave.

The weather was very indecisive, and it actually snowed quite big flakes at one point, but then it started to clear. I spent a lot of time (the great thing about Explorer expeditions is that there is no rush at all to return to the ship) watching the penguins on their nests, stealing pebbles, hooting, preening and waddling along their highways: waist-deep (to them) trails through the snow complete with intersections. They were a bit wary about getting to close to us and sometimes lit out across the fresh snow, struggling and often resorting to scooting on their bellies.

We set off then for Cuverville Island along the Errera Channel as the sky cleared and the sun shone from an increasingly blue sky. The mountains glistened, the ripples on the water glittered, the icebergs glowed and we were blown away by how beautiful everything looked. It was all too good to miss, so we lunched at the Grill outside on Deck 6 – yummy panini for me, which I was just about to enjoy when things got even better. The captain’s announcement and a change of direction brought us alongside a pod of ORCAS!!! Regular readers (hi, Queen) will remember that I have been hunting orcas all around the world for many years, have never seen one, and have become convinced that they are avoiding me.

But here they were, a pod of at least 15, cruising along quite close to the ship. Of course I didn’t have my camera with me, and had to race upstairs for it – and then the battery gave out. But I got some proof, and was – am – thrilled finally to have made the acquaintance of these classy, clever and charismatic dolphins. And intrigued, too, that instead of being classically black and white, these were black and orange – apparently thanks to diatomous phytoplankton in the water, which stick to their skin. Anyway, it was the reason to order a celebratory Kir royale (or two).

Cuverville Island is a huge Half Dome-shaped rock sticking straight up out of the water, and some of the passengers departed on a hike that the daily newsletter, The Chronicles, seemed determined to put us off tackling (difficult, long, steep, slippery, must be fit, etc) so I channelled my feeble side and stayed down on the beach. And was so pleased I did! The sky was blue, it was sunny and warm enough to strip off several layers, and this big colony of Gentoo penguins was so busy and entertaining that I would have hated not to have the hours we did just to sit and watch them.

They were porpoising through the water, nipping in and out from the beach, sitting on rocks in the sun, literally playing on small sculpted bergs in the shallows, jumping onto them, slipping off, pushing each other off, and generally clowning around. What with that as the main entertainment, against a background of a huge variety of icebergs, all sparkling in the sun, time just whizzed by. And then even when we had to return to the ship, dwarfed by the sparkling mountains behind it, there were crab-eater seals to inspect on the way, and yet more beautiful, sculpted, transparent, blue-glowing icebergs to admire.

We thought we might have a little down-time then, but Captain Piers summoned us outside again to admire the classic beauty of the barque Europa sailing past, posing against that theatrical backdrop - such a gorgeous sight.

Finally, it was time for the evening recap and briefing in the theatre, but just as we got to (unfavourite) Danny’s bit, he passed on a message from the captain that we should all go outside straight away. So we did, and there was a big pod of humpback whales this time, bubble-net feeding. Now I’ve seen humpbacks often, but never when they’ve been working together to ball up krill and then to scoop them up in their huge mouths. That in itself was fascinating – but add on the flocks of terns over their heads, the low sun highlighting their blows, the sparkling sea, the mountains, the icebergs… Spectacular, glorious, glamorous, unforgettable. And it went on and on, the crew ushering us into their bits of deck so we could see better, and closer, and it was just the best.

So we ate dinner in our suite, efficiently and beautifully served by our butler Ivy, and drank the sparkling rosé that was waiting for us here when we first boarded the Explorer and, with interruptions to look at yet more humpbacks from our veranda, we watched March of the Penguins and considered this the absolute best New Year’s Day ever.