Out of here
Dec. 30th, 2007 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
poletopoleShip's Position at 12:00:
On leaving Davis Station, the ship immediately turned northwards to begin the week-long journey to Perth at the highest speed practicable. There was some compensation in the weather, which held good; the low sun turned the ice pack lavender, rose, and gold and despite thin cloud (the better to show the colors), a similarly tinted half-moon was visible above the ice. The sunset-sunrise lasts for hours with no definite beginning or end; it looks at 2:00 much as it did at 00:30.
We're obviously not going anywhere near the Shackleton Ice Shelf, which makes this voyage much less than a "semi-circumnavigation of Antarctica". D is disappointed. I cannot understand how the itinerary was arranged to be so tight that so little time to actually see Antarctica has been available. No allowance was made for bad weather or unfavorable conditions.
The schedule lists today as an expedition day, but that's not going to happen: for the last time this trip, the Zodiacs are lifted from the bow deck with the cranes, motored to the stern, and lifted onto the helicopter deck to be tied down for the crossing to Australia. The helicopters' rotors have been removed and the helicopters rolled into their hanger and strapped down also. The bartender, Debby, has been working for days on securing the storerooms, and today she's even more busy today getting the last of the stocks safely stowed.
In mid-morning the passengers are called to the bow for a champagne toast; we've recrossed the Arctic Circle. We've done that about eight times on this trip but this is the last time. As we stand on deck I see a lone Adelie penguin on an ice floe, staring at the ship as it passes and then leaping into the sea: the last penguin of the voyage for me. An hour later, the ice pack is behind us. A single small stray iceberg chips the horizon.
In late afternoon, the geologist gives a talk on beach formation and destruction, well illustrated with slides. The mood among the passengers is subdued: another long spell cooped aboard ship, made more difficult because the bow and stern have been closed to passengers, meaning that one can't walk round the ship in circles any more (as many have been for exercise) or stand on the bow watching the seabirds and other wildlife. There's little movement apparent; still, the rolling, of less than five degrees, that becomes noticeable in the afternoon sends several people hastily from the art workshop to their cabins, and the ship's doctor wanders around with bags of various seasickness remedies urging people to take them. She seems to believe that everyone should take them whether or not they are sick, but the side effects can be unpleasant. I have not been troubled by seasickness this year.
D, an Australian from Alice Springs, wishes repeatedly for a big storm, "a big hoolie" as he calls it, because he wants to experience one. He's generally shouted down, but tonight someone amends it: he can wish for his big hoolie, for twenty minutes. We have had very easy crossings across some notoriously difficult areas on this trip, and I think D is alone in hoping for excitement during the last leg!
- 66°25.1' S 73°16.6' E
- Course 0°; Speed 15 kts
- Air temperature 1°C; Wind 12 kts; Direction 40°
- Weather: Cloudy; Visibility 7
- Ice Cover: 6/10
- Distance covered past 24 hours: 227.7 nautical miles
On leaving Davis Station, the ship immediately turned northwards to begin the week-long journey to Perth at the highest speed practicable. There was some compensation in the weather, which held good; the low sun turned the ice pack lavender, rose, and gold and despite thin cloud (the better to show the colors), a similarly tinted half-moon was visible above the ice. The sunset-sunrise lasts for hours with no definite beginning or end; it looks at 2:00 much as it did at 00:30.
We're obviously not going anywhere near the Shackleton Ice Shelf, which makes this voyage much less than a "semi-circumnavigation of Antarctica". D is disappointed. I cannot understand how the itinerary was arranged to be so tight that so little time to actually see Antarctica has been available. No allowance was made for bad weather or unfavorable conditions.
The schedule lists today as an expedition day, but that's not going to happen: for the last time this trip, the Zodiacs are lifted from the bow deck with the cranes, motored to the stern, and lifted onto the helicopter deck to be tied down for the crossing to Australia. The helicopters' rotors have been removed and the helicopters rolled into their hanger and strapped down also. The bartender, Debby, has been working for days on securing the storerooms, and today she's even more busy today getting the last of the stocks safely stowed.
In mid-morning the passengers are called to the bow for a champagne toast; we've recrossed the Arctic Circle. We've done that about eight times on this trip but this is the last time. As we stand on deck I see a lone Adelie penguin on an ice floe, staring at the ship as it passes and then leaping into the sea: the last penguin of the voyage for me. An hour later, the ice pack is behind us. A single small stray iceberg chips the horizon.
In late afternoon, the geologist gives a talk on beach formation and destruction, well illustrated with slides. The mood among the passengers is subdued: another long spell cooped aboard ship, made more difficult because the bow and stern have been closed to passengers, meaning that one can't walk round the ship in circles any more (as many have been for exercise) or stand on the bow watching the seabirds and other wildlife. There's little movement apparent; still, the rolling, of less than five degrees, that becomes noticeable in the afternoon sends several people hastily from the art workshop to their cabins, and the ship's doctor wanders around with bags of various seasickness remedies urging people to take them. She seems to believe that everyone should take them whether or not they are sick, but the side effects can be unpleasant. I have not been troubled by seasickness this year.
D, an Australian from Alice Springs, wishes repeatedly for a big storm, "a big hoolie" as he calls it, because he wants to experience one. He's generally shouted down, but tonight someone amends it: he can wish for his big hoolie, for twenty minutes. We have had very easy crossings across some notoriously difficult areas on this trip, and I think D is alone in hoping for excitement during the last leg!
