Thrum

Take a large orchestra, get them to play a single note - just above high c - for a beat, then listen to the resulting noise on an old transister radio. At midnight. Just as you are going to sleep.

Perhaps it was a dream. We are in the middle of nowhere here. Everyone is snuggled asleep. Noises like that don't just suddenly happen.

But then it suddenly happened again ten minutes later.

Time passed. I failed to relax. I failed to drop off.

I felt like a character in an Edgar Allan Poe tale: found the next morning, sent beyond madness by the Chinese water torture of a single note played at random intervals through the darkness of a long winter's night.

The next time was more of a beep-beep sound than a thrum.

I turned to my wife. "What is that?" I asked her, as surely she was awake as well? She snored a gentle snore of reply.

I'm on my own, I thought. Just me in all the world, haunted by the ghosts of a mad orchestra.

Then the true insanity of my situation revealed itself to me.

The orchestra wound itself up, this time joined by a choir of tormented souls, fresh from the very gates of hell itself:

"What's the story in Balamory, wouldn't you like to know?
What's the story in Balamory, wouldn't you like to go?"

It's amazing how quickly you can find a screwdriver when you really need one, don't you think?

I will put the batteries back. Of course I will. When the girls learn to put their toys away, I will put the batteries back.

The Adventure: Day 7

South Shetland Islands and Bransfield Strait
"Another day in Paradise"

The wreck of an old wooden boat lies on the shore of Half Moon Island. No one knows what its purpose was, or even how old it is with any accuracy. But there it lies, crumbling in the dry atmosphere.

We arrived early that morning, and I lingered among the Gentoo and the Chinstrap.

The views across the bay were moodily lit by a cloud-hidden sun, and bergy bits jostled the shoreline.


Back aboard the Akademik Shokalskiy, we cruised the length of Livingston Island, passing massive, beautifully sculpted icebergs and landscapes almost impossible to describe. A panoramic camera was brought out, others tried to take individual shots to be stitched together in Photoshop later.


By evening, the skies were clearer and we watched the sun slowly set.
The whole of the horizon around us seemed to catch fire when the sun finally disappeared.

But it never gets really dark
in an Antarctic spring, and I was up very late that 'night', trying to capture the beauty around me. I'll sleep when I get back to London, I thought.



Back to Day 1
Forward to Day 8

The Adventure: Day 6

The Drake Passage and South Shetland Islands
"Steve Johnson gets his shot"

I tried photographing birds again, though from deck 4 rather than deck 6. I thought this would give me a better chance of success,as it restricted my field of view. I think my technique improved from the previous day as well.

I was distracted by the spray. It was a sunny day, and I noticed that the sun shining from the other side of the ship caused rainbows (spraybows?) when the spray was high enough and fine enough. So I attempted capturing
spraybows - frustrating as they only exist momentarily.

Then I was distracted by the shadow of the ship on the spray, and spent some time trying to photograph that as well. Then I went back to photographing the wildlife again.

We asked one of the Quark Expeditions people how this crossing rated on a scale of 1 to 10, expecting 6 or 7.

"Three," he replied. "It's pretty smooth compared with some I've been on."

A huge tabular iceberg was sighted - our first of the expedition. We would see many more.
We were called in to the hall for a mandatory lecture. As we had made such good time crossing the Drake, a landing was scheduled for that evening. So, "this is a zodiac, this is how to get in, this is how to stay in, this is how to get out. This is a fireman's grip. Do exactly as we tell you, do not stand up without permission."
"Wildlife. Do not approach within 3 metres, though penguins are inquisitive and may approach you. Do not obstruct any animal's route to the sea. "

"This is the tag board. Remember your tag number, turn it before you leave the ship, turn it when you return. I will check. On returning to the ship, wash your boots in the chemical bath. This will prevent disease being being transferred between colonies."

"Be aware that these penguins are sitting on eggs and will get distressed if you get too close."

"You must not remove anything as a souvenir."

Aitcho Island, named by romantic souls after the Admiralty Hydrographic Office (HO), was beautiful in the evening light.

I loved the silence, which was broken only by the calls of the penguins, and the Petrels on the higher ground. I loved the smell and the atmosphere, the little colonies of Chinstrap and Gentoo, their nests on starburst craters, their rock collecting habits.

My only problem was I had left my tripod behind in the cabin and the light, lovely as it was, made hand-held photography difficult.

I saw Kirsten. "Time to go back, Paul."

"I don't want to go back."

She laughed an understanding laugh. "That is not an option."

I really wanted to stay. This feeling would happen several times over the following few days, but here it was strongest. I wanted to watch the penguins' eggs hatch, explore the island, see how the weather changed, how the light changed, take more photographs. But I knew there would be another boat tomorrow, with more tourists.

I wish I had asked to be the last one off the Island. If I could have had 10 minutes alone on Aitcho. I sat in the zodiac as the Akademik Shokalskiy appproached, desolate.

Back to Day 1
Forward to Day 7

The Adventure: Day 5

The Drake Passage
"What is this guy saying to me?"

I was woken up at 2 am by the ship doing pirhouettes and swan-dives around me. One moment I had all of my weight pressing on one shoulder, my feet somewhere over my head. The next I could feel myself standing on the foot of my bed. Sometimes I felt my internal organs re-arranging themselves.

We've left The Beagle, I thought to myself. This is what the Drake Shake feels like.

I fell asleep again, curled up under the quilt, letting the motions of the ship slide me up the bed, and down the bed...

The next time I woke up, it was daylight. With Kirsten's voice in my head, telling me "if you stand up, you will be sick," I tried to head for the bathroom. I am so glad I opted for the twin-with-bathroom option. I made it safely inside, and closed the door behind me. There my safety ended. As the ship rocked, I was thrown from one side of the room to the other - my face pressed hard against the mirrored cabinet. I was an egg in a metal box, a melon in a crash-test experiment, an apple dropping from the topmost branch of an old, gnarled apple tree. I bruised, I pulled muscles and I somehow managed to split a finger, but I was not sick. I left little bloody patches in various parts of the ship, but I was never sick.

It would take me several days to get my sea legs.

I called in at the ship's doctor, Scott Oslund, for a band-aid. Scott had tried to come on the trip like the rest of us, but failed to be offered a place. A friend suggested he should apply to Quark Expeditions to be the medic, and here he was. He set off on his rounds, tending to those whose motion-sickness medication had let them down. I went to the bar for a coffee to and meet some of the other passengers.

Again, my strong accent caused problems.

"How was your night?" I asked the Canadian paediatric orthodontist.
"I'm sorry?"
"How was your night?"
He looked confused. "What drugs am I..?"
"No. How was our night?" Sometimes you know you should be re-phrasing your question, but you are unable to come up with alternative.
"Well, there's..." and he started to list the anti-nausea drugs he was taking. Smiling, I shook my head. I tried once more. Slowly. "How was your night?"
He turned to someone else sitting at the table. "What is this guy saying to me?"
"He's asking you what kind of night you had. With the storm."
"Oh." He turned back to me. "Okay."

We admired the ship's crew, seemingly defying gravity by walking at weird angles as the Akademik Shokalskiy rocked beneath their feet. I think I felt the worst in the restaurants on deck 3. My cabin was on deck 4, and the difference in motion between the two decks was obvious. The lecture hall was on deck 2. Warm and dark, the rocking of the ship would send many of us to sleep.


Later I went up on deck. I spent hours trying to photograph the birds flying around us. My technique was bad, and they were just too quick for me.

After dinner there was a lecture by Michael Reichmann. He showed us a series of photographs he had taken of cats in the Recoletta Cemetery, and the Boca area of Buenos Aires.

Back to Day 1
Forward to Day 6

The Flood

A policeman waved me down
Asked me where I was going
He shook his head when I answered
A tear in his uniformed eye

He told me the town was taken
Swallowed by the ocean
Drunk in the night time
Invaded by curious fish

Schooling round the gardens
Butting up at windows
Looking at our lives – and laughing
Laughter-bubbles floating off

A fish will never understand
Why we choose to live our lives
In boxes, in boxes, in boxes

So I left the crying policeman
Drove along the new coast road
Where the seagulls played
Above the bubble-popped surface of the sea sea

Royal Wedding

I’m crossing the road
Part of a crowd
Hoping to get a good view
When a mini cuts the corner in a screeching fury

Tony Blair gesticulates
Swears, spit flying
Bangs on the steering wheel
He is missing the beginning of the Royal Wedding

He abandons the car -
Door wide open -
Walking stiff legged and
Doing up the buttons on his wind-snatched jacket

The Queen will be cross
The papers will have Headlines
Blinking back hot tears, he is
Passing cheering children who are happily ignoring him

The Adventure: Day 4

Ushuaia and The Beagle Channel

"There is nowhere else I would rather be than here."

After breakfast I was out taking pictures of the hotel Los Nires and the stunning scenery. Then there was a coach trip to the Tierra del Fuego National Park. We met a bunch of bikers who had ridden the length of South America.
British, of course.

We walked among the trees, learned about Chinese Lanterns and the burgeoning beaver population, which would soon outnumber the people there.

The Land of Fire started as the Land of Smoke, when Spanish explorers saw the evidence of native fires on land.

We lunched on a traditional Argentine barbecue - hot-plates of meat still sizzling at our tables, I chatted to John Paul Caponigro, an artist and photographer, one of the professionals who would be talking to us about digital photography and digital workflow during the trip. As well as John Paul and Michael Reichmann, there was Seth Resnick, Jeff Schewe, Stephen Johnson and the man who wrote Photoshop, Thomas Knoll.

Back to Ushiaia, where we were left to ourselves for a couple of hours.

Some of the other members of the group started wearing their motion-sickness medication as little patches, just behind the ear. Having never been to sea, I did not know if I would have problems or not. I was betting not, but the Drake can be the roughest stretch of water on Earth. Not the best place to discover you're not a good sailor. Oh well. I'll find out soon enough.

We boarded the MV Akademik Shokalskiy soon after, and I spent a happy half an hour photographing the ship, failing to notice when we cast off.

The voyage to Antarctica had begun.

We were called to the bar. Our expedition leader, Kirsten le Mar, introduced herself and went through the rules, the lifeboat drill, and how we were expected to behave near the wildlife. Oh, and the latest from the satellite - eighteen metre waves in The Drake. Bad luck, people. We met the captain, Igor Kiselev, who told us the history of his ship, leased from the Russian navy. After that, we put on our lifejackets and got the call to cram ourselves into the two lifeboats.

After dinner, I went back out on deck.

It was a lovely evening as the islands at the end of the world slipped by. The islands are mostly uninhabited, though sometmes a light shone out to guide mariners. Two of us stood on deck 6, above the bridge, totally lost in the scene unwinding around us and hardly finding it necessary to speak.

The pilot was dropped off at about 11. The sun had set. Tomorrow we would be in The Drake.

Back to Day 1
Forward to Day 5

The Adventure: Day 3

Buenos Aires to Ushuaia

"Oh my God, I've never been this far away from home"

The placards and protesters at Jorge Newbery airport suggested to me things would not be going to plan. This was confirmed by all the 'cancelled' messages on the departure screens: Aerolineas Argentinas pilots were on strike.

Worse still, I could see no one with large yellow Lowepro camera rucksacks, and that worried me most of all.

Then I saw him: my knight in shining, well, cardboard. A sign bearing the message 'Luminous Landscape' was hanging from a loop of string around his neck. You see it was Luminous Landscape, more particularly, Michael Reichmann who was organising the trip I was supposed to be joining, and who had issued all members with the large yellow waterproof camera bags we were to use to identify each other.

I was quickly despatched in another taxi to the international airport. The driver told me his name, I told him I was English, and we set off.

This time when I arrived at the airport, I saw the other 40+ members of the expedition. There would be a delay, everything was re-scheduled, everything was going to be okay. The trip was still on.

While I waited, I bought a postcard (with envelope) to send home. Then I had a coffee and the Argentinian speciality, a ham and cheese sandwich. Just the one coffee, though as the machine broke down.

Another day, another 747. We swung off over the Atlantic, and headed for Tierra del Fuego and the city of Ushuaia. We ate crustless cheese and ham sandwiches. I think I fell asleep.

The Andes mountain range that forms the border between Argentina and Chile, disappears under the sea just after Ushuaia - apart from the rocky islands of the Beagle Passage - before surfacing again to form the Antarctic Peninsula. I mention this because, as the plane comes in to its final approach to the airport, it banks over in a great u-turn above the mountains giving spectacular views of their snow-capped peaks.

Another cab to the hotel, then we settle down for dinner and a chance to meet some of the other people on the trip, including Paul (my roommate), and Brian (Big Bear). We have hours to talk while we wait for the food, and I enjoyed the evening immensely.

Then, for me, its time for bed. Others take advantage of the wi-fi hotspot in the lobby to check their emails.

Back to Day 1
Forward to Day 4

Stars

I look up at the stars and sometimes I feel like a caveman--

How can you say that? You have no idea how cavemen felt.

--I feel like a caveman--

Nobody can ever know how cavemen reacted to anything, let alone the stars.

--LIKE A CAVEMAN WHO KNOWS WHEN HE LOOKS OUT ON THE OCEAN, THE LATEST TECHNOLOGY IS THE DUG-OUT CANOE.

You could have phrased it better.

YOU could have waited until I finished, instead of interrupting. You're too impatient.

I look at the stars the way cavemen looked upon the ocean.

See? I didn't interrupt you, did I? I didn't weigh-in halfway through. I waited until you made your point.

Did you think I was being rude?

Yes. Sometimes, I think you are.

(we walked on in silence)