The Lure of the Antarctic
I came to seeing the world relatively late in life. As a youngster, I went on two foreign trips with my parents. I was 12 on the last one and hated it. I never wanted to go anywhere again. I didn’t pick up serious travel again until I was close to 40. And by the turn of the millennium, at 53 years old, I’d been to six continents.
In the 1970s and ’80s, my passion for snow skiing took me to France, Switzerland, and Austria. I had no desire to go to Europe, but I wanted to ski the Alps. When I realized the Alps wouldn’t come to me, I knew I had to go to Europe. When I wanted to ski in August, I went to New Zealand. I later got into whitewater rafting, which took me to wild places such as Chile, Zimbabwe, Papua New Guinea, Turkey, and Ethiopia. I found I liked exploring on my own before and after these trips, and by the ’90s, I just wanted to travel without being tied down to organized tours.
Antarctica was not at the top of my list. Penguins and icebergs seemed interesting, but I figured they could wait. I never dreamt it would be a continent I would visit more than once.
Around Christmas 2000, a friend gave me a $20 Amazon gift card. I never shopped on Amazon and did not want to shop online. I wanted to get rid of the gift card and buy something for $20 or as close to it as possible. Then I found it: a book, the Lonely Planet Antarctica, for $19.99. Once I bought the book, I had to go to Antarctica.
I figured this would be my only visit to the continent, so I wanted it to be special. My goal was to at least cross the Antarctic Circle, which many trips don’t offer. I found a company that offered a journey to the geographic South Pole; it seemed incredible but not something I would ever do. Instead, I decided on a 24-day expedition that advertised it would take us as far south as was possible by ship to the Bay of Whales, about 78½ degrees south, which is 690 nautical miles (about 794 statute miles) from the South Pole.
The cost was about $16,000 for my double shared cabin, and I figured it was worth it for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We departed from Hobart, Tasmania, about a 1½-hour flight from Sydney, Australia, on Dec. 27, 2001.
From there, the Russian icebreaker Kapitan Khlebnikov would take us south, stopping at some islands, then to Antarctica’s McMurdo Sound, and then to the Bay of Whales, where Roald Amundsen began his journey to become the first person to reach the South Pole in 1911. It’s the southernmost point in the world accessible by water. The voyage would conclude in Lyttleton, New Zealand.
As we boarded the Khlebnikov, anticipation grew. The ship, built to navigate the thick Antarctic ice, carried two helicopters for scouting ice ahead, offering us scenic flights over glaciers and islands, and assisting with shore landings. With space for about 150 passengers, the icebreaker was designed for both exploration and comfort. Soon, we were underway, crossing the southern seas toward Antarctica.
At sea, there were many programs about Antarctica, its wildlife, and the history of its early explorers. What intrigued me most were the lectures and videos about the famous race to the South Pole between Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott. The story of their journeys — Amundsen’s success and Scott’s tragic ending — captivated me during the first half of the trip. This series of programs lasted for about 12 or 13 days as we made our way south. After three days at sea, we reached our first shore landing on Macquarie Island. We disembarked using Zodiacs, small inflatable boats with motors, which we used for most shore landings. The king penguins and rockhopper penguins were spectacular. There were colonies with hundreds of thousands of them, filling the landscape with their noise and activity, in some places as far as you could see.
After three more days on the boat, we reached Cape Adare, our first landing on the Antarctic continent. The Adelie penguins there were adorable — by far the cutest species, in my opinion. We were also able to enter the hut built by Carsten Borchgrevink, the Norwegian explorer who led the first expedition to spend a winter on the Antarctic continent in 1899.
A couple of days later, we arrived at McMurdo Sound, where the ice grew thick. Although the Khlebnikov was built to handle it, progress was slow. Icebreakers don’t smash through ice head-on; instead, they pump water to the rear to lift the bow and crush the ice beneath their weight. It took 12 hours to advance just 20 miles. Eventually, the decision was made to leave the ship and helicopter passengers to Ross Island, at the southern end of McMurdo Sound.
After the helicopter transfer to Ross Island, we explored some of the most fascinating historical sites of the trip. We visited the actual huts built by Robert Falcon Scott during his Discovery expedition (1901-03) and his later Terra Nova expedition (1910-12) at Cape Evans, as well as the hut built by Ernest Shackleton during his Nimrod expedition (1907-08). Stepping inside these structures, where early explorers once lived and worked, was a surreal experience. I regret not knowing more about these explorers before the trip — it would have made the visit even more meaningful.
After our visit to Ross Island, I had a major disappointment. The expedition leader announced that we wouldn’t be going to the Bay of Whales, my main reason for choosing this trip. Our planned route was blocked by what was then the world’s largest iceberg, B15A, which stretched about 110 miles long and 15 to 25 miles wide — the largest remaining piece of the original B15, which had broken off the Ross Ice Shelf in 2000. Going around the berg would have added 200 extra miles to our journey. The expedition leader decided it would be more interesting to visit islands that were not on the itinerary, where we would see more animal life instead of just the Ross Ice Shelf. He had the final say. On all Antarctic trips, anything in the advertised itinerary is subject to change due to weather and conditions.
Instead, we made more landings on other islands rich with penguins and wildlife, but I couldn’t shake my disappointment. The Bay of Whales, where Amundsen had started his historic trek to the South Pole, was the southernmost point we could have reached by ship. We made it to only approximately 77 degrees 51 minutes south.
The Antarctic summer — winter in the Northern Hemisphere — was surprisingly mild at the coast compared to wintry Chicago, where I lived at the time. While most passengers wore the parkas provided for us on deck, I often found a T-shirt sufficient if I was going outside for only a short while.
There are no tourist facilities in Antarctica. The only signs of human presence are the research stations scattered across the continent, some of which have small commissaries where souvenirs might be available. There are no hotels, so every night we spent was on the ship. There was, however, an option for those willing to brave the elements — a chance to spend one night in a tent on the snow and ice.
Missing the Bay of Whales left me reflecting on the incredible journeys of the early Antarctic explorers, especially after all the lectures and videos we’d watched on the ship. My interest deepened, particularly in understanding the other men on these expeditions — what they must have thought of their leaders and how they survived in such brutal conditions. Once I got home, I devoured books about these explorers, eager to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.
To make up for missing the Bay of Whales, I began to plan another Antarctic adventure — this time, to the geographic South Pole. Who cares how far south one can get by ship? I wanted to stand where Amundsen and Scott once stood, at 90 degrees south.
My second trip to Antarctica, two years after the first and planned for the South Pole, turned out to be even more meaningful — but stressful. From the outset, there were warnings about potential delays. The journey included a chartered flight from Punta Arenas, Chile, to the company’s base camp at Patriot Hills, Antarctica, located at around 80 degrees south and 81 degrees west, about a 4 ½-hour f light. The plane was a Russian cargo jet, an Ilushin 76. Landing a jet with wheels on a strip of ice at Patriot Hills is treacherous; conditions must be perfect. Any snow on the ice, clouds, or fog means the plane can’t land — pilots can’t distinguish clouds from the snow, and this isn’t an airport with runway lights. Winds are also a problem. Planes need to land into the wind, but with only an east-west ice strip and wind usually blowing from the south, crosswinds are almost guaranteed. Even when conditions are perfect, they must remain stable. If they change, the plane can circle for up to 40 minutes, hoping for improvement. If not, it has to return to Punta Arenas, a nine-hour round trip with no alternate landing options. Waiting for these perfect conditions delayed the flight for 11 days.
After finally reaching Patriot Hills, we stayed there about a week. The Ilushin was scheduled to return to pick us up then. On the fifth or sixth day, we flew to the South Pole in a Twin Otter airplane, equipped with skis instead of wheels. This plane could land in snow and in any direction, so wind was not a problem.
We reached the Pole. I finally stood at 90 degrees south. The temperature there was -27.4 F. We were there a few hours and returned to Patriot Hills.
Back at base camp, where accommodations were unheated two-person tents and a heated dining tent, I grew more anxious about the return flight. What if the Ilushin was delayed as much, or longer, than our flight from Punta Arenas? If it were delayed too long, we’d risk being caught in the Antarctic fall. What if we had to spend the winter there? One of the staff assured me that there was no danger, telling me they had enough food to feed 50 people for two years. Why did this not make me feel better? Fortunately, the Ilushin returned on time.
Standing at the South Pole was surreal. In 2003, only one company brought tourists to the pole, Adventure Network International (or ANI), now Antarctic Logistics & Expeditions, and I was number 491 on its list of tourists who had made it that far. I had achieved my goal, standing where Amundsen and Scott had stood a century earlier.
My interest in Antarctic explorers didn’t fade after that second trip. While I wasn’t planning to return to the continent, my fascination with Shackleton, particularly his Endurance expedition, only grew stronger. His ship got trapped in the ice, crushed, and sank. Shackleton and his men were trapped on ice floes and then on inhospitable Elephant Island. His journey across the Southern Ocean in a lifeboat, encountering hurricanes and tidal waves, covering more than 800 miles to reach South Georgia Island, and crossing the interior of the island over uncharted mountain ranges with almost no climbing equipment, all to reach a whaling station and rescue his stranded crew, was nothing short of incredible. He kept 28 men alive in the worst imaginable conditions for close to two years without a single fatality. In 1922, Shackleton returned to South Georgia Island with the goal of circumnavigating Antarctica and exploring surrounding islands. Docked there, Shackleton had a heart attack and died. He is buried there.
I became determined to visit the place where his story came to a close. However, there were no tours to the island that weren’t part of a larger trip to Antarctica. So in 2007, I found myself returning to the South for a third time. T he highlight of this expedition was visiting Shackleton’s grave and one of the world’s largest king penguin colonies at St. Andrews Bay. I still consider my shot of the king penguins there the best photo I’ve ever taken (see above).
After my third trip to the Antarctic region, I thought I was done with visiting the frozen continent. But then I read about a rare opportunity: a tour to see emperor penguins on the ice off Snow Hill Island, located in the Weddell Sea, east of the Antarctic Peninsula. That was where the movie March of the Penguins was filmed, and it was also the same sea where Shackleton’s ship, the Endurance, was famously trapped and crushed by ice. In all my previous trips to Antarctica, I had never seen an emperor penguin.
Tours to Snow Hill had mostly been canceled in the past due to ice conditions. If the ice was too thick, ships couldn’t get close enough to helicopter passengers to the penguin colony. If the ice was too thin, it would be unsafe for people to stand and walk on it.
Despite these challenges, I couldn’t resist the chance to see emperor penguins in their natural habitat. So in November 2022, I returned to the Antarctic. I chose to go with Oceanwide Expeditions, a company that was upfront about the risks. It advertised the possibility of seeing emperor penguins on Snow Hill Island, but its literature offered two different itineraries: one if we could reach the colonies and another in case the ice conditions didn’t allow it. The likelihood of actually getting to Snow Hill was stated to be less than 50 percent, though I suspected it was even lower. Still, if I didn’t try, my chance of seeing emperor penguins would be zero.
I had traveled with Quark Expeditions on my first and third Antarctic trips, but this time I chose Oceanwide. While Quark had a nicer ship and included perks such as lodging in Ushuaia and airport transfers, its prices were steep — around $27,000 for a shared triple cabin and $36,000 for a double. Oceanwide’s price for a shared double was more reasonable, around $14,000, so I decided it was worth the gamble.
I went, and I was lucky. We were able to make helicopter landings on two days, getting up close to the emperor penguins. After that, the wind conditions worsened, and most of the remaining shore landings were canceled. But I didn’t mind. The other landings were on islands I had already visited. My only goal was to see emperors, and I accomplished that. I was thrilled.
Ken Levine
Ken Levine, an experienced traveler, has a passion for Antarctic history. He has been to Antarctica four times, has an extensive library of books on polar history, and has examined polar artifacts in museums in England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Norway, Argentina, Chile, Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand.