Day 0 – Embarcadero

(4 Dec)

I’m early boarding the Professor Molchanov. It doesn’t look very big, I think, as I walk towards it on the only pier in town. I roll my two bags with the Australians that I met in the lobby of the Albatros earlier. The pier sticks almost straight out into the Beagle Channel. At the ship, we are greeted by staff members checking names off a list and chalking our bags with our cabin numbers. The crew stows my luggage in my cabin, which will be shared by someone I don’t yet know, and I wander the ship, trying to figure out what is what.

An hour before, I had learned of the MV Ushuaia which had just run aground in the part of the Antarctic Peninsula where we’re headed. Pablo sent me a link from a newswire, and I’d loaded the story on my laptop just before leaving the lobby of the Albatros. The Ushuaia may require rescuing. I though I should not say anything about it until after our first dinner and the brief life boat drill to follow. However, as I sat for the first time in the ship’s bar, passengers began asking me what I was reading on my laptop. Some of the tour staff were present, and were very surprised to learn about this. I guess the staff weren’t informed, and maybe even the crew didn’t know. But I don’t suppose they’d advertise it if they did.

There are 51 passengers on this ship capable of holding 52 passengers (one lucky bloke got a cabin to himself without paying for it.) Turns out I’m sharing a cabin with an older Finnish gentlemen named “Viekko.” We’re on the 5th deck, which is fairly high. Is this good? Is it bad? I guess we’ll find out. Not many of the people aboard are wearing the Scopalomine anti-sea-sickness patches behind their ears. One of the guides (Tari) who “specializes in everything that is frozen” is wearing one.

There seem to be few Americans aboard. There is a large Finnish group, which comprises almost half of the passengers. Germans, Aussies, one Japanese fellow and a smattering of others.

As we get underway, the staff introduces itself to us in the crowded bar, and Delfine, the expedition leader gives us a bit of an orientation, including instructions on a soon-to-occur lifeboat drill.

“Frode” the kayaking guide fitted everyone in the kayaking group (there are five of us in total) with wetsuits, skirts and life jackets. Frode seems like a serious fellow. Only he and I will have dry suits, as I had acquired a new Kokatat paddling drysuit just a couple of days before departing San Francisco. I now think that I prepared correctly for the kayaking experience. There are 10 kayaks on board, 5 single, and 5 double. I’m going to try and have my own boat, but we’ll just have to see. Frode gave us a short orientation to how the kayaking goes – turns out that the usual thing to do is to launch directly from the Prof. Molchanov gangway with a Zodiac motor craft to follow and support us. I had been advised when booking the trip that there would be a guide:paddler ratio of 1:2. Here it is 1:5 , unless you count the Zodiac maniac, which makes it 2:5.

Before dinner, the ship’s alarms sound, and we assembled for the drill. Pretty serious. The lifeboat crafts (2) seal up completely and are designed to roll and remain watertight. They have their own prop, supplies including water rations. One glaring thing missing is telecommunications gear. I asked this question, but received a “I’ll get back to you on that” answer. The most interesting thing to me was the tidbit that the first order of business after launching a life boat is to dig out the anti-sea-sickness meds on board. The idea is that with limited supplies, you cannot afford to get dehydrated, and also at very close quarters anyone who becomes nauseous would quickly make the situation even more miserable.

At my randomly selected dining table this evening was Natalie, a friendly young Ukrainian woman. Because she speaks Russian, she is friendly with the non-English speaking Russian crew. She claimed that the captain said the size of the swells in Drake’s Passage (which we have to cross to get to Antarctica) were predicted to be 10 meters (!) tonight. We would not reach the beginning of Drake’s until midnight, since sailing out of Ushuaia and through the Beagle Channel to the open sea would take hours.

In the dining room, the pretty, young, German woman in charge of meal service and hospitality (Jessica) asks every single person (in English, but also in German and Russian) if they liked the dish. She didn’t fail. All 8 people at my table got asked this 3x each. There was something slightly arousing about having her smile broadly at you and say, “Did you like it OK?” or “Was it good for you?” in a charming German accent…

As the evening doesn’t quite fall (it’s light here most of the day and night), our expedition leader, Delfin, gave strong advice over the PA. Firstly, we were to secure everything in the cabin. This was referred to as “Drake-proofing.” (Uh-oh.) Secondly, we were also encouraged to take some sea-sickness meds. (I mean sea-sickness preventing, not sea-sickness causing. The latter wouldn’t make much sense, though, would it? I guess I really am an amateur sailor…)