Vernadsky Station and Port Lockroy, Antarctica
When you announced to your friends and family your intention to visit Antarctica, the most frequently asked question was probably: “Why?” You could tell them of penguins, seals, whales, and icebergs. But could you ever begin to describe the scenic majesty of Antarctica? The ice in all of its manifestations of size, shape and color, some of it cookie-cutter fresh, some sculpted by time, wind, and waves into improbable shapes, pinnacles, and arches? Could you tell of mountains rising straight up from the sea, catching the early-evening light above a mantle of fog, which suddenly opened to reveal a snow-clad peak? Or the warm colors of the setting sun (at 10:30 in the evening!) as it slides along the horizon, seemingly reluctant to leave us and soon to return? Or the reflections of ice and mountains in the still water? For most of us, Antarctica is more that we could ever have expected and, in so many ways, more than our cameras could ever record. But we keep trying.
Today we immersed ourselves in relatively recent Antarctic history. We began with a visit to the Ukrainian Vernadsky Station. It began as a British Antarctic Survey research base called Faraday. It was here that ozone depletion over Antarctica was first detected, and atmospheric research remains a priority. Nearby was the Wordie Hut, a 1950s-vintage BAS base and window into the lives of Antarctic scientists of that era. Their word processor was a manual typewriter, their computer a hand-cranked calculator, their data recording device a pencil and logbook – all left on the tables when the base was superceded by Faraday. We went on to the former BAS base at Port Lockroy. It is now restored as an Antarctic museum and home to the farthest-south souvenir shop and post office. We mailed postcards to the friends and family mentioned above, and to ourselves just to see how long they would take to arrive. The base on tiny Goudier Island is home to nesting gentoo penguins, who took no notice at all of our visit; their downy young sprawled in the path. We could circumnavigate Goudier Island by kayak, and gaze down into the water to see the bones of giant whales taken from these waters for their oil, which was turned into soap and margarine in an era now, gratefully (for the remaining whales), past.
When you announced to your friends and family your intention to visit Antarctica, the most frequently asked question was probably: “Why?” You could tell them of penguins, seals, whales, and icebergs. But could you ever begin to describe the scenic majesty of Antarctica? The ice in all of its manifestations of size, shape and color, some of it cookie-cutter fresh, some sculpted by time, wind, and waves into improbable shapes, pinnacles, and arches? Could you tell of mountains rising straight up from the sea, catching the early-evening light above a mantle of fog, which suddenly opened to reveal a snow-clad peak? Or the warm colors of the setting sun (at 10:30 in the evening!) as it slides along the horizon, seemingly reluctant to leave us and soon to return? Or the reflections of ice and mountains in the still water? For most of us, Antarctica is more that we could ever have expected and, in so many ways, more than our cameras could ever record. But we keep trying.
Today we immersed ourselves in relatively recent Antarctic history. We began with a visit to the Ukrainian Vernadsky Station. It began as a British Antarctic Survey research base called Faraday. It was here that ozone depletion over Antarctica was first detected, and atmospheric research remains a priority. Nearby was the Wordie Hut, a 1950s-vintage BAS base and window into the lives of Antarctic scientists of that era. Their word processor was a manual typewriter, their computer a hand-cranked calculator, their data recording device a pencil and logbook – all left on the tables when the base was superceded by Faraday. We went on to the former BAS base at Port Lockroy. It is now restored as an Antarctic museum and home to the farthest-south souvenir shop and post office. We mailed postcards to the friends and family mentioned above, and to ourselves just to see how long they would take to arrive. The base on tiny Goudier Island is home to nesting gentoo penguins, who took no notice at all of our visit; their downy young sprawled in the path. We could circumnavigate Goudier Island by kayak, and gaze down into the water to see the bones of giant whales taken from these waters for their oil, which was turned into soap and margarine in an era now, gratefully (for the remaining whales), past.
