An Antarctic Ski Odyssey

The Clipper Adventurer motors through the Beagle Channel; a sliver of seawater decapitating the Island of Navarino from Ushuaia and the rest of Terra Del Fuego, the “Land of Fire.” The southernmost tip of South America appears on a map as a primitive projectile pointing south to Terra Australis Incognita, “Unknown Southern Land.”

On deck, 127 eager skiers capture gigabytes of digital memories. The energy level is high amongst this eclectic group of world-class skiers, mountain guides, and hardcore recreationists — even on fire. The excitement and promise of Antarctic exploration engulfs the ship.

The enthusiastic and accomplished posse of skiers and snowboarders are all members of the 2011 Antarctic Peninsula Ski Expedition. Organized by Ice Axe Expeditions, and led by polar adventurer Doug Stoup, the expedition utilizes a 300-foot converted Russian Troller as a base camp for six days of skiing and exploration. Each day zodiacs shuttle small groups of skiers out to glaciated islands and mountains to climb, ski, explore, film and photograph. But, first we need to cross the Drake Passage and its infamous 500 miles of turbulent seas.

The Southern Ocean that surrounds Antarctica forms a colossal ring of turbulent water. Relentless westerly winds, and the corresponding circumpolar current drive massive amounts of cold seawater from west to east. On average, 130 million cubic meters of seawater per second is continuously on the move.

Fellow guides and roommates, Kris Erickson and Andrew McLean, awake early due to the flight and subsequent collision of water bottles, books, sunglasses and various other unattached items in our three-bunk cabin. Our ship, Clipper Adventurer, is rocked by 20-foot swells colliding against its starboard side.  Smaller white-capped waves visibly crisscross the more massive swells, and the same powerful winds that created the swells leave uplifting eddies behind the ship. Albatross and petrels, omnipresent Antarctic seabirds, opportunistically ride these drafts and accompany us across the Drake Passage to the Southern Ocean.

Crossing The Drake Passage

Captain James Cook and Captain James Ross were two of the first explorers to sail in the Southern Ocean. In 1772, Cook reported a frozen hell and wrote “Land doomed to perpetual frigidness, never to feel the warmth of the sun’s rays, whose horrid and savage aspect I have not words to describe.”  In 1841, Ross, in contrast, wrote, “We gazed with feelings of indescribable delight upon a scene of grandeur and magnificence far beyond anything we had before seen or could of conceived.”  The disparity in their reports is more indicative of their own appreciation or disdain for cold, snow, and wilderness than the attributes of the landscape itself. Our own crew of adventurers identifies with the latter and share Captain Ross’s fascination with this final frozen frontier.

Late on the third night we pass through the South Shetland Islands; a chain of volcanic Islands formed by subduction of the West Antarctic continental plate. Within the island chain is Elephant Island, named for its abundant elephant seal population. It became famous for harboring Shackleton’s crew after their ship, The Endurance, was crushed by a freezing Weddell Sea. In 1916 the desperate men of the Endurance Expedition spent four cold and dark months on Elephant Island with little shelter and only penguins and seal meat for food.

As we enjoy a delicious five-course meal aboard our floating hotel, it’s apparent how far we’ve progressed in the last hundred years of exploration. Outside the dining room windows, glimpses of seductive snow covered volcanic peaks and slopes stoke our excitement. After two and a half days on board, we are anxious for land, skiing, and adventure. However, the weather has other plans for us. A cyclone of low pressure has settled over the Islands, and the Ship’s Captain Gunnar informs us that zodiac-flipping winds are in the forecast. The crew pulls anchor and we continue to south to Gerlache Strait, which separates the Palmer Archipelago from the Antarctic Peninsula.

The following morning, the deck is covered in four inches of snow. Translucent blue icebergs and patches of brash ice are scattered about the foggy seas. Seeking shelter from the continuing winds, we enter the Neumeyer Channel, the location of Port Lockroy.

Originally established in 1944, Port Lockroy was part of a secret British wartime initiative to monitor German ships. Today the Antarctic Heritage Trust has restored or replaced the three original buildings. After the British abandoned the station in 1962, Gentoo penguins moved in and established a nesting ground, or “rookery.” The stench of guano fills the air as we marvel at the flightless marine birds.

Gentoo Penguins

Afternoon clouds thin, and the lower flanks of Jabet Peak emerge from the mist. Zodiacs are re-deployed, and we are shuttled to shore. Eight hundred feet of skinning leads us back into the clouds, and visibility declines for the group of four skiers I’m guiding. Our last wand, a couple hundred feet back down the ridge, is barely discernible. We carefully pick our way down, struggling to make turns through a breakable crust.

Skiing is not new to Antarctica, with the first skiers arriving over a century ago during the heroic age of polar exploration, when the 800-mile trek to the geographic South Pole was the ultimate prize. Early explorers experimented with various means of transport; ponies, man hauling, dog teams, tractors, and most relevant—skis. While British expeditions lead by Scott and Shackleton possessed skis, their skill in using them was limited. Norwegian Roald Amundson, however, incorporated them successfully in his scheme to be the first to reach the South Pole.

Today skiing on the frozen white continent is relatively common, with annual ski expeditions to the South Pole, tourist ships offering ski outings on the Peninsula, and researchers and support staff at numerous research stations enjoying skiing for after-hours recreation. On Ross Island, New Zealand’s Scott Base sports a rope tow that runs for a few hours, several times a week, during the summer season.

Bill Dyer: Ski Guide Extraordinaire

On the morning of our second day the Clipper Adventurer heads east to Paradise Harbor, where the 890-meter Mount Hoegh drifts in and out of clouds. On Hoegh’s lower flanks we find heavy, but soft new snow. After several laps, we radio for a zodiac to shuttle us across the harbor to a final powder run on Rojas Peak. Afterwards, our ship navigates the spectacular Aguire Passage, where streaks of translucent blue ice radiate from massive icefalls, tumbling through buttresses of dark igneous rock. The ship exits the tight passage and steers north to Brabant Island and Chiriguano Bay.

On our third day of skiing we harvest some powder in an area nicknamed “The Farm.” At the top of our first run we are accosted by strong winds and near whiteout conditions. By mid-afternoon the winds dissipate, and blue skies settle in. The soft snow develops a crust, and we retreat to the boat for lunch. That afternoon three of us head across the bay to a small but aesthetic unclimbed peak. Confronted with a steep snowfield separated from the glacier by an open crevasse or bergschrund, technical rope work is employed to ascend the last few hundred feet. From the exposed knife-edge summit we have a panoramic view of the 540-meter Mount Victoria and its surrounding satellite peaks. A dozen steep jump turns off the summit return us to lower angle terrain and our return route to the zodiac landing.

We name the peak Mount Victor in honor of its oversized twin sister.

By the following morning, northwesterly winds pack many of the bays along the Danco Coast with impenetrable ice, making our list of primary ski objectives inaccessible. The crew motors north, looking for an open bay and worthy alternatives.  At the entrance of Graham Passage we find what we are seeking: moderate peaks, unbroken glaciers, and good landings. A pod of orcas accompany our zodiac to a rocky landing. Skiers in a later zodiac witness the orcas flip a Weddell Seal off an iceberg and eat it.

Once on land we ascend a thousand feet up a symmetrical bowl of firm snow to a broad saddle, on the other side of which we find a massive crevasse. Blowing snow has filled in the bottom and created a safe ramp for an entrance. We decide to enter and explore.

Caped by a thick snowbridge, the ice cavern is illuminated by blue filtered light. We gaze in awe as we wonder cautiously through the frozen cathedral. Its walls shine like polished glass. The tunnel bends right and opens again to grand view of the heavily crevassed Santos Peak.

"The Blue Room"
Photo by Tom Hicks 

The high elevation and latitude of the Antarctic Continent is extremely conductive to the formation of permanent ice and glaciers. And the process is self-perpetuating. The shiny white surfaces of snow and sea ice reflect most of the sun’s heat back to space creating a positive feedback loop that for five to six million years has locked Antarctica in a perpetual ice age. Today, the Antarctic ice sheet contains 7,200 cubic miles of ice, 70 percent of the world’s fresh water.

After returning to the saddle we enjoy a moderate slope with a firm base and soft surface: Antarctic corn. At the base of the bowl we contour the peaks’ western flank, then reattach our skins, and the five of us ascend the lower summit of the saddle’s western peak. This time, we descend the entire 1,000 feet to the sea where a dozen Chinstrap penguins giddily entertain us while we await our zodiac pick-up.

In the evening, it’s time for the highly anticipated polar plunge; a right of passage for Antarctic travelers. The seawater, laden with salt, has a lower freezing point than fresh water. So, after a person overcomes the initial psychological shock of swimming in below freezing water, the human body can maintain a healthy body core temperature for about fifteen minutes, or enough time to swim a few hundred feet and impress your friends. Dozens of passengers line up on the second and third decks. Initially, things are controlled, as we take turns jumping into the frigid seawater.  Soon, however, mayhem breaks out and passengers are doing flips and cannonball dives off the second and even third deck, some without clothes. Afterwards, the dinning staff fire up the BBQ on the deck and we celebrate with corn on the cob and cheeseburgers.

Early on our fifth ski day, the Clipper Adventurer leaves the shelter and safety of the mainland and crosses the Bransfield Strait back to the South Shetland Islands. Forty-knot winds and 15-foot swells rock the ship. By breakfast time we have found shelter in Admiralty Bay, on the lee side of King George Island. At 10:00 a.m., a zodiac driver drops us off at the mouth of a small glaciated valley. Unlike the larger, and mostly rock free glaciers to the south, this glacier has transported and deposited a sizable amount of rock leaving a broad terminal moraine near its snout.

Arriving at the South Shetland Islands

Between the moraine and the rocky beach is an old stone foundation, likely the remnants of an early 19^th century sealing station. By the end of the 18^th century sealers had seriously depleted fur seals on South Georgia Islands and searched for new seal populations further south. Within three years of discovering South Shetland Islands more than 320,000 fur seal skins and 940 tons of oil had been harvested and the seal population decimated. Today, international treaties prohibit harvesting seals in Antarctica and populations have mostly recovered.

Further up valley is a large 32-degree snowfield covered in fresh wind transported snow. In two and half cumulative years of exploring Antarctica, I had never observed a slab avalanche, I wonder if here I will witness my first.

I carefully punch in a skin track to the top probing at the various layers and their interface. While all the ingredients of a slab avalanche are present: 32 degree slope, slick sliding surface, rapidly transported warm dense snow, a trigger, there is no propagation or evidence of activity. I am the first to ski the slope and intentionally make a hard turn at a convex rollover to see if the slope will fail. Nothing. We spend the next few hours making laps and powder turns.

That afternoon, the ship crosses the bay to Machu Picchu, an unoccupied Peruvian research station. Of the forty-five States that have signed the Antarctic Treaty, agreeing that Antarctica “shall continue forever to be used exclusively for peaceful purposes,” only those that conduct scientific research in the region participate on consultative meetings, and thus partake in the decision-making process. Science is the benefactor of an international competition to have a presence in Antarctica.As a result national research programs have made great contributions to science, by increasing our knowledge of marine biology, glaciology, geology, and both present and past climate conditions. Behind the research station, we ascend a large low angle glacier to its crest. The glacier is smooth and covered with several inches of fresh soft snow. We enjoy a long low angle run back to the Machu Picchu.

The entirety of our sixth ski day is spent exploring Half Moon Bay and Livingston Island. The Island’s Southeast corner is capped with low angle glaciers and a plethora of peaks, faces and couloirs. Starting on the eastern end of the island, we traverse across low angle slopes to peaks situated on the crest, the sea is visible on either side. Descending from the summit of the first peak requires a few turns on steep and scratchy ice. The sun-baked surface is covered by several inches of fresh, soft snow, creating near perfect ski conditions. We rendezvous at the bottom and re-attach our climbing skins, to ascend a more significant peak to the west with a broad but steep face. Crampons are needed to ascend the final several hundred feet to the summit. Soft snow on the forty-five degree slope provides challenging yet euphoric steep turns.

Upon returning to the ship after our final day of skiing, the atmosphere is joyful. Small groups gather around laptops to share images and digital memories. In the 20^th century, there are few places that remain unexplored, and for many modern adventurers, experiencing these remaining wild places is, and will always be the highlight of their lives. As Aldo Leopold famously wrote “What avail are forty freedoms without a blank spot on the map?”