Chimu adventures’ Miles Buesst describes the wonders of camping at the end of the world-Antarctica.
You are unlikely to get much sleep if you go camping whilst on an Antarctic Expedition in early February: sunset is at around 11.30pm and sunrise at 4.30am, and you certainly don’t want to miss either of them, I can assure you. Sleeping seems rather a waste of your precious time overnighting on the Continent of Antarctica, as, by staying awake, you can listen to the rumble of glaciers calving in the distance; watch the stars of the Southern Hemisphere without any light pollution whatsoever; or perhaps hear the sound of a humpback whale releasing air from its blowhole.
I had the privilege of experiencing all these phenomena while on the 11-day Antarctic Peninsula cruise on the M/V Plancius. A group of 15 passengers, of five nationalities, was taken by our intrepid guide, Jim, whose no-nonsense good humour inspired complete confidence.
Most people were keen to sleep in the open air, if the weather was favourable, but we still had to set up our three-man, igloo tents, in case the fickle Antarctic weather turned nasty. This took the best part of an hour, as we were all overexcited … as well as ham-fisted and clueless! Arranging one’s bedding was no simple matter either: there were two
Antarctica Sunset
sleeping bags and a liner to go one inside the other, and then place on two sleeping mats (one of which had to be inflated). Finally, all this was placed inside a snow-proof ‘bivvy bag’. Getting into this lot and zipping up was no easy matter, by the way, and needed a contortionist’s flexibility, combined with a trapeze artist’s strength (neither of which I have)!
Jim had recommended sleeping naked (with a hat on), as the warmth inside the bag was created by body heat. However, I’m afraid to say that I was too sissy for this, and slept wearing three tops, long johns and socks … as well as my woolly hat, of course. (I certainly didn’t regret that decision when the sunrise woke us up at 5am, and I had to emerge from my cocoon to minus 5 degree Celsius temperatures.)
Before going to sleep however, there was still time and light to investigate our surroundings, on a small hill overlooking Wordie House, an early British research station that has now been designated as a Historic Site and Monument under the Antarctic Treaty System. It was not all peace and tranquillity, mind you: we were sharing the campsite with a flock of skuas, an aggressive, territorial seabird, known to attack the heads of humans, putting one in mind of Hitchcock’s The Birds. Having seen one of these birds killing and ripping apart a baby penguin earlier in the day, I was sufficiently scared and walked around waving my hat above my head to deter attack.
