Life on Board the RCGS Resolute

Ushuaia to Falkland Islands

Someone asked me about the trip the other day ‘don’t you get bored when you’re at sea?’

Life on board a professionally run vessel is anything but boring. Ships all have their routines and rhythms perforce. And these generally revolve around meals! Typically we would wake to our expedition leader’s dulcet tones over the intercom: “Good morning, good morning, good morning. This is RCGS Resolute. It is 7am and we are now in position for… ” etc. “We hope to commence operations at… Please listen up for announcements. Breakfast is now being served in the bistro or in the dining room.”

A sizeable cooked breakfast was on offer in the dining room, or you could graze freestyle at the bistro. It was an important slightly private part of the day, as you never knew quite what the later draws on your energy might be, if making a landing. I favoured the airy bistro on the upper deck where you could get outside quickly if you wanted to. People clutched their coffees and spoke in hushed tones, sometimes going out to take photos or to assess the cold. This was also important as it determined how much clothing you might put on. Occasionally there’d be a call from the bridge and everything stopped when there was a whale or bird sighting. There would follow a mad dash to seize cameras and an extra layer to join the ranks of avid photographers outside.

A close dialogue necessarily existed between the bridge and the Expedition Leader. Whilst the ship’s Captain had to steer us safely, the Expedition Leader had the tricky task of planning the hoped-for landings while communicating some slightly open ended outcomes to the rest of us. Weather in the Southern Ocean is intensely variable, so despite the best efforts of all concerned, certain operations have to be pulled at the last moment. We had even got as far as the beach by zodiac on one occasion, but could not land as the wind had whipped up and the wave height was building. It was a cold soaking as we sploshed back through icy chop in driving sleet. However, by that stage we had all come to meekly accept whatever happened.

One highlight of the day was the weather forecast. This came at lunch time. Famously, having delivering news of the challenging (near gale) conditions on Drake Passage, including 10m wave heights and 40 knot winds, he wished us all a pleasant day….

Sea sickness was certainly an issue for some. One’s sense of balance constantly has to adjust, because the floor is not always in the same place as it was last time. Many retreated to their cabins. I am blessed with many secret afflictions but I do have reasonable sea legs. My only symptom was a slight sleepiness or urge to get outside. It is important to keep blood sugars up by nibbling on dry biscuit or bread. On our first bit of ‘rough’, I went to check on my friend who was stuck in her cabin. Possibly fuelled by the wine at dinner, I thought I would try running down the corridors. With the floor coming at all angles, the centre of gravity kept changing, so I felt almost weightless. This proved to be great fun; a bit like flying. (Not for everyone, I realise).

The ship was like a floating university of specialists and enthusiasts, passionately keen to teach us about the places that we were going to experience. At sea we were kept busy with immersive lectures from our guest speakers: they were Stephen Venables, Everest mountaineer, Canadian naturalist Brian Keating, Welsh photographer Sue Flood, and Canadian anthropologist Wade Davis as well as the resident One Ocean historian Katie, whose knowledge of Antarctic history was spell binding. She took us right into the heart of human endurance with stories of the early days Antarctic exploration. All kept us entranced on many a rough section of sea, kindly willing to answer all questions, whether complex or simple. Brian’s unbridled passion for any kind of wild life, liberally illustrated by video clips collected from his multitudinous journeys, raised the ship’s mood every time he spoke. Sue Flood was incredibly generous with her tips and guidance on how to take and frame a photograph which communicated. Her enviable skill in capturing character and textural detail, not to mention movement, both inspired and humbled. Wade spoke fervently of the human spirit: of how WW1 had spawned a generation of defiant survivors whose ferocious desire to explore the world coupled with a fearless tenacity in pursuit of their dreams, (as in George Mallory’s bid for Everest in 1921-24), had led them to the extremes of human existence. He also graphically illustrated the universal human instinct to survive against all the odds, as so many indigenous tribes have to continue to do in the face of the marauding west. Stephen captivated us with his passionately delivered but modest accounts of his extraordinary climbing feats. He was part of a team of four on the first ascent of Everest via the Kangshung Face and was also the first Briton to summit without oxygen, alone. He spoke honestly and openly about the difficult decisions which had to be made, and of the battles with his mind against giving in to fatigue. It had been a narrow squeak making it down.

Wade, Sue and Stephen

On our first day of ‘steaming’ (being at sea), we were inducted into the rules of biosecurity. In order to preserve the ecology of our landing sites, South Georgia and the Antarctic Peninsula in particular, we had to be rigorously schooled in properly scrubbing our gum boots, and remembering to give them a final dip in biocide. Then there was the removal of anything at all from our oilskins (Gills) that might carry ashore some contagion. Velcro patches on our kit had to be removed or closely picked over in case a single shred of white tissue or similar might have adhered. I think my boots were rejected three times before I passed muster. It was good training however, and soon we were merrily trading the wire brush for the hose when trying to get the best result and outsmart the Mud Room über führer.

Here’s me having snaffled the wire brush..

There was an unspoken no frills pact between the ladies. Only in the evening would some apply a few strokes of war paint in an attempt to feel less weather blown. You had to be quick though as there was always the official round up of the day and tomorrow’s briefing happening at 6.30pm during Happy Hour!

The great thing about the Resolute was that she was warm. This we felt deeply grateful for if we’d been out dodging brash or ice bergs in the Zodiacs. I had been very concerned about feeling the cold before the trip, bringing with me a trunk load of toe warmers, but after layering up with merino base layers, silk socks (fantastic!!) and hiking socks over the top of those, hands swathed in two pairs of gloves, and the whole over coated by a hat, neck gaiter and oilies, I can honestly say I was fine.

Trying out the togs ..!

There was the inevitable pre-swelter as you garbed up on board before lining up for the chill of the Zodiacs, but once ashore, and moving around you quickly generated more heat.

Ashore – when suddenly the sun came out!

The end of the day was a great time to share photos or badger the experts. Jeremy and I had recently bought digital mirrorless cameras, equivalent to the old SLRs, but smaller bodied and more than able to do the same work. We had even done ‘Level One’ of a photography course at home. But to begin with, we both felt woefully challenged by their operation. There was much cursing in the marsh as our inexperienced fingers and thumbs fumbled over the buttons and changed a newly found precious setting. Indeed I was so cross one day I felt like stamping. Mercifully a lovely man called Euan (below, with his wife Nicola)

showed me what was happening: a simple case of mistakenly set ‘Post Focus’. (‘”What???) (I will explain if you don’t know, but not here!) Since everyone else clearly knew what they were doing, we each developed a cunning technique of stalking a friendly looking photographer, sidling up casually and saying something like “Sorry, but what shutter speed were you using?” Or “Were you shooting in burst or bracketing just then?” (A little knowledge is a dangerous thing). As for the size of Aperture one chooses, why the F numbers are inversely proportioned to the depth of field you require is difficult to grasp at first, until finally the penny drops… You can only learn by doing it. However, thanks to the sterling offers of help, and our own stubborn persistence, things did gradually start to make sense. Jeremy’s acute vision often bagged him some stunning shots. My misty eyes were much slower. But through a burgeoning sense of competition I developed a working knowledge of the camera menu and was able to advise him on such things as restoring the ‘Auto White Balance,’ customising the point of focus or removing a pre-set filter. This was shamefully gratifying. Thanks to Sue, ‘Histograms’ crept onto the syllabus, so that we started to adjust the light compensation, in, for example, very white conditions. Nearly everyone had a camera slung round their neck and a lens bag. We simply had to get on with it.

Often, after dinner, a film or a talk was offered in ‘Tall Tales from the Bar.’ Brian’s epithet ‘Shameless Shorts’ was coined for some of the short wildlife video clips he would show.

These comprised wonderful micro bites of his extensive wildlife travels with his wife Dee. As I said before, his avuncular inclusivity and playful approach made it impossible not to get excited about spotting a black browed Albatross or a group of Gentoo Penguins coursing through the water.

By the time we reached our first stop, the Falkland Islands, we felt ready for anything.