The Greenpeace ship Arctic Sunrise making its way through icy seas. Photograph: Daniel Beltrá/Daniel Beltrá / Greenpeace
Our environment correspondent Matthew Taylor travelled to an unforgettable region to witness the threat it faces
5 February, Punta Arenas, Chile
I have arrived in Punta Arenas on the southern tip of Chile after a 24-hour whistlestop tour of South American airports. Pleased to see my bags have made it too. I was asked to avoid packing synthetic and down clothing wherever possible because it could contaminate the environment, so was pleased all those carefully selected natural fibres had made it with me across the Atlantic. Luke, my press contact at Greenpeace, meets me, which is just as well as I don’t really speak Spanish. We get a taxi to the dock and I have my first view of the Arctic Sunrise – the Greenpeace ship last in the news when it was stormed by the Russian FSB in the Arctic. It is bustling with people fixing things, loading things, working and chatting. Everyone is friendly. I wonder about the different stories that bring them all here. Are they the kind of people who want to jump off the edge of the map, as Werner Herzog found in his documentary about the Antarctic? The ship is smaller than I’d imagined and more “workmanlike”. If I had ever been in any doubt, I now realise that the next two weeks, crossing some of the roughest water in the world to a place that is mostly uninhabitable, isn’t going to be a cruise.
6 February, Punta Arenas
We were meant to set sail first thing this morning. But the ship is still a flurry of activity and the weather in the Drake Passage – the notorious stretch of water between South America and the Antarctic – is described as “not good”, so we have to wait. I decide to stretch my legs with a walk into the centre of Punta Arenas. It starts off well with a magical view out over forbidding seas towards the Southern Ocean, and I think I spot an albatross. But it ends more prosaically when I am attacked by a dog.
7 February, Punta Arenas
At breakfast I hear sobering tales of the passage ahead. Apparently the ship is notorious for its pitching and rolling, and known affectionately as the “washing machine.” The ship’s doctor, a lovely man, said it can be so severe the walls become the floor and if you hold on to the rail on the bridge your legs fly up behind you so you effectively do a handstand. In the afternoon, I work in my cabin – I want to make sure I make the most of the trip journalistically. Greenpeace is supporting an EU-backed proposal to create the world’s biggest ocean sanctuary in the waters around Antarctica – seas controlled by a disparate group of countries including the UK, US and Australia. While here I hope to report on the undiscovered ecosystems discovered by scientists on board the ship, the threats facing wildlife because of climate change and krill fishing, and the state of the Antarctic ice shelves. But at least as important for me is to soak up as much as I can of this place, and to absorb any wider lessons there may be here for the broader environment movement.
The Guardian’s Matthew Taylor in the Antarctic. Photograph: Daniel Beltrá/Daniel Beltrá / Greenpeace
8 February, Punta Arenas
Did some exercise in the makeshift gym in the hold (a couple of yoga mats, some free weights, a rowing machine and exercise bike) before breakfast. At 8am it is cleaning duty – as I am not crew I don’t have to help out but was told that it aids morale if people pitch in. Surprisingly I have found I quite enjoy sweeping the corridors and cleaning the toilets – it makes me feel, in a very small way, part of the daily routine of life on board. We are due to set sail today and at lunch I overhear the captain and some of the engineers laughing as the “newbies” (journalists, photographers, Greenpeace campaign team) tumble into the mess, talking and laughing. They say something along the lines of “look at them all laughing and happy now ... they have no idea what is coming”.
9 February, Atlantic Ocean, Argentinian coast
I wake to a moderate swell. During cleaning duties I begin to feel a bit rough so finish an article and lie down, which helps a lot. Later I go up on the bridge and speak to the first mate, Fernando, who shows me the weather forecast for the next few days – five-metre-plus swell and 40-knot headwinds. “It will be rough,” he tells me cheerfully. “You will not enjoy it, but it is not dangerous.”
11 February, Drake Passage
I have not been able to leave my bunk for two days as the ship is tossed around by huge waves. The pitching and rolling don’t seem to have any rhythm. One minute I am being pushed with some force into my mattress - the next I am lifted, almost hovering, above the bed. My head is repeatedly shunted into the headboard, my feet into the wall at the end of the bed. Every so often a wave catches the boat just right and I am lifted and shunted at the same time so I am left standing, pretty much vertical, on the wall at the bottom of my bed. I try to make it to the mess but the stairs, which in normal times are steep, become momentarily horizontal when each wave hits. My brain, in its current scrambled state, cannot work out when it is safe to try to get up them, so I retreat to my bed. Luke very kindly brings me a banana.
12 February, Drake Passage
Apparently I am not the only one who has been suffering. Many people have been confined to their bunks and Tom, our Antarctic safety expert, has been so ill he has been put on a drip. Managed to get up for a bit this afternoon and watch Pulp Fiction on the ship television but soon retreat to my bunk. Been told that tomorrow we will wake up in Antarctica proper – and calmer waters!
13 February, Selvick Cove, Antarctic peninsula (64°39′S 62°34′W)
A different world. I see an iceberg through the porthole in the cabin before I get out of bed. After my first breakfast in three days I go onto deck – the first time we have been allowed outside in days. The sea is much calmer and the air bitterly cold. It is quite a scene. Low cloud obscures the tops of the ice-covered mountains rising straight out of the sea and icebergs loom up on either side of the ship. Before I have finished my cup of tea, I see three pods of whales, several seals and innumerable penguins. The place teems with life. To my deprived modern eye, used to sparsely populated “nature”, it feels an almost claustrophobic, disconcerting level of abundance. Another whale – a humpback – arches its tail out of the water and dives into the deep 100 metres from the ship. We have arrived.
Gentoo penguins at Neko Harbour. Photograph: Daniel Beltrá/Daniel Beltrá / Greenpeace
A different world. I see an iceberg through the porthole in the cabin before I get out of bed. After my first breakfast in three days I go onto deck – the first time we have been allowed outside in days. The sea is much calmer and the air bitterly cold. It is quite a scene. Low cloud obscures the tops of the ice-covered mountains rising straight out of the sea and icebergs loom up on either side of the ship. Before I have finished my cup of tea, I see three pods of whales, several seals and innumerable penguins. The place teems with life. To my deprived modern eye, used to sparsely populated “nature”, it feels an almost claustrophobic, disconcerting level of abundance. Another whale – a humpback – arches its tail out of the water and dives into the deep 100 metres from the ship. We have arrived.
14 February, Danco Island, Antarctic peninsula (64°44′S 62°37′W)
Greenpeace takes its responsibilities here seriously. The expedition involves lots of landings to view penguin colonies and seals close up. We have had several biosecurity briefings explaining how to avoid spreading diseases on our boots and clothes. And today we have to abort a trip to a penguin colony for the wonderful reason that there is too much wildlife. It is impossible to land without disturbing them. As one of the ship’s crew says, “this has to be a place where the needs of the wildlife come before anything else.”
Greenpeace takes its responsibilities here seriously. The expedition involves lots of landings to view penguin colonies and seals close up. We have had several biosecurity briefings explaining how to avoid spreading diseases on our boots and clothes. And today we have to abort a trip to a penguin colony for the wonderful reason that there is too much wildlife. It is impossible to land without disturbing them. As one of the ship’s crew says, “this has to be a place where the needs of the wildlife come before anything else.”
15 February, Cuverville Island, Antarctic peninsula (64°41′S 62°38′W)
I’m supposed to be going on a helicopter ride across the peninsula to land – the first time it’s been done – on the huge iceberg the size of London that broke away from the Larsen C ice shelf last year. So far, however, the weather has not been good enough. I am slightly anxious about the trip as the pilot, who is very experienced in the region, is obviously not convinced it is a good idea (too far, difficult terrain, etc). But we are on standby to fly at first light tomorrow if weather permits.
I’m supposed to be going on a helicopter ride across the peninsula to land – the first time it’s been done – on the huge iceberg the size of London that broke away from the Larsen C ice shelf last year. So far, however, the weather has not been good enough. I am slightly anxious about the trip as the pilot, who is very experienced in the region, is obviously not convinced it is a good idea (too far, difficult terrain, etc). But we are on standby to fly at first light tomorrow if weather permits.
16 February, Neko Harbour, Antarctic peninsula (64°50′S 62°39′W)
A bad night’s sleep, due in part to the prospect of the helicopter trip and in part to dreams haunted by the wonderful book I am reading – Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World, a fascinating and terrifying account of the bravery of the men involved in the British attempt to reach the south pole in 1910. At a 4am meeting, it is decided the weather is too bad. Later, Greenpeace decides to cancel the trip altogether because of the pilot’s concerns. It is a shame, but the right decision. It is the second mate’s birthday and there’s a bit of a party in the evening, booze flowing and good fun all round.
A bad night’s sleep, due in part to the prospect of the helicopter trip and in part to dreams haunted by the wonderful book I am reading – Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World, a fascinating and terrifying account of the bravery of the men involved in the British attempt to reach the south pole in 1910. At a 4am meeting, it is decided the weather is too bad. Later, Greenpeace decides to cancel the trip altogether because of the pilot’s concerns. It is a shame, but the right decision. It is the second mate’s birthday and there’s a bit of a party in the evening, booze flowing and good fun all round.
18 February, McFarlane Strait to Hero Bay
A magical day. It is my favourite kind of weather: clear blue sky and sharp cold air. The visibility is pin-sharp and the views from the ship are quite incredible – some of the ridges and peaks I can see would be famous if they were anywhere else in the world. Spent a couple of hours in a penguin colony just watching them waddle to and from the sea, as seals bobbed in and out of the surf and whales glided past in the distance. A day that will stay long in the memory.
Greenpeace inflatables explore one of the South Shetland Islands. Photograph: Daniel Beltrá/Daniel Beltrá / Greenpeace
A magical day. It is my favourite kind of weather: clear blue sky and sharp cold air. The visibility is pin-sharp and the views from the ship are quite incredible – some of the ridges and peaks I can see would be famous if they were anywhere else in the world. Spent a couple of hours in a penguin colony just watching them waddle to and from the sea, as seals bobbed in and out of the surf and whales glided past in the distance. A day that will stay long in the memory.
20 February, King George Island (62°02′S 58°21′W)
Last morning on the ship. We don’t have to brave the Drake Passage on the way back, but our flight on a small plane to Chile is weather-dependent, so I’m a bit tense. I have been away for nearly three weeks and I’m keen to be reunited with my young family. But after a couple of hours’ wait we get the all-clear from the airport – which I later discover consists of a couple of huts on a bleak, wind-ravaged island – and we are on our way. I take one last look out of the window at the Antarctic being swallowed up by the cloud below. What a privilege it has been.
Last morning on the ship. We don’t have to brave the Drake Passage on the way back, but our flight on a small plane to Chile is weather-dependent, so I’m a bit tense. I have been away for nearly three weeks and I’m keen to be reunited with my young family. But after a couple of hours’ wait we get the all-clear from the airport – which I later discover consists of a couple of huts on a bleak, wind-ravaged island – and we are on our way. I take one last look out of the window at the Antarctic being swallowed up by the cloud below. What a privilege it has been.
21 February, Santiago Airport, Chile
I sit in the airport, having a beer and waiting for my 14-hour flight back to London. The images of ice and mountains, and the abundance of life in Antarctic waters, are still fresh in my mind: they bring a smile to my face as I write. I have discovered I don’t possess sea-legs but have nevertheless managed to publisharticles from the ship, trying to give readers an idea of what is at stake down here – and how a new ocean sanctuary might begin to address some of those issues. I feel I have gained a lifelong appreciation for this truly remarkable place and an understanding – which I hope has come across in my reporting – that although Antarctica seems like an untouched, pristine wilderness, it is threatened by the all-too-familiar perils of climate change and industrial-scale fishing. As I scroll through my emails waiting to board, I read some grim reports about freakishly high temperatures at the other side of the world, in the Arctic. This only reinforces the overriding impression I have been left with at the end of this trip: if we don’t wake up to the threats we face and change, this place – along with much else – will be lost.
I sit in the airport, having a beer and waiting for my 14-hour flight back to London. The images of ice and mountains, and the abundance of life in Antarctic waters, are still fresh in my mind: they bring a smile to my face as I write. I have discovered I don’t possess sea-legs but have nevertheless managed to publisharticles from the ship, trying to give readers an idea of what is at stake down here – and how a new ocean sanctuary might begin to address some of those issues. I feel I have gained a lifelong appreciation for this truly remarkable place and an understanding – which I hope has come across in my reporting – that although Antarctica seems like an untouched, pristine wilderness, it is threatened by the all-too-familiar perils of climate change and industrial-scale fishing. As I scroll through my emails waiting to board, I read some grim reports about freakishly high temperatures at the other side of the world, in the Arctic. This only reinforces the overriding impression I have been left with at the end of this trip: if we don’t wake up to the threats we face and change, this place – along with much else – will be lost.
Nuestro corresponsal de medio ambiente Matthew Taylor viajó a una región inolvidable para presenciar la amenaza que enfrenta
5 de febrero, Punta Arenas, Chile
Llegué a Punta Arenas, en el extremo sur de Chile, después de un recorrido de 24 horas por los aeropuertos sudamericanos. Me complace ver que mis maletas también lo han hecho. Me pidieron que evitara empacar ropa sintética y de plumón siempre que fuera posible porque podía contaminar el medio ambiente, por lo que me complació que todas esas fibras naturales cuidadosamente seleccionadas hubieran logrado cruzar el Atlántico conmigo. Luke, mi contacto de prensa en Greenpeace, se encuentra conmigo, lo cual es tan bueno como realmente no hablo español. Tomamos un taxi hasta el muelle y tengo mi primera vista del Arctic Sunrise: el barco de Greenpeace fue noticia por última vez cuando fue asaltado por el FSB ruso en el Ártico. Está lleno de gente arreglando cosas, cargando cosas, trabajando y conversando. Todos son amigables. Me pregunto acerca de las diferentes historias que los traen aquí. ¿Son el tipo de personas que quieren saltar del borde del mapa, como descubrió Werner Herzog en su documental sobre la Antártida? El barco es más pequeño de lo que había imaginado y más "trabajador". Si alguna vez hubiera tenido alguna duda, ahora me doy cuenta de que las próximas dos semanas, cruzar algunas de las aguas más agitadas del mundo a un lugar que en su mayoría es inhabitable, no será un crucero.
6 de febrero, Punta Arenas
Estábamos destinados a zarpar a primera hora de esta mañana. Pero el barco sigue siendo un torbellino de actividad y el clima en el Pasaje Drake -el notorio tramo de agua entre Sudamérica y la Antártida- se describe como "no bueno", así que tenemos que esperar. Decido estirar las piernas caminando hacia el centro de Punta Arenas. Empieza bien con una vista mágica sobre mar amenazador hacia el Océano Austral, y creo que veo un albatros. Pero termina más prosaicamente cuando soy atacado por un perro.
7 de febrero, Punta Arenas
En el desayuno, escucho historias aleccionadoras del pasaje por delante. Aparentemente, el barco es famoso por sus lanzamientos y vueltas, y conocido cariñosamente como la "lavadora". El médico del barco, un hombre encantador, dijo que puede ser tan severo que las paredes se convierten en el piso y si te agarras a la barandilla del puentea tus piernas hacia atrás para que puedas hacer una parada de manos. Por la tarde, trabajo en mi cabina; quiero asegurarme de que aproveche al máximo el viaje de forma periodística. Greenpeace está apoyando una propuesta respaldada por la UE para crear el mayor santuario marino del mundo en las aguas alrededor de la Antártida, mares controlados por un grupo dispar de países, incluidos el Reino Unido, EE. UU. Y Australia. Mientras estoy aquí espero informar sobre los ecosistemas no descubiertos descubiertos por los científicos a bordo del barco, las amenazas que enfrenta la vida silvestre debido al cambio climático y la pesca de kril, y el estado de las plataformas de hielo de la Antártida. Pero al menos tan importante para mí es absorber todo lo que pueda de este lugar, y absorber cualquier lección más amplia que pueda haber aquí para el movimiento más amplio del medio ambiente.
8 de febrero, Punta Arenas
Hizo algo de ejercicio en el gimnasio improvisado en la bodega (un par de colchonetas de yoga, algunas pesas, una máquina de remo y una bicicleta de ejercicios) antes del desayuno. A las 8 a.m. es tarea de limpieza, ya que no soy miembro de la cuadrilla, no tengo que ayudar, pero me dijeron que ayuda a la moral si la gente apoya. Sorprendentemente, he descubierto que disfruto barriendo los pasillos y limpiando los baños, me hace sentir, de una manera muy pequeña, parte de la rutina diaria de la vida a bordo. Hoy zarparemos y en el almuerzo escucho al capitán y algunos de los ingenieros riendo mientras los "novatos" (periodistas, fotógrafos, equipo de campaña de Greenpeace) caen en el comedor, hablando y riendo. Dicen algo como "míralos todos riendo y felices ahora ... no tienen idea de lo que viene".
9 de febrero, Océano Atlántico, costa argentina
Me despierto con un oleaje moderado. Durante las tareas de limpieza, comienzo a sentirme un poco rudo, así que termine un artículo y acuéstese, lo que ayuda mucho. Más tarde subí al puente y hablé con el primer oficial, Fernando, quien me mostró el pronóstico del tiempo para los próximos días: olas de cinco metros o más y vientos en contra de 40 nudos. "Va a ser duro", me dice alegremente. "No lo disfrutarás, pero no es peligroso".
11 de febrero, Paso del Drake
No he podido dejar mi litera durante dos días mientras el barco es sacudido por enormes olas. El lanzamiento y el balanceo no parecen tener ningún ritmo. Un minuto me empujan con fuerza contra el colchón; al siguiente me levantan, casi flotando, sobre la cama. Mi cabeza es repetidamente desviada hacia la cabecera, mis pies en la pared al final de la cama. De vez en cuando una ola atrapa el bote justo y me levantan y se desvían al mismo tiempo, así que me quedo de pie, casi vertical, en la pared al pie de la cama. Intento llegar al desorden pero las escaleras, que en tiempos normales son empinadas, se vuelven momentáneamente horizontales cuando cada ola golpea. Mi cerebro, en su estado revuelto actual, no puede funcionar cuando es seguro tratar de levantarlos, así que me retiro a mi cama. Luke muy amablemente me trae un plátano.
12 de febrero, Paso del Drake
Aparentemente, no soy el único que ha estado sufriendo. Muchas personas han sido confinadas a sus literas y Tom, nuestro experto en seguridad antártica, ha estado tan enfermo que ha sido drogado. Me las arreglé para levantarme un poco esta tarde y mirar Pulp Fiction en la televisión de barco, pero pronto me retiraría a mi litera. Me han dicho que mañana nos despertaremos en la Antártida propiamente dicha, ¡y aguas más tranquilas!
13 de febrero, ensenada de Selvick, península antártica (64 ° 39'S 62 ° 34'O)
Un mundo diferente Veo un iceberg a través del ojo de buey en la cabina antes de salir de la cama. Después de mi primer desayuno en tres días, salgo a cubierta, la primera vez que se nos permite salir en días. El mar está mucho más tranquilo y el aire es muy frío. Es toda una escena. Las nubes bajas oscurecen las cumbres de las montañas cubiertas de hielo que se elevan desde el mar y los icebergs se ciernen a ambos lados del barco. Antes de terminar mi taza de té, veo tres grupos de ballenas, varias focas e innumerables pingüinos. El lugar rebosa de vida. Para mi ojo moderno privado, acostumbrado a la "naturaleza" escasamente poblada, se siente un nivel de abundancia casi claustrofóbico y desconcertante. Otra ballena, una ballena jorobada, arquea su cola fuera del agua y se zambulle en las profundidades a 100 metros del barco. Hemos llegado.
14 de febrero, isla Danco, península Antártica (64 ° 44'S 62 ° 37'O)
Greenpeace toma sus responsabilidades aquí en serio. La expedición implica muchos aterrizajes para ver las colonias de pingüinos y las focas de cerca. Hemos tenido varios informes de bioseguridad explicando cómo evitar la propagación de enfermedades en nuestras botas y ropa. Y hoy tenemos que abortar un viaje a una colonia de pingüinos por la maravillosa razón de que hay demasiada vida salvaje. Es imposible aterrizar sin molestarlos. Como dice uno de los tripulantes del barco, "este tiene que ser un lugar donde las necesidades de la vida silvestre estén antes que cualquier otra cosa".
15 de febrero, isla Cuverville, península antártica (64 ° 41'S 62 ° 38'O)
Se supone que voy en un viaje en helicóptero a través de la península para aterrizar, la primera vez que se ha hecho, en el enorme iceberg del tamaño de Londres que se separó de la plataforma de hielo Larsen C el año pasado. Hasta ahora, sin embargo, el clima no ha sido lo suficientemente bueno. Estoy un poco preocupado por el viaje ya que el piloto, que tiene mucha experiencia en la región, obviamente no está convencido de que sea una buena idea (demasiado lejos, terreno difícil, etc.). Pero estamos listos para volar mañana a primera hora si el clima lo permite.
16 de febrero, puerto de Neko, península antártica (64 ° 50'S 62 ° 39'O)
Una mala noche de sueño, debido en parte a la perspectiva del viaje en helicóptero y en parte a los sueños atormentados por el maravilloso libro que estoy leyendo - El peor viaje en el mundo de Apsley Cherry-Garrard, un relato fascinante y aterrador de la valentía de la hombres involucrados en el intento británico de llegar al polo sur en 1910. En una reunión a las 4 am, se decidió que el clima es muy malo. Más tarde, Greenpeace decide cancelar el viaje por completo debido a las preocupaciones del piloto. Es una pena, pero la decisión correcta. Es el cumpleaños del segundo oficial y hay un poco de fiesta por la noche, el alcohol fluye y es divertido todo el tiempo.
18 de febrero, estrecho de McFarlane a Hero Bay
Un dia magico Es mi tipo de clima favorito: cielo azul claro y aire frío. La visibilidad es nítida y las vistas desde la nave son bastante increíbles, algunas de las crestas y picos que puedo ver serían famosos si estuvieran en cualquier otro lugar del mundo. Pasé un par de horas en una colonia de pingüinos solo observándolos caminar hacia y desde el mar, mientras las focas entraban y salían de las olas y las ballenas se deslizaban en la distancia. Un día que permanecerá largo en la memoria.
20 de febrero, isla Rey Jorge (62 ° 02'S 58 ° 21'O)
La última mañana en el barco. No tenemos que desafiar el Pasaje Drake en el camino de regreso, pero nuestro vuelo en un avión pequeño a Chile depende del clima, por lo que estoy un poco tenso. He estado ausente durante casi tres semanas y estoy ansioso por reunirme con mi joven familia. Pero después de un par de horas de espera, conseguimos despejarnos del aeropuerto, que más tarde descubriré consiste en un par de cabañas en una isla desolada y arrasada por el viento, y estamos en camino. Echo un último vistazo por la ventana a la Antártida que es tragada por la nube de abajo. Qué privilegio ha sido.
21 de febrero, aeropuerto de Santiago, Chile
Me siento en el aeropuerto tomando una cerveza y esperando mi vuelo de 14 horas de regreso a Londres. Las imágenes de hielo y montañas, y la abundancia de vida en las aguas antárticas, todavía están frescas en mi mente: me hacen sonreír mientras escribo. Descubrí que no poseo piernas de mar, pero sin embargo he logrado publicar artículos del barco, tratando de darles a los lectores una idea de lo que está en juego aquí, y cómo un nuevo santuario podría comenzar a abordar algunos de esos problemas. . Siento que he ganado una apreciación de por vida por este lugar verdaderamente extraordinario y una comprensión, que espero haya quedado reflejada en mis informes, de que, aunque la Antártida parece una naturaleza intacta y prístina, está amenazada por los peligros demasiado familiares de cambio climático y pesca a escala industrial. Mientras me desplazo a través de mis correos electrónicos a la espera de abordar, leo algunos informes sombríos sobre las temperaturas anormalmente altas en el otro lado del mundo, en el Ártico. Esto solo refuerza la impresión primordial que me ha dejado al final de este viaje: si no despertamos a las amenazas que enfrentamos y cambiamos, este lugar, junto con muchas otras cosas, se perderá.
THE GUARDIAN
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