The First 24 Hours or So ...

The second night in Punta Arenas, Chile. If I may: What a long strange trip it's been to get down here. Saturday morning started with a little snowstorm in Denver, with the inevitable delays to de-ice the plane. Of course, the de-icing machine ran out of fluid, adding another half hour to our time on the ground. Fortunately, my connection at LAX was still a couple of hours away by the time we finally arrive, so plenty of time to make the next plane.

LAX: Still chaotic, still ghetto. And smells like an overused gym locker.

A smooth flight to Santiago, which was warm and humid. The city is hemmed in by mountains, and home to about a third of the country's population. But all I saw of it was the airport for a couple of hours before boarding yet another plane for a final three-hour flight to Punta Arenas. By this time, my eyeballs felt as if someone had been poking them with dry erasers; I hadn't slept much at all during the marathon 24 hours of flying and waiting.

It was a fairly pleasant flight, with tremendous views of the Andes for much of the way. Very different than the Rockies, with some dramatic volcanoes punctuating the endless spine of peaks with their perfectly shaped cones. Punta Arenas' notorious wind greeted us on the descent, rocking the plane back and forth like an overzealous nanny rocking a baby's cradle.

AGUNSA, the company contracted to handle the logistics in Chile, met me at the airport. Punta Arenas is only about a 20-minute drive from the airport. The region and city itself are surprisingly hilly. The town seems to be a mix of ugly modern buildings and some wonderful Old World architecture, including my hotel, Jose Nogueira, which boasts a restaurant in a sort of vine-draped arboretium (quite warm when the sun fights through the constant overcast).

After a much-needed shower, I made for the main square, right around the corner from the hotel. A monument of Ferdinad Magellan dominates the little city park. Travelers are supposed to rub the big, polished toe of an Ona India lounging at Magellan's feet to ensure a safe return to the city. So I rubbed the hell out of that foot.

The food: My Spanish isn't nearly as good as I thought it was, so each meal has been somewhat of a surprise and not entirely what I expected. An order of what I thought would be steak and salad was a sliced beef sandwich covered in tomatoes and drowned in mayo -- a very popular condiment apparently. Seafood is plentiful here, and the local speciality is king crab.

Monday morning was back to work for me -- I went to the AGUNSA warehouse where I picked up my cold weather gear for the trip south and met a few of the people headed down on the other ship in port. The U.S. Antarctic Program has two vessels -- the Palmer and the Gould. The former leaves after we do, headed to the east side of the Anarctic Pensinsula to study the remnants of an ice shelf that collapsed there nearly eight years ago. I'll be aboard the Gould, which will be on its annual voyage to observe the marine ecosystem along the western edge of the Antarctic Peninsula. I'll be with the ship for a while and then spending the remainder of my time at the Palmer research station.

Al Hickey, the point man for Raytheon aboard the Palmer, gave me a tour of the ship in the afternoon. The vessel will be at max capacity with 70 people for its two-month journey, so the deck was packed with equipment. Two helicopters were squeezed into a hangar -- only the second time the ship has sailed with helos.

Tuesday I check out of my hotel and report to the ship, where I'll spend the night before we sail on Wednesday. I'll only have very limited email during the four days it takes to sail to Palmer Station.

Bon voyage!


Helos squeezed into a hangar aboard the Palmer.


A crane lifts supplies onto the Gould.



The statue of Magellan. Note the dangling foot of the Indian on the right.

A view of Punta Arenas outside my hotel window.