There is nowhere quite like Antarctica. Rather than try to describe it myself, I’m going to leave it to Gijs, the frank and eloquent skipper of Tecla. His log entries from their recent voyages read like postcards from the edge of the world.
Find your own Antarctic Expedition
26th February 2025: Drake Passage
With the fading summer light, we set of for Antarctica, one more time this season. Light is of the greatest essence down south. Growlers are lurking at every unaware mariner… We are not that far yet.
We set of yesterday from Porto Toro after one more night of good sleep alongside the wharf. Cocha had arranged our clearance out in Puerto Williams plus a full tank of diesel and water. The forecast was not great, so we chose for a last stop at the end of the world. Puerto Toro has the claim to be the world’s most southerly village. 10 Families reside here and in winter they are joint by a hardy fleet of king crab fishing boats. The only way in and out of Toro is by sea, no road leads here. While sailing down the Beagle channel this is no surprise. The thick forest and mountainous landscape would prove more than a challenge to temper.
Yesterday morning we set of with fresh snow on the hills. The squalls all around us made for a dramatic setting. Reefed mizzen staysail and jib2 was more than enough for the 25 plus knots of wind. When we left the shelter of the Islands, sea sickness claimed its first casualties. After a bumpy night they seem to be recovering well under the watchful eye of Anna… The wind has left us, but the swell reminds us of its former furry… No time to waste we will just have to get on with it! Eyes on the prize lets go!
All is well, Gijs
3rd March 2025: Deception Island & Telephone Bay
As the season draws to an end, it feels like we have Antarctica all to ourselves. The silence is only broken by the sound of the wind and the occasional crack of distant ice. But as the fog slowly lifts, a familiar silhouette appears in the caldera—Europa. From the ridge of Ronald Hill, we spot her anchored in the back of Whalers Bay, blending seamlessly into the rugged volcanic landscape with her square yards.
After yesterday’s first landing in Yankee Harbour, we had set sail for Deception Island. The weather wasn’t on our side, so we made a detour to Half Moon Island. There, the Argentine summer base Camara stands out vividly against the icy backdrop, its bright orange buildings a striking contrast to the snow-covered peaks of Livingston Island. High up in the rocky outcrops, a bustling Chinstrap penguin colony watches over the bay. A morning hike, crisp Antarctic air, and a breathtaking view—what more could we ask for?
With the wind easing and the whitecaps fading from the horizon, it’s time to move on. Our passage is calm, uneventful—just what we need. As we approach Neptune’s Bellows, the sun begins to set behind the island, painting the sky in gold. Everyone gathers on deck, plates in hand, soaking in the moment. We’re too late for a landing, but in the fading light, with the caldera to ourselves, it hardly matters.
At first light, we weigh anchor at the same time as Europa. Passing port to port in the heart of Port Foster is a surreal moment—we’ve crossed paths before, port to port, starboard to starboard, but never inside an active volcano. They are bound for South Georgia and later, the Boreal Summer. Bon voyage, Janke and crew!
We drop anchor in front of Telephone Bay and prepare for our final adventure of the day: a hike up the volcanic cone. The weather is on our side, and the view from the top is unforgettable. No time to wander off to Pendulum Cove for a dip in the so-called “thermal” waters… which, as it turns out, aren’t quite as warm as one might hope. Instead, we settle for hot chocolate, a shower, and a well-earned dinner.
A perfect day. A perfect Antarctica.
All is well, Gijs
4th March 2025: Trinity Island
Misled at Deception Island. Or better yet, seduced by a clear night. Like a young lamb, we walked straight into the wolf’s trap. Never trust something that’s too good to be true.
After a lovely meal at anchor in Pendulum Cove, a velvet blanket settled on the rim of the volcano.
Shit… Too late… Ah, it’ll be fine… No, it won’t.
Anchor up… Let’s try again… Shit, anchor up… Let’s go.
Twice blown out of the anchorage before there was finally enough light to safely navigate towards Trinity Island. At 05:00, we passed Neptune’s Bellows under staysail and reefed mizzen. Once outside the caldera, the wind dropped to force 4 and, within an hour, disappeared altogether.
Just hours earlier, we had been at anchor in a white, foaming sea beneath a sky bursting with incredible stars. The Southern Cross was silent, yet I could hear it say: “Told you so.” Ah, to hell with it. It was stunning. And it made me feel alive.
A bruised ego is easily patched up with a strong coffee and a tall tale.
Halfway down our track, we sailed into the fog. A quick glance at the RADAR—yep… ice. Lots of it. Four hours and three Snow Petrels later, we glided into Mikkelsen Harbor, at the very southern tip of Trinity Island. The continent peeked through the mist, 15 miles away.
Autumn in Antarctica. Wow.
All is well, Gijs
9th March 2025: Port Lockroy
Whales everywhere. Under the ship, next to the ship, in front of the ship, aft of the ship—wherever you look, humpback whales surround us. They don’t seem to mind our presence. Their focus is solely on food. With the last of the Austral summer fading, the feeding frenzies are in full swing.
The weather offshore isn’t great, but hugging the mainland seems to help. We poke our heads into the Gerlache Strait, only to hurry back into the bay for a few precious rays of sun. It’s a good tactic, leading us to less-visited places. Our continental landing is at Meusier Point, offering breathtaking views over Charlotte Bay.
As we head back out, we’re stalked by a pod of Type B orcas. The brown algae on their capes give them away. We switch off the engine, and sure enough, they all come in for a closer look—curious, but only briefly. Soon, they’re off again, harassing the humpbacks.
A quiet realization sets in: if there were trees here, their leaves would be falling. At Damoy, we share the site with Le Boréal, a French cruise ship. We often see them in the north, and for some reason, this familiarity creates a bond. Their captain and some of the crew visit Tecla, exchanging insights from the cruise world. It’s not so different from ours. Or maybe it is…
They are bringing the Port Lockroy staff back to Argentina, which means no more postcards or overpriced beanies. I suppose this is the Antarctic equivalent of falling leaves. One more stop, and then we, too, must leave this beautiful place to look after itself.
All is well, Gijs
Since 2024, Tecla has been a member of the IAATO, the International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators. While they have been promoting ecologically-minded trips for years, they are now official Ambassadors of Sustainable Antarctic Tourism.
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