Hello once again blog fans. First and foremost, apologies for the radio silence, at first it was due to a rather stressful few days and sleepless few nights in Antarctica, then it was because I hadn't managed to catch up on the blog with the events over that period of time, then we were on the Drake and, eventually, it was due to the distractions that come with returning to land, namely unlimited beer, the bad influence of other yachties and access to Facebook.

For those that want the concise version, Pelagic made it back across the Drake to Puerto Williams a week ago today. (God was it only week? It feels like a lifetime...) We spent a day in decompression in the quiet surrounds of Williams, adjusting to seeing other people, the smell of anything that wasn't penguin poo (although there was still a slight wiff of it around Pelagic) and trees, before heading back to the big city lights of Ushuaia from where the gang were due to fly. Andrew, Doug and Ruth moved off that same day, which was very surreal, and were on their way home the next day, probably an even more surreal experience. Dave and I, following what we reckon was a well deserved day off, have been busy little bees, carrying out maintenance and doing all the things you have to do after a long time at sea. A lot of things you might not think about, like having to re-wash every pot and pan in fresh water after months of saltwater and finally dealing with the nearly 40kgs of l aundry that we'd accumulated and was gently festering in the corner. After almost a week in Ushuaia we are, as I write, on our way back to Williams, for a few quiet days in the reassuring shelter of Seno Lauta, where we hope we will no longer be buffeted by the 40-60kts that has been ripping through Ushuaia and we might be able to get a bit more done. Our charter season is officially now over and Pelagic is heading for a well-deserved refit this winter (northern summer). Unfortunately before she can be pulled out of the water and pampered, Dave and I need to get her to Cape Town, which being over three and half thousand straight line miles away is no mean feat. It does however give us a very good excuse to head to the Falklands, so as soon as we are ready to go, we will be Stanley bound and �"don't spare the horses'.

For anyone that wants to read a few more details of what we got up to, here goes. The slightly stressful time I mentioned earlier came as the result of typical Antarctic unpredictable weather. Our last few days in Lockroy we were almost confined to the boat as it as too rotten to go out. We thought the worst of it had blown through, and possibly spurred on by cabin fever, we made a break for it and left Lockroy in search of more cooperative leopard seals to film, headed for Cuverille Island. I thought there would be a certain amount of nostalgia as we left Lockroy but I think with everyone having spent quite so much time there they were ready to put the place behind them. I personally took a few minutes to stare wistfully at Bransfield House, I love that view, and every time I've left, I've never been certain I'll be back.

We might have jumped the gun somewhat in leaving, as bad weather filled in again, and having left the relative security of good anchor holding ground at Port Lockroy, we spent a few restless nights on anchor watch. Our first was at Waterboat Point, having bailed on the original plan of heading to Cuverville and encountering 40 knot north-easterlies in the Gerache, and then again at Cuverville itself. I lost count of how many times we dragged and re-set in the night, I just know that from the relative warmth of 10degrees in the Beagle Channel, it is hard to remember the biting cold of a blizzard as you stepped out of the doghouse in the middle of the night. Even once you have got the anchor to bite, you lie awake in your bunk, listening intently to every gusts, to see if it accompanied by the telltale rumble of the anchor chain dragging along the sea bed, hoping desperately that it holds and you don't have to go back out into the night. It's a horrible feeling. Still, we had s ome good days as well, including flat water and windless days ideal for looking for leopard seals.

Ruth has asked me not to write too much about the success or failure of the hunt for leopard seal footage itself, I think she is worried that people will mind if the leopard seals in the film didn't come from Lockroy itself. Personally I think few people can identify individual leopard seals, and the background seabed well enough to tell whether it is Lockroy or not, but I'll keep shtum anyhow. Saves me rambling too much on the blog. You'll have to watch the film in the autumn to see if they played ball, and remember to write some strongly worded emails to Points of View if you suspect that the leopard seal in question came from other parts of the Antarctic Peninsula.

The Drake Passage was exceedingly kind to us on the way back, barring a few hours on the first afternoon we barely saw more than 30kts and rarely sailed upwind, enjoying 25kts SW most of the way. Although we hoped we'd catch a break at some point, we really couldn't have asked for better. It almost felt like cheating.

As an added bonus, when we got back to Ushuaia we managed to meet up with Helen, Lockroy's base leader, who'd spent a few days there. We felt rather guilty that we'd jealously coveted their hot showers on the cruise ship Ocean Diamond, when we discovered that the boiler onboard had been broken the first day, and they'd had no heating or hot water. What terribly timing.

So Dave and I will try and keep the blogs up on our way to the Falklands, and as we head Transatlantic, but they might not be quite so regular. In all honesty, less interesting stuff happens to us when we are not in Antarctica. Beware the Transatlantic ones, long periods at sea tend to lead to random ramblings. But to everyone that has kept up with us this season, thanks for reading.

The whiteboard in the Nissen hut which normally tells you what's going on in the upcoming days had a slightly different type of message on it to the normal list of ships due to visit. �"Monday 3rd March The end is nigh!' Followed by a long blank ominous space. No, Jayne hadn't taken to apocalyptic predictions, but the end was indeed in sight for the girls of Port Lockroy. The Post Office and shop have been packed up, as has everything else on base, and the girls by now are already on their way North on cruise ship Ocean Diamond. We spent the rest of the day since their early morning departure jealously estimating how many showers they would have had by then.

Although we don't see the girls everyday, we hear Helen on the radio coordinating ship visits almost without fail, and it's rather nice to know there is someone else out there, and you could pop over for a cup of tea if you wanted. It feels quite strange to think the base is empty. Although strictly speaking Michael and Liesl from UKAHT are still on base doing maintenance, and Spirit of Sydney are anchored in the back bay, but it's not quite the same.

Its been rather hectic for Team Lockroy trying to finish all jobs that needed doing before the winter, as well as packing up their stuff and still dealing with ship visits. They've literally been working dusk �"till dawn. Knowing this, and wanting to give them a proper send off, Dave volunteered to go over and cook his trademark slow roast beef and make a mess of their nice clean galley. Which he duly did.

Even though we were in the boat shed, a mere 20m dingy ride and 30m walk from the front door of the Nissen hut, getting there felt like some of the most challenging conditions we'd been out in. Horizontal snow flew around in strong gusts that tried to knock you off your feet, and with all the penguins hunkered down and covered in snow it was easy to miss them. There was more than one occasion where what I thought was a rock suddenly got up and squawked at me. Poor penguins. As ever, it was great to see the girls, even if we did all get rather nostalgic about how quickly the season had flown by. We'll definitely miss them all. Dave's beef was pretty good too, but that almost goes without saying.

The big Post Office related drama this week has been the possibility that the last post might not go. Cruise ship Fram was due to take the last post of the season back to Stanley with them. Unfortunately as they tried to drop their anchor, the only 40kt gust of the day blew through, the Fram got scared and bailed on the landing. Had they waited 10minutes the weather would have been back to a balmy 10-15kts but Antarctic weather being what it is, they weren't to know that. We thought they were the very last ship of which would stop in the Falklands, as most of them go straight to South America, and were even preparing to offer Pelagic's services as postal delivery service to Stanley, albeit via Argentina and Chile.

The failure of the Fram to stop spelt disaster on a few fronts; not only had Andrew and Ruth been set to film the post leaving as one of the closing sequences of the film, but between us we'd written almost three dozen postcards which now might not be sent until November and also rather more selfishly, Dave and I wouldn't get any laundry done.

Sad to say the laundry problem persists, and no amount of febreeze seems to deal with the smell emanating from the team Pelagic laundry bag, which unfortunately resides in our cabin. Frankly, I'm worried it is about to grow legs and make a break for it. However, thanks to cruise ship Hanse Explorer, the post will go!

Hnase Explorer called in to shelter in the back bay at Port Lockroy the last night the girls were on base. They were not just there for shelter though, as it transpired that they were also headed to Port Stanley before returning to Germany for the rest of the year and had agreed to take the mail. Hurrah! They came up and joined us for a drink as we all tucked into beef and Yorkshire puddings, and then after dinner we all suited up and headed out into the cold. By now the blizzard had abated leaving a crisp, calm, clear night. It was beautiful. Although Andrew didn't manage to film his closing sequence it was rather dramatic, as we trekked through the snow with head-torches, carrying mailbags and cases of unused stamps down to the Chains landing site.

Pelagic is back in Port Lockroy. The little boat has spent the best part of 4 months here now, so it practically knows its way home. We didn't just abandon Pleaneau because our leopard seal search was proving fruitless (where have all the little blighters gone?!), Andrew had to be back in order to film the penguin chicks taking to the water, climax of the film. As well as this, as leopard seal hunting was taking a back seat for the Penguin Post Office production, we had to honour an agreement to lend Doug to another film crew for a few days. As it turns out, the crew of the CBBC program Deadly Sixty (apparently if you have boys under the age of 12 you will know what this is) had already, almost by chance, happened across some playful, curious leopard seals and had all the footage they needed. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound, but at least we got to keep Doug.

The trip up from Pleneau was, frankly, beyond bracing. Brass Monkeys in fact. It definitely feels like Austral summer is drawing to a close. A very still day with low cloud/fog made for a rather surreal trip through the iceberg graveyard as huge icebergs loomed out of the penumbra on either side of us. As we passed Port Charcot a leopard seal popped his head up to mock us. Dave and I thought it best we kept that one to ourselves. The still day built into a completely un-forecast, but rather welcome 15-20kt southerly as we fed into the top of the Lemaire, and we actually had sailing weather. It felt like Pelagic had been cooped up too long and was enjoying a bit of sailing at last, as I think we all were, apart from the skipper, who had his head in the engine bilge, changing filters, trying to sort our perennial dirty South American fuel problem. Still at least there was enough wind for sailing, and we weren't just drifting into icebergs. Although it was still very low cloud, a weak sun was desperately trying to break through, and the day felt incredibly crisp. It was nice to blow the cobwebs out, and as I said coming back to Lockroy felt a bit like coming home.

Generally when we are at Lockroy and Andrew and Ruth are ashore filming, Dave and I find that cooking, cleaning, general maintenance, zodiac driving to and fro, water collecting and ice dodging takes up the bulk of our time on the boat. It doesn't leave a lot of time for expeditions, and even though you are surrounded by Antarctica, which never stops being breathtaking, I often worry that we'll descend into monotony. The nice thing about Port Lockroy being an Antarctic �"must do', as well as one of the safest anchorages, is that there are always new boats coming through, inviting you on for drinks, and breaking any semblance of routine. It can be quite a social spot in fact. Networking hub of Antarctic yachting, rather like an Austral Antibes.

When we arrived back, we were greeted by the rather impressive sight of the three masted Jubilee Sailing Trust barque (or is it a brig? We're not sure the difference), the Lord Nelson, anchored in the bay. Our very own Skip Novak was onboard as ice pilot, so it was not long before we had an official invite from the Captain to drinks onboard. It was rather strange to talk to Skip on the radio though, as every time I hailed "Lord Nelson, Lord Nelson, this is Pelagic", I felt like I was addressing Skip himself as �"Lord Nelson' like we'd invented some strange deferential nickname for him. Small thingsÉ

Lord Nelson is run on strict Navy principles, with tea at 6.30 and our invite for drinks clearly between 7.30-9.30 sharp. Being slightly more used to South American timings, Doug and Ruth took to the galley to prepare a meal that could simmer on the refleks, ready for when we got back. Having had an extensive �"furkle' (Doug's word, not mine) in the tins cupboard, they produced a cross between a chilli and a risotto, comprising, but not limited to: sweetcorn, bulgar wheat, chickpeas, rice, a tin of baked beans, ham, peas, corned beef and a few tins of tomatoes for good measure. The result wasÉ eclectic. Despite any misgivings, even I had to admit that it was not as bad as it looked, even pretty palatable, which was lucky as there was enough to feed us for 3 days, and it only got better as it matured.

We did our best to scrub up and brush our hair and presented ourselves at the Nelson at 7.30 sharp. It was a great evening where we were made to feel very welcome, all of us making it up and down the ladder to our dinghy without incident, and I even managed to get some knitting tips off a lovely lady called Barbara, who promised to send me a pattern for a new tea cosy. Thank you to the Lord Nelson.

On Monday we woke to sad news. Our Puerto Williams friend Charlie Porter had died of a heart attack in Punta Arenas. Despite the fact that Charlie was, frankly, ancient, it still came as quite a shock, he always seemed fitter than most men I knew in their 30's. I'm not normally prone to outbursts of emotion on the blog, but I'd like to write a few words about Charlie because he was one of the true characters that make places like Puerto Williams special. Charlie was a bit of a legend amongst climbers, one of the early generation of climbers in Yosemite, with numerous big name solo first ascents to his name, as well as (we think) doing some pioneering ice climbing in Alaska. Unfortunately I know little about Charlie's acolades as he would never have dreamt of talking about his own achievements. When I first met him, Pelagic had arrived into Puerto Williams at dawn, and Dave and I had managed to grab a couple of hours sleep before launching into a marathon tea drinking and go ssip catching up session. We were a little dazed and confused to start with. And then Charlie walked onto the boat looking for another skipper, plonked himself down and proceeded to start talking. Whereupon I made the error of feeding him coffee, and getting him talking even more, and there he stayed for the next 3 hours. Afterwards I felt like a tornado had been through the boat, and I knew straight away that Charlie Porter was brilliant. This became known as getting "Charlie Portered", stopping in for tea and leaving 5 hours later, most likely having watched a load of timelapse footage of glaciers receding and growing round the Beagle channel. After initially meeting him, I googled him, the ultimate indignity, and still keep an article on my ipad about how Charlie, on returning some epic solo first ascent, turned straight round and went back up to assist in mountain rescue, without even mentioning the achievement. The article was about doing things (like climbing) for the love of them, and relishing the challenge, rather than for the praise and glory they bring. To me, it seemed like Charlie through and through. He could often be seen bombing around the Beagle Channel, on his yacht Ocean Tramp, gallivanting up and down mountains, taking ice cores and setting up time lapse cameras, he was a prolific amateur glaciologist, and he seemed to do it out of interest and passion, rather that for any recognition or need for praise. Although I'm sure he'd cringe to hear me analyse it like that, it strikes me as a rather noble ideal, something we all, myself in particular, could learn from. His practically grammatically perfect Spanish was still thick with Boston accent, making it the only Spanish that Dave claims he understands and was always heard across the Micalvi, volume set to 10. I think part of the reason news of his death came as such a shock, was that last time I saw Charlie, Ocean Tramp was alongside Pelagic Australis in Puerto Williams, and despite having plenty of people around to winch him up if he'd asked, Charlie had prussoked up his own halyards and was sitting on the spreaders, chuckling to himself as we did some manoeuvres about how he could see where it was all about to go wrong. More full of life you couldn't imagine.

So that's it for the reminiscing. We all had a beer for Charlie that night.

And still no bloody leopard seal in Pleneau.

So the �"Hurry up and wait' game onboard Pelagic continues, but ever since Curious George, we feel that the seals in Port Lockroy might be taking the p***. Again, we see them often hauled out on ice floes, but since our promising first day encounters, we've failed to spot a single one in the water. Thanks to Ruth's good relationship with most of the cruise ship Expedition Leaders we've even had almost every cruise ship passenger into Port Lockroy on high alert helping us look. (Another of Doug's mantras being that while you can't be in more than one place at a time, you can have more than one set of eyes on the water.)

On Friday morning, with ice still filling the Port Lockroy back bay, the boys headed round the corner to try and rendevouz with leopard seal number one in Damoy again. Unfortunately they came back empty handed once more. With ice in the bay making the prospect of diving difficult and affecting the water visibiity, and the trip to Damoy increasingly proving fruitless, a strategic planning meeting was convened. The forecast didn't suggest that the ice swirling round the bay would be gone any time soon, if anything it was likely to be blown further in, and so an executive decision was made. And Pelagic has moved!

Once the decision had been made around midday, it all happened rather quickly. We upped sticks, threw off the lines, and set off, bound for Port Charcot, which as every good Frenchman knows, is where the first of DR J-B Charcot's two expeditions over wintered on the ship the Franais. With pretty much flat water all the way down, we were tied up in time for tea, monument to Charcot atop the hill on our starboard side, remains of Charcot's magnetic hut half way up the hill on our port side, and beach-full of plump, tasty looking leopard seal morsels (penguins) and the head of the bay. With a new location came a renewed sense of optimism and an initial reccie of the area was fruitful, with two leps hauled out on ice floes, so we knew there were some in the area. Surely it was only a matter of time.

The following day a divide and conquer approach was taken. We started out the day with Ruth up near Charcot's old magnetic hut, giving her a pretty good view of most of the bays, Doug remained onboard, in a state of semi-readiness for diving, sitting in the doghouse, watching our little bay like a hawk and Andrew pootled about in the dinghy, hoping to attract any leps that might be curious about the sound of the engine. And so we rotated through these various lookout posts throughout out the day.

Its tough going when you are out there to force yourself to keep staring at areas of empty water when there is so much happening on the shore. Fur seals arguing amongst themselves, penguin chicks chasing their parents, crabeater seals scattered here and there, and young shags still getting to grips with landing and taking off from water all provide welcome distractions. Every ripple of water catches your attention and makes you spin round. Every time I went out in the dinghy I was convinced that this would be the time I'd spot one, and every time I came back I desperate wanted to bring good news, but unfortunately I couldn't.

Even Doug's normally patient and relaxed demeanour had started to show signs of cracking as he was heard to mutter, "Come on you f&^%*? !%^&*#^ seals, where the %$#@ are you?" before returning to the jolly singing to himself we are more accustomed to hearing from his direction.

Although it is frustrating that the leps aren't really playing ball, we try not to dwell on it too much. That evening after diner, as another form of distraction, Dave Ruth and I took a trek up the hill to the cairn erected to commemorate Charcot. Once at the top, we caught the last of the sunset, a stripe of bright pink on the horizon, stretching out behind the iceberg graveyard, where a mass of large bergs run aground in the shallow bay. It was made all the more enjoyable by the fact that some bright spark (not to blow my own trumpet) had lugged a fourpack of beer up the hill in her rucksack. A better view for an evening beer I can't imagine.

Preparing for Doug Allan's arrival felt rather like preparing for a visit from the queen. In an attempt to make space for the addition camera and dive gear, all of a sudden �"stuff' was tidied away rather than swept into piles, and we actually managed to find the table under the snakepit of wires, batteries and hard drives that had previously occupied it. Doug is somewhat of a legend when it comes to cold water filming. He's worked on pretty much every big project you can think of, and was part of the team that got not only the underwater footage of a polar bear swimming from �"Life in the freezer', but also the footage of the orcas wave-washing seals off ice floes from �"Frozen Planet'. We all wanted to make a good impression. Three out of four of us even showered before he arrived.

In order to get a couple of good hours filming in before Doug's cruise ship arrived, Ruth and Andrew were up and atom really quite early. It was another beautiful sunny morning and my turn to do the shore run. On my return the skipper's dulcet snoring was still reverberating around the boat, putting pay to any thoughts of going back to bed. There was nothing for it but to make a large pot of coffee and have some breakfast. The temperature was a balmy 6 degrees and with no wind it was a lovely day for al fresco dinning. Whislt enjoying my toast and coffee I had a very surreal experience, as a snaffle of about a dozen crabeater seals (we're not sure what the collective noun for seals is, so I've decided on snaffle) started snuffling and playing around the bergy bits about 20m from the boat. Crabeaters have a rather endearing habit of swimming along with their nose in the air like a snorkel, and every now and then blowing loud bubbles like a raspberry. Sitting on the roof of the doghouse with a large cup of coffee I found myself drawing a rather bizarre parallel between watching crabeater seals frolic around icebergs whilst drinking my morning coffee and watching blue tits frolic round the bird table at home. Unfortunately it wasn't all idyllic, as one of the seals had clearly come of worse for wear from something with big teeth, and had hauled out injured on the ice. It was a rather shocking contrast to see the blood red smeared across the ice in a landscape dominated by greys, blues, whites and blacks. But I guess such is the circle of life.

As the morning wore on the crabbies all hauled out onto ice where they remained, asleep, for the rest of the day. It wasn't until mid afternoon that we eventually watched Plancius, the cruise ship delivering Doug, cruise into the bay. After so much anticipation, it was great to finally have him on board. And not only did he turn out to be a great bloke (not that we ever thought he wouldn't be) but also he brought us NEWSPAPAERS! Its hard to explain what a treat it is to sit down with a newspaper, and how that, and listening to the radio, are two of the few �"normal' activities I miss when I'm away. And now we had complete overload, with something for everyone. Doug had it all covered: The Times, The Telegraph, The Independent, The Guardian, The Daily Mail (yes, even the Mail) and last but most definitely not least, our newest pride and joy, a copy of Private Eye. It was a very peaceful evening onboard Pelagic that night. Preparing for Doug Allan's arrival felt rather like preparing for a visit from the queen. In an attempt to make space for the addition camera and dive gear, all of a sudden �"stuff' was tidied away rather than swept into piles, and we actually managed to find the table under the snakepit of wires, batteries and hard drives that had previously occupied it. Doug is somewhat of a legend when it comes to cold water filming. He's worked on pretty much every big project you can think of, and was part of the team that got not only the underwater footage of a polar bear swimming from �"Life in the freezer', but also the footage of the orcas wave-washing seals off ice floes from �"Frozen Planet'. We all wanted to make a good impression. Three out of four of us even showered before he arrived.

In order to get a couple of good hours filming in before Doug's cruise ship arrived, Ruth and Andrew were up and atom really quite early. It was another beautiful sunny morning and my turn to do the shore run. On my return the skipper's dulcet snoring was still reverberating around the boat, putting pay to any thoughts of going back to bed. There was nothing for it but to make a large pot of coffee and have some breakfast. The temperature was a balmy 6 degrees and with no wind it was a lovely day for al fresco dinning. Whislt enjoying my toast and coffee I had a very surreal experience, as a snaffle of about a dozen crabeater seals (we're not sure what the collective noun for seals is, so I've decided on snaffle) started snuffling and playing around the bergy bits about 20m from the boat. Crabeaters have a rather endearing habit of swimming along with their nose in the air like a snorkel, and every now and then blowing loud bubbles like a raspberry. Sitting on the roof of the doghouse with a large cup of coffee I found myself drawing a rather bizarre parallel between watching crabeater seals frolic around icebergs whilst drinking my morning coffee and watching blue tits frolic round the bird table at home. Unfortunately it wasn't all idyllic, as one of the seals had clearly come of worse for wear from something with big teeth, and had hauled out injured on the ice. It was a rather shocking contrast to see the blood red smeared across the ice in a landscape dominated by greys, blues, whites and blacks. But I guess such is the circle of life.

As the morning wore on the crabbies all hauled out onto ice where they remained, asleep, for the rest of the day. It wasn't until mid afternoon that we eventually watched Plancius, the cruise ship delivering Doug, cruise into the bay. After so much anticipation, it was great to finally have him on board. And not only did he turn out to be a great bloke (not that we ever thought he wouldn't be) but also he brought us NEWSPAPAERS! Its hard to explain what a treat it is to sit down with a newspaper, even if it is all doom and glom (and condolences to anyone under water) and how reading a newspaper and listening to the radio, are two of the few �"normal' activities I miss when I'm away. And now we had complete overload, with something for everyone. Doug had it all covered: The Times, The Telegraph, The Independent, The Guardian, The Daily Mail (yes, even the Mail) and last but most definitely not least, our newest pride and joy, a copy of Private Eye. It was a very peaceful evenin g onboard Pelagic that night.