We had altogether an amazing day yesterday. Up at 3.30am to catch the first sighting of South Georgia, we anchored in the bay off Grytviken and kitted up in warm waterproof gear and rubber boots we were ferried ashore in groups of eight, landing on a shingle beach flanked by fur seals, held at bay by members of the expedition crew with long sticks. They can be quite aggressive during the breeding season, which this is, and can bite! The walk up to the graveyard was a mere fifty metres, and another expedition crew member was there with little tot glasses and a bottle of Seagrams whisky. We each took one, and took turns photographing each other taking a sip and pouring the rest over Shackleton's grave, as is apparently the custom. It was a small cemetery, with many graves of Norwegian whalers mostly, with a few other nationalities also. They were oriented east west, as usual, but Shackleton's was north south, with the head at the south end of the grave.

Then we had an excellent guided walk, taken by a young research student from St Andrews University, on placement for a year as part of his course in some ecologically related subject. He took us safely past fur and elephant seals, just lying about on the grass, and took us back in time to the start of sealing and whaling here. The site is covered with rusting iron equipment for boiling down blubber, meat and bones from the 54000 whales killed here over the years, from 1904 to 1965, when there were too few whales left in nearby waters to make it financially viable any more, so it was mothballed 'until the whales came back in sufficient numbers', but that has never happened. We have not seen any whales from the ship around the island.

There was a post office and shop, where we duly bought and sent some postcards, and I added to my Falkland Island coin collection when I got change! The museum was interesting, showing the logged track of the James Caird once it sighted South Georgia, an amazing piece of seamanship involving tacking and doubling back several times until they could tack into King Haakon Bay, one of the very few hospitable areas on the fierce south coast of this mountainous island. The museum also housed a replica of the James Caird, which showed that the boat had been totally covered in decking apart from a small rectangular space at the stern where probably only one person at a time could stand and helm.

The little church at Grytviken is a bit of an oddity, built from a kit imported from Norway by Hansen, the founder of the whaling operation, for the whalers. They turned out not to be very interested in attending church, and the pastor hired by Hansen gave up after a few years, and the whalers used it for storing supplies. One anecdote we heard was that when Shackleton died here and was laid out in the church, they had to move out sacks of potatoes first. Anyway, be that as it may, it is now 102 years old, and has been restored nicely, has a lending library in the vestry, and two very tuneful bells, which anybody can ring. As it was Sunday quite a lot of us stayed there for the half hour service conducted in German and English by a lady who turned out to be a lay preacher from Germany. She gave us a rousing blast of creationism from Genesis, and rounded off with the one hymn of the service. As that was the reason I went, I gave it laldy for all three verses.

Back to the ship, for lunch, and a chance to dump all the unnecessary clothing. It was 18degrees ashore. I decided after lunch to give the open air jacuzzi on the top deck a go, so up I went and climbed into this amazingly hot water, with the wind playing around the anchored ship. When I got too hot, all I had to do was climb out a little bit, then sink back into the warm water. Two Norwegian women joined me as the ship raised anchor, and we had a wonderful view of the snowy mountains going by as we left. The bay, passing King Edward Point where there is a research station, and where the Argentinians first landed in 1982, overcoming a small garrison of ten Royal Marines, and heralding the whole sad unnecessary conflict.

Back in the cabin I was settling down to a quiet afternoon when they announced that all the boats were being launched in our new anchoring spot, so we could all go on a short cruise to see more of the island and its wildlife. I took a bit of persuading, as I was by then in relax mode, but I suited up and went on a most enjoyable whiz round the bay we were in, Hercules Bay, it turned out to be. The expedition crew member in the boat with us was as high as a kite. There had never before been good enough weather to do this, so she was as wise as we were about what we were going to see! Feeling suitably intrepid, we roared off in the boat to the edge of the steep cliffs round the bay only to see macaroni penguin colonies, fur and elephant seals, arctic terns and antarctic terns, even two of the rare and endangered pipit. Ju even got a photo of this bird, the only small bird, not a seabird, the only songbird in South Georgia. A bottle of champagne is offered for the first person to locate a pipit nest, apparently. We were not that lucky.

By the time all the various groups had had their brief wildlife cruise, it was nearly dark, which here at the moment is around 8pm, but everyone was buzzing with excitement at the sights seen and the wildlife spotted.

Dinner was a buffet, which meant that anyone could eat any time. Since the dining room is built to house half the ship's passengers only at the one time, it was standing room only. Reindeer was on the menu. I had lasagne.

Having been up forever, I was exhausted to discover that we had to attend a briefing meeting in the conference room at 9pm, for tomorrow's plans. As we had already had a paper outline of the day's programme I didn't see the point.

Anyway, we finally fell into bed around ten, and don't remember a thing until six this morning. But the good new is, we DO go to Stromness, today.

Monday 7th

Weather still outstandingly good. Our first stop was in Fortuna Bay, where we landed and walked around a mile or less to a large king penguin colony, where there were lots of large fluffy brown chicks. We were as usual guided there and back by the expedition crew, armed with walkie talkies, red flags, and sticks to keep the breeding fur seals at bay. The elephant seals we have seen are just great sleeping blobs. Mostly nursing or pregnant mums as the dads are mostly off at sea. The baby fur seals are cute. About the size of a miniature poodle, they can be seen all over the place.

The game fit people who were doing the last 5 miles of Shackleton's walk to Stromness were landed from the ship, while the rest of us came back on board. The Fram then headed round to Stromness Bay, where we anchored in a space confined on most sides by mountains. The sun shone, lenticular clouds abounded, but this bay is subject to fierce catabatic winds, which left the Fram spinning cheerfully on her anchor all the time we were here.

Our second landing was a bit disappointing as Stromness is inaccessible now on safety grounds. Rickety buildings with asbestos mean people cannot go there. So instead we walked up the valley to Shackleton's waterfall, where he and Crean and Worsley had to use a rope to descend this last obstacle to their rescue. We took photos and then tasted the water, it was incredibly pure and cool.

On Tuesday we made an unscheduled stop at St Andrews Bay, and walked along a seal-packed beach, to a rookery of half a million king penguins, at the foot of three glaciers. Even the captain did the trek! It involved crossing two rivers running fast with meltwater from the glaciers.

This afternoon the ship will enter Drygalski fjord at the south eastern extremity of the island, before we head south west for the Antarctic peninsula. Mere words cannot describe this experience, the noise and the smell of half a million penguins and hundreds and hundreds of seals, in brilliant warm sunshine. If this is global warming, there might not be many more glaciers left.

So off we go for a few days at sea.

Well the trip to Drygalski Fjord was going very well, in sunlight, when somebody spotted a huge pod of whales off to port. Well that was it, the captain turned and slowed the ship, and we marvelled at the numbers and the closeness of these huge creatures, which seemed not too worried about being close to the ship. At least thirty, maybe forty humpback whales. People rushed to the outer decks with cameras, and even in the panorama lounge on the top deck there was much rushing from port to starboard and back again, with oos and aaas, and thar she blows.

When they had all gone past, we resumed our course to the fjord, which was really spectacular. Steep rocks on the right, over a million years old according to our onboard geologist Steffen. Unlike the rocks on our left, which were much younger, and volcanic. Glaciers everywhere, calving small pieces as we passed by. Awesome!

The ship lingered for a while for photographs etc, then turned itself on a sixpence and roared off at 13 knots. This ship has two amazing propellers, mounted on turrets which can each turn through 360 degrees. Their normal position for forward propulsion is forward of the turrets, so they pull rather than push the ship along. So there is no rudder! Coupled with the bow thrusters, no wonder it can turn so neatly in its own length.

We were off, on course for the South Orkneys, so named because they are 60 degrees south and the Orkneys are 60 degrees north! We sailed all night and all the next day, and another night, and there we were! The day at sea was filled with lectures from our experts, really interesting. I decided to brush up on my languages and attended the German and French versions of them, and that at least kept me awake. Comparing notes with other passengers we all have trouble staying awake in the comfortable darkness of the lecture rooms, lulled by the ship's movements, despite being really interested in the subject matter. So the added exercise of simultaneous translation helped me stay awake.

In the early hours of this morning I realised we must be nearly there, so I got up around five, as did Ju, and we donned our thermals and outdoor gear and headed for deck 5. Snow on the deck, and a string of snowy, mountainous islands, and bergs all over the sea, some of them big ones.

We watched until we got cold, then we went inside to watch our approach to the Washington Strait in comfort. We anchored off the Argentinian Base Orcades, and waited for our turn to go ashore. There were some delays, then off we went, temperature minus 2 degrees and snowing. When we got to the shore, or rather the edge of the ice, we debarked on to freshly cut ice steps and grasped team members arms in the sailor's grip we have been taught. The snow was deep and soft, and any step off the track of the skidoos meant sinking a couple of inches. This is the oldest meteorological station in the Antarctic, founded by William Spiers Bruce in 1903-4, as part of the Scottish National Antarctic Expedition, on his ship the Scotia. An unsung hero of exploration, he was sponsored by Coats of Paisley and that is how Coats Land got its name. Bruce wintered here, then turned the station over to the Argentinians, who have run it ever since, using volunteers from their navy. We met a number of them, nice guys, trying very hard to make themselves understood in English. We are the first ship to visit them since January so they were very happy to see us. They gave us all a guided tour of the station, a cup of mate, Argentinian tea, and a biscuit. There are only 17 of them, and they were dropped off by their supply ship in January, which left them enough materials to last a year, and removed drums of compacted waste from the previous year at the same time. So our Hurtigruten chef gave them a present of some fresh fruit and vegetables by way of thanks for the tour and the hospitality.

They measure temperature, wind, geomagnetic changes and seismic activity. Some of that data is still sent to Scotland, as it always has been! The base is on Laurie Island, and it has a strange graveyard, where there are memorial crosses but no bodies, apparently, as nothing at all is added to the environment, so all dead bodies have to be shipped out too!

Back on the ship I showered and had a sauna. The sauna on this ship is huge, perched on deck 8 and with three large portholes. Nobody seems to use it, so I enjoyed some time in there at 80 degrees instead of minus 2!

Off now into what might be our first batch of stoory weather. Watch this space................

Well, stoory it was, force 9 and above, spray all over the bows, barometer down to 950mb, trips to the outer decks forbidden, and lots of people quietly disappearing into their cabins to lie down and pretend it wasn't happening. It got worse during the afternoon and by dinner time, when we were supposed to be having a close look at Elephant Island and the spot where Shackleton's 22 men camped while he sailed off to South Georgia for rescue, the storm had got so bad that the captain did not wish to risk it by taking the Fram too close inshore. So a few of us with strong enough stomachs managed to eat a little, but the only thing for it was to go to bed early and hope it would have blown out by morning.

Saturday dawned, and it had. We threaded our way through calm seas and large icebergs in full sunlight to Half Moon Island, where we went ashore, and undertook a very icy and snowy walk along the island to see a large chinstrap penguin colony, perched on a rocky outcrop. The sun disappeared during our walk, and we had a short burst of blizzard. We headed back to the landing point and queued to return to the ship. The sun then came out again, and the groups following ours had a nicer time. Ah well, win some lose some. During lunch the ship sailed to the caldera of an active volcano, called Deception Island. A very narrow entrance led to a beautiful calm circular bay surrounded by rocks which were once magma. The last eruption was in the 1970s, and nobody was hurt. We landed and visited the remains of a whaling station, complete with a hangar for planes, now filled with large heaps of snow and ice.

The ship sailed through the night to Port Lockroy, a bizarre little outpost of Britishness in the middle of an Antarctic land and seascape of outstanding beauty. Four volunteers staff the station for four months of the year, basically selling stuff to tourists off cruise ships, and running a post office which sends off post which will take six to eight weeks to arrive. The post bags are carried by cruise ships which eventually call at Port Stanley in the Falklands, where the RAF pick them up and take them to the UK.

The last part of the sail to Port Lockroy was down the Neumeyer Channel, which was largely blocked by loosely packed ice. The Fram became an icebreaker, travelling very slowly and pushing the pancake ice to the side with perceptible clunks. Another brilliant sunny day. Truly weatherwise we are living a charmed life on this trip