Antarctica & Patagonia Aboard National Geographic Resolution (Feb 2026)

It has been on my bucket list for quite some time to sail to Antarctica aboard a Lindblad Expeditions ship. Lindblad is widely regarded as a pioneer in modern expedition travel. The company’s roots trace back to Lars-Eric Lindblad, who led the first tourist expedition to Antarctica in 1966, bringing non-scientific travelers to one of the most remote places on Earth and helping to shape the expedition cruise industry as we know it today.

I’m excited to be boarding National Geographic Resolution on the Antarctica & Patagonia itinerary on February 11, 2026. I’ll be sharing my firsthand experience here as well as on our Facebook page here - stay tuned!

Feb 10 2026 (Tuesday) - Santiago, Chile

My flight touched down smoothly at the international airport in Santiago in the morning . Lindblad staff were already waiting for me in the arrivals hall. Within half an hour, we arrived at The Ritz-Carlton in the center of the city. Lindblad had reserved meeting rooms on the second floor to facilitate check-in and to brief us on the next day’s schedule. Everything was efficient and well organized, a reassuring start to an ambitious voyage.

This was my third visit to Santiago. The city felt as vibrant and beautiful as ever. At 6:30 p.m., Lindblad hosted a welcome reception at the hotel bar. Our expedition leader Peter made a speech when fellow travelers gathered, introductions were made, and anticipation quietly filled the room.

Feb 11 2026 (Wednesday ) - Puerto Natales, Chile

Early the next morning, four buses transported 130 passengers to the airport for our charter flight south to Puerto Natales. The moment I stepped off the plane, a blast of icy wind made me fully awake. The temperature here was nearly 40 degrees Fahrenheit lower than in Santiago, a dramatic reminder that we were heading toward the end of the world.

Our first stop was the famous Milodón Cave outside the town. The cave stretches roughly 200 meters in length. In 1895, the German explorer Hermann Eberhard discovered a large, seemingly fresh piece of skin from an unknown animal here. The following year, Swedish explorer Otto Nordenskjöld conducted further investigations. Later research confirmed that the skin belonged to the Mylodon, a giant ground sloth that became extinct between 10,000 and 13,000 years ago. Archaeological evidence also revealed traces of other extinct animals and early human habitation within the cave.

Afterward, we headed into town for lunch. On a spontaneous whim, our table ordered a king crab to share, a delicious taste of Patagonia.

By early evening, I finally boarded the National Geographic Resolution. The long-awaited journey had officially begun！

February 12, 2026 (Thursday) — Torres del Paine National Park, Chile

At 7:00 a.m., I boarded the bus to Torres del Paine National Park on time. The sky was overcast, the sun hiding stubbornly behind the clouds, and the wind still carried a chill against my face.

An hour and a half later, I could already see in the distance the park’s most famous three granite peaks. Suddenly, the bus pulled over - a herd of guanacos! They were strolling across the grasslands in small groups, and two playful youngsters cautiously crossed the road, as if deliberately giving us a perfect photo opportunity. Just then, several Andean condors appeared overhead, circling gracefully as though welcoming our arrival.

This was my second visit to Torres del Paine. The last time, due to limited time, I wasn’t able to arrange a hike. This time, I specifically signed up for a trekking of about an hour and a half. The towering snow-capped mountains, emerald lakes, and cascading waterfalls were so breathtakingly beautiful that words could hardly do them justice.

Lunch was arranged at Rio Serrano inside the park. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the magnificent scenery stretched out before us. Someone had ordered a whole roast lamb — watching it sizzle on the grill in the backyard made my stomach growl all over again.

Back on board, Captain Heidi hosted a welcome reception for everyone. Expedition Leader Peter introduced each member of the expedition team for this voyage. To my surprise, the ship was also equipped with three dedicated divers — Shawn, Kim, and Brett — who would be sharing their experiences and discoveries from the underwater world. Renowned National Geographic photographer Chris Rainier was also traveling with us, adding even more distinction to our journey.

After settling in, I finally had time to explore the ship. The public facilities were impressively well-equipped: a yoga studio, jacuzzis, dry and steam saunas, a gym, and spa rooms. At the aft of Deck 8, there were even two igloos available for overnight stays. I would really love to try that experience!

February 13, 2026 (Friday) — White Narrows & Bernal Glacier

Last night, our expedition vessel slowly departed from Puerto Natales, marking the true beginning of our adventure.

Around midday, NG Resolution gradually approached White Narrows, located southwest of Puerto Natales. This narrow channel, only about 80 meters wide, is the only gateway for vessels entering and leaving the port. With strong currents, precise navigation is essential.

We timed our passage before the slack tide. The captain Heddi first dispatched a Zodiac to survey the water conditions and take measurements. Within minutes, all passengers gathered on deck to witness this tense and exciting maneuver. Just then, a pod of dolphins appeared at the bow, playfully riding the waves as if sending us off with their blessing.

In the afternoon, we made a landing near Bernal Glacier. Between 2001 and 2011, Bernal Glacier experienced rapid retreat. Satellite imagery from 1986 showed no signs of proglacial lakes at its front. However, since 2013, a pair of proglacial lakes have formed and have gradually expanded over time.

After stepping ashore and walking through dense shrubs, the landscape suddenly opened up before us. Bernal Glacier came to an abrupt end, giving way to a serene, pale green lake. Fine rain drifted in and out. It was sometimes heavier, and sometimes barely there, casting a soft, mysterious veil over the entire scene.

February 14， 2026 (Saturday ) — Puerto Profundo & Seno Glacier

When I woke up in the morning and drew back the curtains, the world outside was already bathed in sunshine. I wandered up to the top deck, where our ship had quietly reached the end of Puerto Profundo. Sunlight filtered through layers of drifting clouds, shimmering across the calm water. What a peaceful and beautiful morning it was.

The morning activity was a Zodiac cruise. As always in the fjords, the weather changed quickly. A dark cloud rolled in, bringing with it a fine drizzle. Our Zodiac moved slowly along the narrow channel. The rocks along the shoreline were covered with clusters of mussels. A few cormorants lifted off and settled back down from time to time.

Our expedition guide, Mada, suddenly told us in a mysterious tone to look ahead. Sitting at the bow, I scanned the area, and then spotted it: the partial skeleton of a whale emerging from the water. Just then, the rain grew heavier. I quickly snapped a few photos before tucking my phone away.

Behind the clouds, the sun continued to shine. Layers of light and shadow played across the sky, the distant mountains, and the rocky foreground, forming a scene that resembled a traditional ink painting.

In the afternoon, we cruised near Seno Glacier. Waterfalls formed by melting glacial ice cascaded down the towering cliffs on both sides of the fjord. At the far end, the blue glacier plunged dramatically from the mountaintop toward the sea. The water was filled with ice floes and chunks of various shapes and sizes, glowing in different shades of blue. One of the expedition team members lifted a crystal-clear piece of floating ice from the water for us to admire up close.

As dinner concluded, a full rainbow appeared in the sky behind the stern. Everyone hurried out onto the deck to capture the moment。 What a perfect ending to a remarkable day!

February 15, 2026 （Sunday) - Bahia Agostini & Bahia Parry 

Our ship continued south overnight, reaching Karukinka Natural Park. The morning’s plan was a trek at Agostini Bay (Bahia Agostini). We were greeted by a landscape of pale red tundra, reminiscent of fall in Greenland. The weather remained somber, with intermittent drizzles of rain, but this did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm. 

Following a boardwalk trail, we ventured into the woods. Tall beech trees stood lush and green, while various small flowers were in full bloom, making the most of the peak of summer. Water seeping from the steep rock faces gathered into small, clear ponds.

In the middle of the last century, dozens of North American beavers were introduced here in hopes of launching a new fur industry. However, the plan failed due to the poor quality of the pelts. With no natural predators, the beaver population exploded to over 100,000, devastating the native sub-Antarctic forests. During our hike, we saw their lodges and the dams they had constructed, lasting marks of their impact on this ecosystem. 

In the afternoon, our ship continued deeper into 

Admiralty Sound (Seno Almirantazgo), entering 

Parry Bay (Bahia Parry). This area serves as the heart of Alberto de Agostini National Park. We set out to explore the waters via Zodiac cruise. A few small fishing boats were here harvesting scallops, drawing many seabirds to circle nearby. In the distance, seals occasionally poked their heads above the water.

As we drew closer to the glacier, the water became increasingly crowded with floating ice. Picking up a piece, I found it to be crystal clear. The emerald waters, blue glaciers, black rocks, and waterfalls cascading down the cliff walls made me feel as if I were stepping into a magnificent, traditional landscape scroll.

February 16, 2026 (Monday) – Seno Hyatt & Aguila Glacier

Overnight, the National Geographic Resolution veered west and then south, entering Alberto de Agostini National Park. This is where two sprawling fjord systems, the Seno Agostini, converge.

Our morning was dedicated to a Zodiac cruise before the face of the Hyatt Glacier. The sky remained a leaden gray, drifting with fine mist. The water's surface was crowded with icebergs of all shapes and sizes. Here, the ice flows from two different directions, colliding as it pushes into the fjord.

As our Zodiac approached the glacier’s front, we saw the ice stacked in jagged layers, revealing deep crevasses of varying shades of blue. The base of the ice was stained black by subglacial sediment and rock. It wasn't until I saw several other Zodiacs gliding slowly past the ice wall that I truly grasped the staggering height of the glacier's front.

Glacial meltwater formed countless streams that roared down the valleys. The landscape was a striking palette: the deep blue of the ice, the lush green of the vegetation, and the pale jade of the fjord while all punctuated by the bright red parkas of our fellow explorers.

As the excursion ended, the ship drifted slowly through the fjord. The rain had ceased entirely. Thick veils of mist clung to the cliffs, and the water became a perfect mirror. The mountain glaciers drifted in and out of view, their reflections creating a scene of profound stillness and peace.

In the afternoon, we landed near the Aguila Glacier. The beach was filled with various shells and sea snails. Some kind souls had gathered different specimens and arranged them neatly on a fallen log. Our expedition guide, Jackie, took the opportunity to give us a detailed briefing on the local ecosystem. In the shallows before us, shorebirds chirped and played in the surf.

Continuing along the trail, the view suddenly opened up to reveal the glacier standing before a massive meltwater lake. Behind us were towering beech trees. We followed the lakeshore to a wide expanse of shallows where glacial meltwater spilled over from the right. We waded through the flow, reaching almost knee-deep, to stand as close to the glacier's terminus as possible for a memorable photo.

A highlight of this National Geographic expedition is our three onboard divers. During the nightly recaps, they share stunning footage from their daily dives. Though we cannot join them in the frigid depths, their shares allow us to appreciate the vibrant, multi-colored world beneath the waves.

Today is Lunar New Year's Eve. Our group from Beijing joined several overseas Chinese travelers to celebrate the arrival of the Year of the Horse. Mr. Tian, Leo, and Mr. Zhang had even hand-wrapped dumplings in Puerto Natales and brought them aboard. The galley team kindly steamed them for our table to add to the festivities.

I must commend the ship's staff. I accidentally forgot to order boots before the trip. Assistant expedition leader Cammy responded promptly by locating a pair of my size. From housekeeping to the dining room and reception, the service is exceptionally warm. Within days, many knew me by name. The fact that the expedition team dines alongside the guests provides wonderful opportunities for interaction and learning.

February 17, 2026 (Tuesday) – Pia Glacier & Beagle Channel

This morning marked our final day in the Chilean Fjords. The Pia and Garibaldi glaciers descend from the Darwin Cordillera, winding through the tortuous fjords before finally reaching the sea.

Our Expedition Leader, Peter, announced great news: we would be kayaking this morning. Though it was my first time partnering with Mr. Tian, we fell into a perfect rhythm. With synchronized strokes, we picked up speed and enjoyed the rare vantage point of viewing glaciers and waterfalls from the waterline.

After lunch, the ship officially entered the Beagle Channel, beginning our transit toward Antarctica. As if to bid us farewell, a large pod of fin whales appeared around us, with their tall plumes of mist rising and falling in the air.

At the evening recap, Peter shared more thrilling news: the weather in the Drake Passage is very favorable, with following winds. We estimate a crossing of only 24 hours and will divert from the original plan to head straight for Elephant Island!

As the meeting ended and we headed for dinner, Peter’s voice crackled over the speakers again: a pod of Orcas was hunting a sei whale directly ahead of the ship.

Everyone rushed to the bow, stunned by the scene. Countless Orcas breached the surface in a coordinated charge, surrounded by swirling, screaming seabirds. As time passed, the pod closed in. We saw the sei whale surface to blow, only to be immediately driven under by the weight of several Orcas leaping onto it. This cycle repeated many times until the surface finally grew calm. Friends with binoculars reported seeing blood staining the water.

As the sun set, lining the clouds with gold, we returned to the dining room, reflecting on the raw power of the nature we had just witnessed.

February 19, 2026 (Thursday) – Elephant Island

Yesterday, the Drake Passage surprised us with its calm seas under blue skies. After lunch, I even took a few rounds of walk on the top deck, fully enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

Our good fortune seemed to continue. When I woke up in the morning, Expedition Leader Peter was already announcing over the broadcast system, suggesting that everyone head to the deck before breakfast. Elephant Island was right in front of us.

Last November, during my journey from South Georgia to the Antarctic Peninsula, our ship Scenic Eclipse had passed by Elephant Island without stopping. This island marks the starting point of Shackleton’s small rescue team in

1916 as they set off for South Georgia for rescue. It holds a special place in the history of Antarctic exploration.

Located in open waters, Elephant Island is known for its fierce winds and persistent fog, with very low visibility. A bright, sunny day like this is truly rare. We gathered at the bow, watching as our ship slowly approached.

Ahead of us, snow-covered glaciers plunged directly into the bay. On both sides of the ship were scattered islands and rocky outcrops. At first glance, the rocks seemed dotted with countless tiny white specks. Looking closer, we realized they were penguins.

On a stretch of beach near the water, I finally found the long-admired statue of Shackleton. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains and glaciers, accompanied by the rhythm of the tides and the constant presence of penguins and seals, it felt like a sacred place of remembrance.

Everyone was busy taking photos on the deck. I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to take a commemorative photo in this meaningful place with renowned National Geographic photographer Chris Rainier and British marine archaeologist Mensun Bound, who participated in the March 2022 expedition to locate and document the wreck of the Endurance.

Suddenly someone shouted, “Whales!” Before I realized it, our ship was surrounded by a group of fin whales. Near and far, powerful blows shot into the air, and their dark backs and fins surfaced again and again, dazzling us. After more than half an hour, the ship resumed its course toward our afternoon destination. Astonishingly, for nearly another two hours afterward, I continued watching countless whale sightings from my cabin balcony, an unforgettable spectacle.

Clearly, the day’s surprises had only just begun. At the end of lunch, Captain Heidi informed us that another National Geographic expedition ship, Orion, was sailing nearby. We sent out a Zodiac to deliver some supplies as a gesture of goodwill.

In the afternoon, we took a Zodiac cruise on the other side of Elephant Island. Within just a few hours, the weather shifted from clear skies to overcast. Steep cliffs rose dramatically from the sea, and retreating glaciers had pulled far back from the shoreline. On the few flatter beaches, dense colonies of penguins stood packed together. Among them lay enormous elephant seals, sprawled out in total relaxation. Playful fur seals seemed curious about us visitors from afar, weaving back and forth around our Zodiac. From time to time, they leapt out of the water, striking poses that sent waves of laughter through our group.

The biggest surprise of the day was spotting three macaroni penguins, in addition to gentoo and chinstrap penguins. The golden plumes on their heads made them stand out strikingly among the crowd.

On the way back to the ship, expedition team member Meda led everyone in singing a song adapted from a poem written in honor of Shackleton, bringing this unforgettable day to a perfect close.

February 20, 2026 (Friday) — Devil Island

When I opened my eyes again, the ship had already slipped quietly into the Weddell Sea, resting just offshore of Devil Island. Perched at the northeastern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, it belongs to the James Ross Island group. Some fifty miles to the south lies Snow Hill Island where, just four months ago, I stood face to face with amazing emperor penguins and their chicks!

Morning arrived in muted tones. The sky hung low and heavy, veiled in mist, as fine snow drifted down from a pale gray expanse. There was no wind. The sea lay still, polished like glass. On a lone ice floe, a handful of Adélie penguins stood in silence, like watchful keepers of this frozen world.

Zodiacs were lowered, and we glided toward shore, skimming just above the water’s surface. Nearby, behind a drifting slab of ice, a humpback whale surfaced in unhurried grace. Its dark back rising briefly before dissolving once more into the depths.

I had signed up for the morning long hike, which meant I was among the first to land. To avoid disturbing nesting skuas and other seabirds, just over twenty of us moved in a single line, guided swiftly by the expedition team. Ahead rose our goal: a modest yet sharply inclined summit, climbing about 150 meters. Devil Island is almost entirely ice-free, its landscape defined by two stark black basalt volcanic plugs standing opposite each other, lending the island a raw, elemental beauty.

Forty-five minutes later, we reached the top. The view opened all at once.

Vega Island stretched across the far horizon. Behind me, a sheer cliff plunged straight down into the sea. Below, ice floes of every shape and size dotted the water, where zodiacs threaded quietly between them. But what truly held my gaze were the countless black specks scattered across the land, from the shoreline all the way up the slopes. As my eyes adjusted, the scene came into focus: an immense colony of Adélie penguins, some 150,000 pairs strong.

With time still on our side, we descended toward them. The snowfall thickened without warning, softening the world into something even quieter, even purer. Penguins were everywhere - standing, waddling, resting - each absorbed in its own rhythm, yet all sharing the same unhurried calm.

It was molting season. This year’s chicks, especially, were full of restless energy. In front of us, a few flapped their still-awkward wings, stretched their necks, and called out in soft, youthful voices, chasing one another in clumsy delight. They seemed utterly indifferent to our presence while engrossed instead in their own small dramas.

In that moment, it felt as though we were not observers, but merely passing witnesses to a vivid, unselfconscious celebration of life, unfolding quietly in one of the most pristine corners of the world.