Antarctica & Patagonia Aboard National Geographic Resolution (Feb 2026)
- polardreamtravel
- Feb 13
- 26 min read
Updated: 23 hours ago
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.
February 20, 2026 (Friday) — Brown Bluff
At lunch, the ship treated us to an abundant spread of exquisite desserts, so tempting that I wanted to try everything. Unfortunately, my appetite had its limits, so I settled for taking plenty of photos to satisfy my cravings.
In the afternoon, we landed at Brown Bluff. The last time I was here, it was early summer, with gentoo and Adélie penguins in roughly equal numbers. Now, in late summer, much of the snow on shore has melted. Most of the penguins molting are gentoos, while the black-and-white Adélies can still be seen wandering by in small groups.
On the shore, a pair of gentoo penguins gazed at each other affectionately, as if exchanging quiet vows. Nearby, an Adélie penguin emerged from the water, vigorously shaking its head and flippers before scanning the area in search of its companions. Not far away, a fur seal lifted its head, calmly observing us, the unexpected visitors.
The sky was overcast, with the mountain tops veiled in drifting mist. The sea was dotted with ice floes of all sizes, shimmering in shades of blue. Our zodiac weaved through the ice, passing by a dozen or so penguins standing or resting on the floes. In the distance, the Weddell Sea’s distinctive massive tabular icebergs stood as a striking reminder of this region’s unique character.
During the evening briefing, three divers shared highlights from their underwater footage. Later, my friends and I were invited to the top deck for the Chef’s Table experience. A total of twenty fellow travelers enjoyed a specially curated seven-course meal, each dish paired with a fine wine, bringing a perfect close to a full and unforgettable day.
February 21, 2026 (Saturday) — Cierva Cove
After leaving Brown Bluff, our ship headed north, then turned southwest along the western coast of the Antarctic Peninsula. Through the dense fog, snow-covered peaks and exposed black rocks would occasionally emerge, only to disappear again moments later.
At around 1:30 p.m., as large chunks of icebergs began appearing on the water, our ship entered the waters of Cierva Cove. The cove stretches about 10 kilometers in length. It was named in 1960 by the UK Antarctic Place-Names Committee in honor of Spanish autogyro designer Juan de la Cierva. I had visited here before in November 2025 aboard the Scenic Eclipse. At that time, the bay was filled with heavy pack ice, and our ship had to remain at a distance. This time, however, the NG Resolution was able to position itself quite close to the Argentine research station Primavera.
The afternoon activity was a Zodiac cruise. Just before we were due to prepare, an announcement came over the speaker. A minke whale had appeared near the bow! This playful creature seemed determined to give us a good show, surfacing and diving leisurely back and forth near the ship, occasionally revealing its dorsal fin. After lingering for more than ten minutes, it finally disappeared beneath the water.
During the cruise, the wind was strong. A group of the ship’s crew also had the chance to join the excursion. Their Zodiac carried a flag of the Antarctic continent, fluttering in the wind. The sky remained overcast, with occasional light drizzle. A few hardy petrels circled overhead, unfazed by the cold wind.
Not long after returning to the ship, Expedition Leader Peter reported multiple humpback whales in the nearby waters. Everyone rushed back out onto the deck. A quick count suggested there were at least six or seven whales scattered in the distance. Their spouts were blown apart by the wind, making them easy to spot from afar. At their closest, they were only about a dozen meters from the ship. One whale repeatedly lifted its tail high above the water and then slammed it down with force, drawing everyone’s attention.
In Antarctica, you never know what will happen in the next moment. And it’s precisely this uncertainty that makes every encounter feel all the more precious.
February 22 2026 (Sunday) - Port Charcot and Vernadsky Research Base
At 7:30 in the morning, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I was roused by the voice of expedition leader Peter over the ship’s speaker system. We were about to pass through the famous Lemaire Channel.
The bow of the ship was already crowded with passengers. The sky was gloomy, while the sun struggled to leave behind a faint streak of golden light on the distant horizon. On both sides, towering cliffs plunged straight into the sea. Through layers of mist, glaciers streaked with shades of yellow, pink, and brown slowly drifted past the ship. The floating ice in the water glowed with a deep blue beneath the reflected light.
The rain grew heavier, and the wind cut across my face like a knife. As breakfast time approached, most people gradually retreated indoors, but I stubbornly stayed on deck, hoping for just a little more.
The shifting fog and occasional beams of sunlight illuminating a mountaintop or glacier cast an air of mystery over the landscape. Suddenly, a vast field of floating ice appeared on the port side of the ship. Some pieces were as tall as several decks, scattered in all shapes and sizes, like an amusement park made of ice. I rushed back to the bow, eager to capture everything on my phone. Only much later did I notice that Lisa, the ship’s photographer, was standing nearby, continuously pressing her shutter as well. We exchanged a smile, silently sharing the same excitement.
After breakfast, our ship stopped at Port Charcot on Booth Island. This was where French explorer Jean-Baptiste Charcot and his first French Antarctic Expedition wintered aboard the Français in 1904.
Before our Zodiac even reached shore, we could already see large colonies of busy Gentoo, Chinstrap, and Adélie penguins, along with Antarctic blue-eyed shags scattered among them. Nearby, a Weddell seal curled up its tail on a rock as if deliberately posing for photographs.
Those who chose the long hike quickly gathered and began climbing toward the summit. Carefully making our way past several not-so-friendly fur seals, we were thrilled to discover a lone King Penguin. In this small harbor alone, we had somehow managed to spot four species of penguins — truly a moment worth the journey.
More than half an hour later, we finally reached the top. Looking around, the world was painted mostly in black and white, accented by brilliant blue icebergs floating below. Nearby glaciers were stained pink, green, and yellow by microscopic algae. A few birds flew overhead, calling as they passed. Our ship rested quietly in the bay, and at some point, a sailboat slowly approached from the distance. Not far from it, a humpback whale surfaced calmly, exhaling mist into the cold air and lazily lifting its tail before disappearing beneath the water. The scene was so breathtaking that I found myself unwilling to leave.
In the afternoon, we visited the Ukrainian Vernadsky Research Base on Galindez Island. Originally established by the British in 1947, the station was famously sold to Ukraine in 1996 for the symbolic price of one pound sterling. Our warm and enthusiastic host guided us through the station, introducing both the working and living quarters.
At the end of the tour, I made my way upstairs to what is known as the southernmost bar in the world. Encouraged by the bartender, I tried a shot of vodka made with local glacier water. The liquor instantly sent warmth rushing through my body, and for a moment, I no longer felt the Antarctic cold at all.
While waiting for the Zodiac to take us back to the ship, a group of adorable Gentoo penguins came waddling down the hillside in pursuit of one another. Then, almost as if they had planned it together, they all dove into the water with a series of cheerful splashes.
At dinner, the kitchen staff thoughtfully prepared Singapore fried noodles and wontons especially for us. Amid laughter and lively conversation, another unforgettable day in Antarctica came to a close.
February 23 2026 (Monday) - Paradise Bay & Neko Harbor
Today was the final day of our Antarctic expedition. Ever since leaving Elephant Island, the blue skies seemed to be playing hide-and-seek with us. Day after day, the sky had remained stubbornly gray and overcast. Deep down, I kept hoping that the weather gods would show us a little extra kindness on this last day.
Shortly after 7 a.m., Expedition Leader Peter’s gentle voice came over the telecom. He strongly suggested that everyone head up to the top deck before breakfast.
It seemed the heavens had finally heard my prayers. Sunlight broke through the thick clouds, and patches of brilliant blue sky framed the snow-covered mountains and glaciers around us. Wisps of mist drifted between the peaks and over the sea, wrapping the quiet bay in a veil of mystery. The water was perfectly calm, like polished glass, dotted with floating blue icebergs of every size. A sleepy seal lounged lazily on one of the ice floes, utterly unconcerned by our arrival.
In the distance, the bright red buildings of Argentina’s Almirante Brown research station instantly brought back memories of my very first trip to Antarctica nearly ten years ago. Back then, I had gleefully raced down the snowy slopes here. Time seemed to overlap in that very moment. Paradise Bay truly lives up to its name - without question, one of the most beautiful places on the Antarctic Peninsula.
After breakfast, everyone split into groups for kayaking. Prof Tian and I excitedly geared up and paddled eagerly toward the glaciers and snow-covered peaks. By then, the sky had completely cleared, and sunlight poured across the bay. Looking around, the bright red jackets of the kayakers contrasted beautifully against the yellow kayaks and paddles as we glided slowly among the floating icebergs, like a moving oil painting.
Perhaps we were simply too excited, but our kayak was unusually “rebellious” that day. It either kept veering left or spinning endlessly in circles to the right. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and for a while even the two of us “seasoned veterans” found ourselves fumbling awkwardly. Eventually, we decided to embrace the chaos and turned it into fun, filming several hilarious 360-degree spinning videos that ended up becoming one of the most memorable moments of the day.
Before we realized it, time had flown by. One by one, the other kayakers returned to the ship, and somehow we accidentally became the very last group still out on the water.
Unfortunately, our kayak stubbornly continued spinning in circles. Seeing our struggle, expedition guide Jackie finally took pity on us. To save time, she simply tied our kayak behind the Zodiac and towed us all the way back to the ship.
Just as we finally approached the vessel, I looked up and noticed that every deck was packed with people staring intently down. Wondering what was happening, I suddenly spotted a minke whale playfully swimming nearby. It poked its head above the surface, rolled onto its side, and occasionally blowing misty sprays into the air. After entertaining us for quite some time, it suddenly dove deep into the sea and vanished without a trace.
And then there was the polar plunge in Paradise Bay - truly one of the most beautiful settings imaginable. The midday sun shone warmly overhead, while the distant snow-covered mountains reflected dazzling white light. The sea was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the peaks above. Scattered fragments of ice drifted quietly across the water, while pools of crystal-clear turquoise meltwater shimmered atop larger icebergs. A few whales glided silently in the distance. The entire world felt so still, as though only the ocean and glaciers themselves were breathing.
At lunchtime, the kitchen prepared an extravagant dessert feast for everyone. Besides cakes, cookies, coconut pudding, and rice cakes, there were even steaming hot red bean buns. Everything looked irresistible, but by then my stomach was already completely full. Several people including me knowingly loaded plates anyway, planning to take them back to the cabins to enjoy later.
We had originally planned to make a landing at nearby Neko Harbor in the afternoon. However, after scouting the area, the expedition team reported that the ground was far too muddy for a safe landing. Expedition Leader Peter quickly adjusted the plan and decided on a Zodiac cruise instead.
Our Zodiac was led by James, who was born in Washington State but had lived in Australia for many years. Before departure, he smiled and asked everyone, “What do you most hope to see today?”
Without hesitation, I blurted out, “All kinds of seals, and whales too!”
To my surprise, half of that wish came true almost immediately.
The first animal we encountered was a leopard seal. It lay sprawled lazily across a large ice floe, half asleep. Three or four Zodiacs circled around it for quite a while, but all we got in return was one mildly annoyed glance. A fur seal we encountered afterward was much more alert. It stood up cautiously to inspect us, then waddled away and slipped into the water with a splash, disappearing almost instantly.
Just when everyone already felt satisfied, an excited message suddenly crackled through the radio from another Zodiac ahead of us: “There are whales here!”
James immediately fired up the engine, and our Zodiac shot forward at full speed. In the distance, white plumes of mist rose from the ocean surface. Even from far away, we could clearly see a whale arching its back above the water. I was still envying the Zodiac closest to them when I realized there was more than one whale. As we approached, two minke whales slowly surfaced side by side, calmly gliding past us in perfect rhythm.
I thought this was already the perfect ending to the day, but Antarctica still had one more surprise waiting for us.
On our way back, we came across a sleeping Weddell seal. No matter how softly we called to it or how much we hoped for a reaction, it kept its eyes tightly shut, snoring peacefully and completely ignoring us.
At that moment, on behalf of everyone in our Zodiac, I officially awarded James the honorary title of “The Magician.” Every single wish I had made before setting out had somehow come true.
During dinner time, everyone was overflowing with excitement, convinced that the day had already provided the perfect conclusion to our Antarctic adventure. Yet before dessert was even served, Peter’s excited voice rang out once again over the loudspeaker: “Orcas ahead!”
The dining room emptied instantly. Everyone rushed onto the top deck at once. The captain carefully turned the ship toward the direction where the orcas had been spotted. It was already close to 8 p.m., and the sky was beginning to darken, but by following the circling seabirds overhead, we quickly located the pod.
The orcas swam together across the surface, sometimes exposing their dorsal fins, sometimes disappearing beneath the water, sometimes sending bursts of white spray into the air. Occasionally, several of them would rise vertically together with their heads above the surface.
Then suddenly, a humpback whale appeared right in the middle of the orca pod.
The atmosphere instantly became tense. The humpback repeatedly slapped the water with its enormous tail while surrounded by orcas.
Everyone began worrying aloud: would it be attacked?
Fortunately, one of the expedition staff quickly explained the situation. The orcas we were observing were Type B orcas, recognizable by their striking white eye patches and yellowish coloration caused by diatoms clinging to their skin in Antarctic waters. Unlike larger mammal-hunting orcas, these primarily feed on penguins and fish. As for the unexpected humpback whale, it had actually arrived for the same reason - chasing fish. They had simply crossed paths here by coincidence, giving us an unforgettable wildlife spectacle.
More than half an hour later, the orcas were still feeding not far away, while the playful humpback slowly swam toward the bow of our ship. Its deep, powerful breathing echoed clearly across the water. Finally, as though intentionally bidding us farewell, it released one last low, whistling exhale, gracefully arched its back, lifted its tail fluke gently into the air, and disappeared beneath the darkening sea.
To celebrate the successful end of the voyage, the ship’s crew organized a small performance that evening in the lecture hall. The cabin attendants and restaurant servers, who usually worked quietly behind the scenes, suddenly transformed into guitarists, dancers, and singers. Everyone sang and danced together, using their heartfelt enthusiasm to bring this dreamlike Antarctic journey to a warm and unforgettable close.
February 26, 2026 (Thursday) - Ushuaia
After a day and a half at sea, our ship entered the famous Beagle Channel on the previous afternoon. Along the way, the occasional misty blows from whales appeared on the surface of the water, adding one final touch of wonder to our journey home.
At around 8 p.m., beneath the glow of the setting sun, our ship gently docked at the port of Ushuaia. Golden light shimmered across the water, bringing this Antarctic voyage to a peaceful and beautiful close.
After breakfast, we disembarked in groups and visited the Ushuaia Maritime Museum, where we gained a deeper understanding of the early history and development of this “city at the end of the world.” Following some free time, we headed together to the airport and boarded our charter flight back to Santiago, Chile, officially concluding this unforgettable polar adventure.
National Geographic is undoubtedly a leader in the world of expedition travel, and this firsthand experience left an especially deep impression on me.
Captain Heidi Norling became the first female blue-water captain in the National Geographic fleet seven years ago. Born into a fishing family, with two uncles who were also captains, she carried herself with both elegance and confidence, while displaying the calm professionalism of a seasoned sailor.
Expedition Leader Peter, Assistant Expedition Leader Cammy, and every member of the expedition team possessed not only impressive professional expertise, but also a genuine passion for the polar regions. Landing plans and activities often had to be adjusted according to weather and ice conditions. Elephant Island, for example, had not originally been part of our itinerary. But because of storms in the Drake Passage, Captain Heidi and Peter made a quick decision to alter course, giving us the unforgettable opportunity to cruise around Elephant Island by Zodiac and witness macaroni penguins up close.
I still remember how, on our very first day visiting the Milodon Cave, expedition team member Jackie immediately came alive, enthusiastically sharing stories about the region’s archaeological history. Even at the very end of the journey, before we parted ways at the Santiago airport, Cammy patiently answered all my questions about Type B orcas before finally waving goodbye with a smile. Small moments like these truly reflected the team’s dedication and sincerity.
Each National Geographic voyage also features distinguished guest speakers from their respective fields. On this expedition, we were fortunate to have renowned photographer Chris Rainier, as well as British marine archaeologist Mensun Bound, who participated in the 2022 discovery and recovery expedition of Shackleton’s Endurance. Both gave fascinating lectures onboard. Chris, together with the ship’s photographer Lisa, also hosted several workshops on polar photography, from which we learned a great deal.
The ship was also equipped with three professional divers who went underwater daily to capture footage beneath the surface. During the evening recap sessions, they shared videos and revealed the extraordinary underwater world hidden beneath the Antarctic seas. Although I had previously experienced Antarctica aboard a submarine excursion, what I was able to see then was still far more limited compared to the stunning footage captured by these professionals.
The housekeeping staff were equally attentive and thoughtful. Sometimes I deliberately placed the “Do Not Exchange” sign outside my cabin, yet the stewardess would still gently knock to confirm, worried that I might have forgotten. The onboard dining was excellent as well, with menus changing constantly. On several occasions, restaurant staff even proactively asked whether I would like Asian-style fried noodles prepared in advance, just to give me a taste of home during the voyage.
NG Resolution carries a maximum of only 126 passengers, which made embarkation and landings remarkably efficient and allowed for more time ashore. The sauna, yoga studio, and hot Jacuzzi became the perfect places to unwind after long days of exploration.
This was truly an unforgettable journey to Antarctica.
Farewell, NG Resolution.
I hope our paths will cross again someday.
The Antarctica and Patagonia journey sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime experience, especially aboard such a unique vessel. I remember planning a smaller trip and still feeling overwhelmed by all the logistics involved. While balancing studies, I even wondered if I should hire someone to do my class for me just to focus on the adventure. Trips like this remind you how valuable immersive experiences can be.