We spent the morning watching and following big groups of swimming/feeding penguins on the backside of Pleneau Island, about halfway down the Antarctic Peninsula.

It was one of the most prolific wildlife scenes I've ever witnessed here. The skies were dark, hinting snow, but the incredible beauty of the scene kept us out on deck all morning. Literally thousands of Gentoos swimming and porpoising surfaced in one big pack after another. In single file they would surface, jump one at a time onto a tiny piece of ice, which quickly disintegrated under their accumulated weight. Others seemed savvier, popping up onto bigger icebergs, which they scampered up and over, again in single file, before diving one at a time off the opposite side.

As well as gathering krill and small fish for their by-now two-month old chicks, I'm convinced whenever I see penguin action like this they're also out horsing around, having some fun. It's summertime, after all. In another month or two this scene will be dramatically different, frozen and iced-in, and all of Antarctica's wildlife will be pushed to the ice edge.

It's an interesting year to talk about ice along the Peninsula. Every year the sea around Antarctica freezes solid, essentially doubling the size of the continent. And every year with spring and summer most of that frozen sea either melts or breaks into smaller pieces and is blown away, offshore.

This year is different. Though summer is two-thirds over still-thick sea ice borders the coastline and encases many of its just offshore islands. It's more ice than any of us who've been visiting the Peninsula for the past couple decades have seen in fifteen years or so.

After watching the penguins hunt for a couple hours we sailed south, to Petermann Island, a traditional summer stop, home to nesting Adelie, Gentoo and blue-eyed Cormorants. For several years the Washington, D.C.-based environmental group Oceanites had put up tents here, allowing its volunteers to come and live for an entire season, documenting wildlife. On an average day all season long one or two tourist ships would land passengers on Petermann for a walk around.

No one has visited the island this year. We attempted to chug through the two miles of thick, slushy ice separating the island from a clear channel. Several times our boat's engine overheated due to the thick slush being sucked into the intake, requiring us to turn off the engine and plunge it out to prevent it from stopping for good.

Gallery: Bowermasters Adventures: Antarctica 2012

Palmer Station -- When we sail into the narrow channel fronting the U.S. science base here at the tip of Anvers Island it is clear of ice, but for one sizable iceberg which we wait out, watching it drift slowly out to sea.

Once anchored and tied to the rocks at four corners -- a necessity in Antarctica given the unpredictable winds and constantly moving ice, which are the twin constant threats of boats both big and small alike down here -- we settle in for a good night's sleep before going ashore the next day to interview and film scientists based here for the austral summer.

But when we awake the scene around our boat has changed: Big winds have pushed a field of brash ice -- small chunks of floating ice that have a tendency to congeal into bigger masses when temps are cold -- into the narrow channel, threatening to trap the sailboat and make getting back and forth to shore a nightmare.

Tying our nine-foot rubber Zodiac up next to the station's row of a half-dozen bigger, sturdier versions it feels a bit like we'd ridden up to an Old West town and saddled our Shetland pony next to a string of quarter horses.
Though it is gray and misting heavily when we climb ashore the station's manager, Bob Farrell, in sweatshirt and jeans, meets us outside. His charges this summer total just 41, a third of them scientists, the rest support staff.

Whether krill expert or IT guy, whether studying Antarctica's longest-living insect (a midge) or looking after the station's wastewater system, every one of the 42 based here for three to six months treats the place with equal parts reverence and occasional disdain. While each loves Antarctica in their own way, many returning year after year, the isolation -- and grayness -- of the place can sometimes make the assignment feel more jail sentence than golden opportunity. The two days we are at Palmer it rains and snows and rains and snows, with the sun coming out for just a tempting 30-minute peek, and then starts to sleet.

Luckily for us the place is busy with interesting science and super-committed-scientists. While the NSF-supported scientists are often in the field counting penguins or sampling underwater algae, a handful are here working the first-floor labs doing what scientists do: count, recount, analyze, compare, dissect, hypothesize, write and edit. Among the hi-tech support here is full-on Wi-Fi connections which allow phones with U.S. prefixes to ring and experiments launched with colleagues back home in New Jersey watching over scientists shoulders via Skype or Immarsat.

In a move surprising those not living in the Maldives -- where most of the recent press has focused on its green-thinking on climate change and carbon use -- the island nation's president, Mohamed Nasheed, has apparently been forced out in a coup d'etat.

Fingers are being pointed at allies of the previous president, Maumoon Gayoom, for orchestrating Nasheed's resignation. It was the Gayoom administration, which spanned 30 years, that had locked up and tortured a younger Nasheed before he became the first democratically elected president in the country's history.

While celebrated internationally for his environmental politics, Nasheed's presidency has been at risk at home. Critics have claimed the "Island President" (the name of the documentary that has recently won awards and attention at festivals from Toronto to Sundance) was paying too much attention to global issues and not enough to his backyard; others complained his leadership was not "Islamic enough" for the all-Muslim nation.
In recent months the country has experienced its own brand of "Arab Spring," but here rather than oust a dictator the movement was against the country's first democratically elected president.

Three weeks ago President Nasheed ordered the arrest and jailing of a high court judge -- an ally of the former president -- on charges of corruption. Street protests against the president, said to have been coordinated by allies of the former president including a half-brother and members of his security force, were successful enough that the military was sent into the streets.

Nasheed's resignation speech indicated he was stepping down to avoid further and more serious clashes between the military, the police and protestors.

Port Lockroy -- If there is a human population center along the Antarctic Peninsula, this is it. While there may be hundreds of thousands of penguins, tens of thousands of seals, whales and sea birds that call this remote stretch home, few people do.

But at the height of the austral summer season -- December-February -- more people congregate in the protected harbor here at the former 'Camp A' of the British Antarctic Survey than anywhere else for many thousands of miles, if temporarily. (The next most populated place in Antarctica would be the American base at McMurdo, home to 1,200 scientists and support crew during the summer months, but located on the opposite side of the continent.)

The former refuge hut has been turned into a mini-museum and gift shop, demanding a mostly volunteer staff to run it and keep the small island relatively tidy (it is surrounded by breeding Gentoo penguins, everywhere ...) for the tourist boats that arrive, often twice a day.

When we go ashore at Goudier Island we find an all-women staff of four plus a visiting guide from one of the tourist ships who's spending ten days here helping out. The two men are here temporarily, installing video cameras around the hut so the penguin colonies can be monitored remotely during the eight months no humans live here.

I had a slightly selfish interest for pulling into Lockroy; a pair of kayaks I'd asked to be dropped off by the National Geographic Explorer had been stashed alongside the residents' Quonset hut a few weeks ago. We find them, bright red and yellow polyurethane wrapped in plastic badly deteriorated by the ozone-free sun that shines brightly here during the summer thanks to the still-present hole in the atmosphere that grows over the deep, deep south this time of year.

Paradise Harbor -- Its common knowledge among Antarctic veterans that no two days here look or feel alike. Ever.

The reality is that no quarter hour looks alike. Or can be predicted, no matter how many months or years you've spent here.

We spent the night in a small, protected bay about 400 miles down the coastline of the Antarctic Peninsula. The tricky thing about sailing a small yacht here (the aluminum-hulled Pelagic Australisis 74 feet) is that there are very few truly protected anchorages; it reminds me often of the coast of Maine, with its thousands of small islands, where finding safe haven is often similarly dodgy. Here the combination of rapidly changing winds and weather mean that even when you've securely tied off bow and stern to rocks with a pair of heavy metal lines at each end, there is no certainty that you'll really be safe through the night.

The biggest threat, of course, is ice. A big wind comes up, a seemingly protected bay can fill with icebergs big and small, and any sailboat can be locked in within an hour, unable to move until the ice blows out again. Which might be an hour, or days.

(While most of the private boats that sail to Antarctica are aluminum or steel-hulled, as it becomes an increasingly popular destination for adventurous yachties, the greater number of plastic, even the occasional fiberglass boat, show up here, more greatly threatened by sharp-edged ice.)

This morning we are lucky; there's no ice in the bay when we awake. We are even luckier to spend the entire day just half a mile from where we slept, hiking, sailing and filming the rare beauty of Antarctica as it changes, seemingly by the minute.

Enterprise Island-- Rain, rain go away.

We woke tied-off to the rusted hulk of a half-sunken Norwegian whaling ship. Its story is legend along the Peninsula for having caught fire a century ago during a sail-away party, its stores of whale oil afire lighting up the sky for several days. Now it is just another ruined reminder of those boom days when Antarctica's whales were one of the world's biggest producers of oil for lighting and heat.

Today is one of those days down here that you wish you could be sitting by some kind of warm fire, whether in the comfort of your living room or a preferably a bonfire. At eight this morning it is thirty-four degrees and raining, conditions which began yesterday and promise to be with us for at least two more. Thanks to satellite imagery we are able to track the weather up to five days in advance, more or less; at the very least we know when high and low pressure systems are on the way and from what direction to expect the winds.

Loading into a hypalon Zodiac -- Graham Charles, an old friend of mine and great Kiwi explorer, Skip Novak, a longtime sail racer and owner of the "Pelagic Australis" that sailed us to Antarctica and myself -- round the southwestern edge of Enterprise Island to have a look at the art show of grounded icebergs that gather in the relatively shallow waters each summer season.

We are not disappointed. Twenty and thirty foot tall icebergs litter the alley. One has a pair of small arches carved through it by wind and waves. Another has a sheer wall, like smooth granite, rising straight out of the cold sea. Another is ridged by undulations carved into its underside over many years before it rolled onto its side.

Deception Island, Antarctica -- The black volcanic sand beach carries a heavy history, of an efficient if somewhat desperate past, in evidence from the cemetery where British whalers are buried to the abandoned and rusted pumps and storage tanks that line the shore, once filled with the oil of thousands of whales killed here each during a 25 year run.

From 1904 to 1931 this bay was home to one of the Southern Ocean's boomtowns. As many as 15 big processing boats and another 35 "catcher" boats worked this beach at one time, most from Norway and the U.K.

With a sun rare for this island south of the South Shetlands lighting up the beach we moved up and down it, not with giant tools for skinning whales but giant cameras for documenting the falling down boomtown. Rusting tanks that once held whale oil, collapsed dormitories that once housed men and wooden whaleboats buried up to their gunnels by blown sand are the subject. It is rare today that a whale ventures into the caldera, but just before entering through Neptune's Bellows a trio of humpbacks had blown in the near-distance.

One thing we know for certain is that the sun won't last. My hope is to make a landing the next day on the exterior of the island, at a beach known as Baily Head. Though it is just around the corner from the interior of the caldera, and we could hike to it in two hours, the preference would be to land by Zodiac on its steep beach.

How steep? It typically shuts out three of four attempts ... and those are in big robust, hard-bottomed Zodiacs, not the more pliable nine-footer we will use.

Dump the Zodiac as we land here, and there goes the film, on Day 2.

Drake Passage -- Ever since sailing men first proved the world was not flat they have been cursing the weather conditions at Cape Horn and the Drake Passage that lies below, separating South America from Antarctica.

Everyone from Sir Francis Drake, for whom the windy passage is named, to Captain Bligh, who fought into the winds for 100 days before giving in, turning around and sailing to Tahiti the long way, no one in their right mind has looked forward to these seas.

I've crossed the Drake a couple dozen times now and include myself on the long list of those who live with a mild and constant dread of the place. Whether leaving from the southern Chilean ports of Punta Arenas or Puerto Williams, or Ushuaia in Argentina -- from which most of the 30-odd tourist ships that carry visitors to the Antarctic Peninsula each austral summer leave from -- in the days leading up to each of the crossings my fingers are tightly locked for many days in advance, praying for calm seas.

This time out was no different. We were set to leave aboard the 74-foot "Pelagic Australis" from a dock lined with expedition yachts on January 2 and the five-day outlook was for incredibly light winds and ... calm seas. If that luck held, it looked like we'd make what we anticipated to be a three-day crossing in good time, with little turbulence.

Unfortunately our luck did not hold. Delayed waiting for an underwater housing for our 3D cameras, which never arrived and as far as I know is still stuck in customs in Buenos Aires, we finally sailed away from Ushuaia at midday on January 4 in 45 mile per hour gusts. Just minutes later they closed the port due to strong winds.

Kunahadhoo Island-- On a very hot, very typical, mid-morning in the Maldives I walk the streets of this tiny island just north of the equator.

Most of its 800 residents had gathered at the shoreline to greet visitors from a nearby island. While they focused on a first-of-a-kind beach clean-up along the rocky coast, accompanied by a drum band and dancing, I took a small walking tour looking for something the Maldives doesn't have much of: drinking water.

(A late morning visit to its elementary school provided another interesting glimpse into island life; while most of the students raised their hands said they knew how to swim, yet virtually none had ever worn a mask and snorkel, so had no idea of the rich life that surrounded their island home.)

It was quickly evident from the jury-rigged plumbing systems fitted to the exteriors of most of the one-story cement homes that the options for delivering clean water were few. Some homes had barrels for collecting rainwater; others had wells dug into the rocky island terrain. Most of them, they admitted, leaked.

Everyone on the island also admitted that if it weren't for the arrival of the weekly cargo boat, and its bottles of water in plastic, they wouldn't last a week on what they had in storage.
A recent news story from another Maldivian island group exemplified the problem, reporting that a dozen islands had nearly run out of water completely.

Laamu, Maldives-- The recent four-day, ocean-focused conference -- dubbed WaterWoMen by its sponsors, Six Senses Resortsand +H2O-- was a first-of-a-kind blend of water sport activities and intellectual athleticism.

Equal part coming out party for the resort on this remote Maldivian atoll just a100 miles north of the equator included were not just some of the world's top water athletes (surfers, windsurfers, free divers, kite boarders) but some of the planet's more thoughtful thinkers on ocean issues as well.

On the athlete side were surfers Layne Beachley and Buzzy Kerbox , windsurfers Levi Silver and Keith Teboul, kite surfers Mark Shinn and Alex Caizergues and extreme wake boarder Duncan Zuur.

The slightly less active contingent included biologist and oceanographer Dr. Callum Roberts; aquatic filmmaker and 3rdgeneration ocean lover Fabien Cousteau; Carl Gustaf Lundin, director of the IUCN's Global Marine Program; Bollywood producer/director Shekhar Kapur; Chris Gorell Barnes, executive producer of the film "End of the Line;" and Water Charity co-founders Dr. Jacqueline Chan and Averill Strasser.

The Maldives is a perhaps the perfect place for such a meeting since warming sea temperatures have put its coral reefs at risk, thus endangering both its local population and the tourism industry that is its economic base. The event was prudently also a fundraiser for a trio of ocean non-profits:

The Blue Marine Foundation(www.bluemarinefoundation.com), created by Barnes, a recent initiative pushing for ten percent of the world's ocean to be placed into marine reserves by 2020 (today less than one percent is thus protected);

Plant A Fish(www.plantafish.org), Fabien Cousteau's hands-on marine education and restoration effort to engage local communities around the globe through schools, businesses and government agencies to "re-plant" aquatic plants and animals in environmentally stressed areas;

Water Charity(www.watercharity.org), focused on providing safe drinking water, effective sanitation and health education to those most in need via the most cost-effective and efficient means.