Jane McDonald explores Antarctica on a luxury expedition cruise
Why not follow in the wake of Jane McDonald’s cruise ship — and experience the beauty, wildlife and adventure of Antarctica?
Ed Grenby - 27 January 2026
Credit: Getty Images
It’s a long way from Macclesfield,” says Jane McDonald. And, as the camera soars past her and out over a humpback whale diving between two huge, luminous-blue icebergs in the Antarctic Ocean, it’s hard to argue with her.
This week the cruise-ship-crooner-turned-travel-presenter finishes her latest journey – from pole to pole – in the far north. But anyone who’s watched the series from the start will have seen that it was the voyage’s first leg, down south in Antarctica among those whales and icebergs, that was the most spectacularly dramatic.
McDonald didn’t go “full Shackleton”, of course. With no permanent human habitation in the Antarctic (and certainly no hotels), the only way for travellers to experience the White Continent is by boat – and McDonald chose the finest. Luxury cruise line Scenic call their ship Scenic Eclipse “the world’s first discovery yacht”, and with a maximum 200 passengers aboard for its 13-day Antarctica in Depth tour (scenic.co.uk), it feels glamorous and exclusive, but without stinting on adventure. When I followed McDonald aboard earlier this year, the ship hadn’t even left port before I was asked if I wanted to sign up for trips in its pair of helicopters, submersible or kayaks and stand-up paddleboards (SUP) – all in addition to its “standard” fare of twice-daily jaunts in 10-man Zodiac boats, either landing ashore for short hikes or cruising among the ’bergs and big critters.
Then, for two and a bit days, nothing. That’s how long it takes to cross the Drake Passage, from Ushuaia, at the foot of South America, to the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula.
Except it’s far from nothing. There are lectures from experts in history, geography and wildlife; there are eight-course dinners, cocktails and concerts; there is the chance to patrol the deck with cabin binoculars to try to spot the first albatross, whale or iceberg; and, just as precious, there’s the sense of real, slow, true travel.
That makes it all the more amazing when, on the third morning out of Ushuaia, I open my blackout blinds (it’s 24-hour daylight down here in the southern-hemisphere summer) and drink in my first view of Antarctica. It’s unlike anywhere else on the planet: unadulterated, horizon-to-horizon wilderness, a vista as wide as the sky itself. But what blows me away is the sheer, brutal beauty of it all. With a palette of just three colours – black, white and brilliant blue – nature has somehow created an infinite variety of shade and shape, an ever-changing epic of mountain, snow, ice and water.
And that’s before you even add the animals. Over the next six days we see the lot: whales, vast and unhurried, breaching and wafting their flukes like they’re auditioning for Attenborough; seals, loafing on land or iceberg, serene until something gets too close, then suddenly up to five tons of do-not-mess-with-me menace; orcas, arcing through the ice like the silent killers they are; penguins, as waddlingly winsome as you could wish for on land, as swift as torpedoes through the water; and birds of every persuasion, from pretty eight-inch petrels to the great, mournful wandering alba.
The choppers give us an albatross-eye view of the wildlife and a see-forever sense of scale, while the sub takes us down to the pitch-dark depths and alien-look lifeforms 100m below the surface. But just as memorable are the kayak and SUP trips, which allow us to get right in among the icebergs and their inhabitants almost unnoticed, quiet enough to hear the ice fizz, the seals breathe and, most wonderful of all, the profound silence. Between the 200 of us, we photograph and film a datacentre’s worth to try to capture it, but even the fanciest camera flattens and belittles what we see. Antarctica can’t be captured any more than it can be tamed (the wreckage of the occasional human endeavour to do the latter tells that story pretty effectively).
I’ve now got 151 pictures of icebergs on my phone, each looking like it’s been sculpted by a different artistic genius, each with its own grudge against right angles (and I gave up counting my penguin pics after I got to 200). But it’s not the souvenirs or even the memories that make this the most incredible trip I’ve ever taken, it was the sheer impossible wonder of being there. Every time I was out in the landscape, I experienced timelessness. Hours seemed to last minutes in a place that, for an epoch or two, hasn’t changed while history has marched on everywhere else.
The Scenic Eclipse’s sleek lines may make it look like a spaceship – albeit a deliciously luxurious one, with its butler service, hot tubs and free-flowing free champagne – but it feels like a time machine. A long way, and a long time, from Macclesfield.
Credit: Getty Images
It’s a long way from Macclesfield,” says Jane McDonald. And, as the camera soars past her and out over a humpback whale diving between two huge, luminous-blue icebergs in the Antarctic Ocean, it’s hard to argue with her.
This week the cruise-ship-crooner-turned-travel-presenter finishes her latest journey – from pole to pole – in the far north. But anyone who’s watched the series from the start will have seen that it was the voyage’s first leg, down south in Antarctica among those whales and icebergs, that was the most spectacularly dramatic.
McDonald didn’t go “full Shackleton”, of course. With no permanent human habitation in the Antarctic (and certainly no hotels), the only way for travellers to experience the White Continent is by boat – and McDonald chose the finest. Luxury cruise line Scenic call their ship Scenic Eclipse “the world’s first discovery yacht”, and with a maximum 200 passengers aboard for its 13-day Antarctica in Depth tour (scenic.co.uk), it feels glamorous and exclusive, but without stinting on adventure. When I followed McDonald aboard earlier this year, the ship hadn’t even left port before I was asked if I wanted to sign up for trips in its pair of helicopters, submersible or kayaks and stand-up paddleboards (SUP) – all in addition to its “standard” fare of twice-daily jaunts in 10-man Zodiac boats, either landing ashore for short hikes or cruising among the ’bergs and big critters.
Then, for two and a bit days, nothing. That’s how long it takes to cross the Drake Passage, from Ushuaia, at the foot of South America, to the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula.
Except it’s far from nothing. There are lectures from experts in history, geography and wildlife; there are eight-course dinners, cocktails and concerts; there is the chance to patrol the deck with cabin binoculars to try to spot the first albatross, whale or iceberg; and, just as precious, there’s the sense of real, slow, true travel.
That makes it all the more amazing when, on the third morning out of Ushuaia, I open my blackout blinds (it’s 24-hour daylight down here in the southern-hemisphere summer) and drink in my first view of Antarctica. It’s unlike anywhere else on the planet: unadulterated, horizon-to-horizon wilderness, a vista as wide as the sky itself. But what blows me away is the sheer, brutal beauty of it all. With a palette of just three colours – black, white and brilliant blue – nature has somehow created an infinite variety of shade and shape, an ever-changing epic of mountain, snow, ice and water.
And that’s before you even add the animals. Over the next six days we see the lot: whales, vast and unhurried, breaching and wafting their flukes like they’re auditioning for Attenborough; seals, loafing on land or iceberg, serene until something gets too close, then suddenly up to five tons of do-not-mess-with-me menace; orcas, arcing through the ice like the silent killers they are; penguins, as waddlingly winsome as you could wish for on land, as swift as torpedoes through the water; and birds of every persuasion, from pretty eight-inch petrels to the great, mournful wandering alba.
The choppers give us an albatross-eye view of the wildlife and a see-forever sense of scale, while the sub takes us down to the pitch-dark depths and alien-look lifeforms 100m below the surface. But just as memorable are the kayak and SUP trips, which allow us to get right in among the icebergs and their inhabitants almost unnoticed, quiet enough to hear the ice fizz, the seals breathe and, most wonderful of all, the profound silence. Between the 200 of us, we photograph and film a datacentre’s worth to try to capture it, but even the fanciest camera flattens and belittles what we see. Antarctica can’t be captured any more than it can be tamed (the wreckage of the occasional human endeavour to do the latter tells that story pretty effectively).
I’ve now got 151 pictures of icebergs on my phone, each looking like it’s been sculpted by a different artistic genius, each with its own grudge against right angles (and I gave up counting my penguin pics after I got to 200). But it’s not the souvenirs or even the memories that make this the most incredible trip I’ve ever taken, it was the sheer impossible wonder of being there. Every time I was out in the landscape, I experienced timelessness. Hours seemed to last minutes in a place that, for an epoch or two, hasn’t changed while history has marched on everywhere else.
The Scenic Eclipse’s sleek lines may make it look like a spaceship – albeit a deliciously luxurious one, with its butler service, hot tubs and free-flowing free champagne – but it feels like a time machine. A long way, and a long time, from Macclesfield.
Jane McDonald: from Pole
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