Our track today is west of our southbound track of eight days ago, and the ocean south of Cape Horn lives up to its reputation, with 40 knot winds and steep seas. The National Geographic Orion is escorted by a variety of sea birds seeking to harness the prevailing winds of the Southern Ocean to keep them aloft with a minimum of wing beats. The birds are already home right here in the Drake Passage, but for us the winds carry a message of an unwelcome departure come too soon.
Nevertheless, we press on undaunted and determined to soak up the final day of the trip. We gather now to share photos, compare notes and swap emails with new friends. Our expedition staff provided a full schedule of lectures and activities to entertain and inform which provides a further welcome distraction. The cloudy skies opened up enough to allow everyone to get a good view of Cape Horn, the sailor’s Everest.
The northbound trip home from Antarctica is such a striking contrast to the journey south, which is marked by giddy anticipation of sights yet unseen. On the return, exhaustion replaces giddiness from our nine-day adventure. From the amazing sight of mighty humpbacks completely out of the water to the pungent ammonia odor of penguin guano, from the sting of frozen salt water spray on our lips to the chorus of calling Gentoos, our senses have been filled to their limits like the bellies of overfed penguin chicks. Did we really walk at midnight across a mile of frozen ocean to take pictures of a Ross seal, below the Antarctic Circle? How can we possibly describe the moment the ship just stopped in a perfect mirror of calm sea under the towering cliffs of Booth Island, simply so we could stare, or the magic light of an after dinner landing at Neko Harbor.
Today, the ship's manifest contains the same list of names as when we left Ushuaia, yet the ship seems filled with people utterly different than those who departed. This experience has changed us; our past selves are now strangers, and the strangers we met when we first boarded the ship are now our kin. Only those who shared the stunning chaos of our cruise through the ice in French Passage can appreciate how we have become connected to each other in a transient way. Blown by the winds and tides, we bumped into each other by chance and we became a random gathering of humans who will never gather again. For a short time we all shared in a single adventure that had a life of its own. Like icebergs, no two adventures are identical, and this one was unique and it was ours. Sadly, also like icebergs, adventures have to come to their end, slowly breaking up into smaller parts and melting away until they are only memories. Too soon now, we will melt back into our former lives, but forever more will Antarctica be a part of us.
