Drake Passage
We wake up on a calm and sunny Drake! So welcome after a somewhat uncertain bedtime the night before. The calm conditions are ideal to wonder at the vastness of the ocean as well as reflect on the many rich experiences we have been privileged to live in the indescribable beauty of the frozen continent.
All day long we sight whales and are accompanied by the ubiquitous cape petrels as well as other seabirds. By the end of the afternoon we have made it across the political boundary of Antarctica and are soon joined by the wandering albatrosses. We marvel at these giants effortlessly plying the winds whilst covering vast distances with hardly a wing-flap. Different activities keep us occupied: a series of lectures continue to make their contribution to our understanding of Antarctica, photographers are busy downloading images and at tea-time we crowd the Bistro Bar to enjoy Swedish pancakes over a good cup of tea.
After dinner we gather in the lounge to watch the first episode of the BBC’s recently completed Frozen Planet program. We rise dumb-struck from the incredible filmanship and for being vividly reminded that we live on a resilient and fragile planet that never ceases to surprise us; as expressed in the delicateness of an ice crystal, the intelligence shown by hunting killer whales and the freezing loveliness in the Arctic and Antarctic landscapes. It is a timely reminder that it is up to us to look after it.
As icing on the cake, we wander on to the decks to catch last glimpses of the seabirds with a beautiful sunset as a backdrop and as the sun dipped over a clear horizon get a clear sight of the greenflash!
What of Captain Scott and his four companions? Let the diaries speak once more: “Camp 67. Lat. 89° 26’ 57”. It is wonderful to think that two long marches would land us at the Pole. We left our depôt to-day with nine days’ provisions, so that it ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian flag forestalling ours. Little Bowers continues his indefatigable efforts to get good sights, and it is wonderful how he works them up in his sleeping-bag in our congested tent. (Minimum for night – 27.5°F). Only 27 miles from the pole. We ought to do it now.”
