Sea Ice

Content warning: Themes of loss and grief

The passenger expedition ship World Navigator heaved through the roiling waves of the Drake Passage toward the bottom of the world. The nights here in December were short, but this was the longest night of Matt’s life as he lay motionless in his claustrophobic cabin, riding out what may have been the rest of his life. 

The hull banged hard as it crashed down into the troughs of swells over and over and over. The ship pitched and rolled as Matt’s movie brain premiered the famous scene from The Poseidon Adventure where a rogue wave capsized the ocean liner. 

This cruise to Antarctica almost did not happen (which he wished for now, as it turns out). The COVID pandemic was white hot, circa 2021, and several crewmembers tested positive on the previous sailing. Port authorities locked down the ship in Ushuaia, Argentina. 

Before being allowed to depart from the United States, Matt and his fellow passengers endured a battery of COVID vaccinations, testing, quarantine, and a charter flight to maintain a containment bubble. Now, the trip of a lifetime might just be an eleven-hour flight right back home to Orlando. 

The World Navigator was finally allowed to set sail, more than a day late.

Matt did not have a lot waiting for him at home anymore. His mother, Gloria, had taken her last breath through ninety-three-year-old lungs only weeks earlier. The assisted living home she lived in was off-limits with COVID restrictions. A kind manager had invoked hospice visitation rights, so at least Matt was able to see her in her final days. Together, they watched Wheel of Fortune and ate whatever takeout food sounded good to her that day.

He impulsively booked this Antarctica trip to sail as far away from death and anguish as he could. But as he lay there, wrapped like a mummy in the bed sheet to avoid being pitched to the floor, the prospect of death was closer than ever. Outside, the waves hissed and sprayed and threw buckets of water against his shuddering window. Glassware in the adjacent cabin crashed to the floor. Down the creaking hallway, a stateroom door slammed.

Buried at sea. In a sheet, just like the old sailors, he thought.

The Drake Passage has terrified seafarers for centuries. With no land to slow it down, water gushes through from the Pacific to the Atlantic at a rate of 25,000 to 40,000 gallons per second. When high winds and storms form, waves can top forty feet. Some 800 shipwrecks litter the seafloor, along with 20,000 souls.

Somehow, whether it was exhaustion, the scotch nightcap he had drunk (unsteadily) in the lounge earlier, or the motion sickness patch he had affixed above his navel, Matt managed to fall asleep for a few hours.

He unburied his head from under the pillow to see grey light around the edges of the curtain. 

We are still here! He exclaimed and wondered at the same time.

He got out of bed with newfound sea legs, pulled the curtain back, and opened the sliding glass door. A low fog clung around the ship like a shower cap. Sea ice topped the calm, inky black water in an otherworldly slush as random chunks of crackling ice floated by. A desolate island stood imposingly on the edge of the mist. An albatross with a wingspan as wide as a Ford truck floated alongside the ship. The curious bird turned its head and looked right at the dazed, lonely orphan in cabin 507.

Matt’s foggy brain could still not compute whether he was witnessing Antarctica or Purgatory.

He showered and made his way to the dining room, which smelled of coffee, sausage, and maple syrup. The rough sailing was the main topic of conversation. 

A hunched man with a cane shuffled into the room and plopped down at the table next to Matt. 

“Good morning. I’m Robert,” he said, extending a trembling hand decimated by Parkinson’s. Matt introduced himself, and the two sipped their coffee, chatting.

Robert was eighty-three, a retired farmer who had always wanted to see Antarctica. As his condition worsened, he figured the window was rapidly closing. He was traveling alone. The crew had closed ranks to subtly monitor him during the voyage, and a waiter soon appeared with a plate of his favorite items.

An announcement was made that the first excursion from the ship was commencing in forty-five minutes. Passengers proceeded down to a mud room on the lower deck to don parkas and knee-high boots. Through an open hatch door (and through a boot scrubber to wash off any contaminants), Matt climbed down to a waiting inflatable boat with a driver and outboard motor. The water was mercifully calm, but the gentle snow flurries rapidly turned to large flakes. 

The Zodiac beelined to a snowy landing site. Gleeful shipmates climbed out for their first taste of land in days, next to an abandoned research station. Two passengers unveiled a “Seventh Continent” flag with a map of Antarctica. Another fell playfully backward and started making a snow angel. Soon, it was time to shove off for a snowy cruise around the quiet, almost soundproof, bay. 

“PENGUINS!” someone shouted, as dozens of the creatures suddenly appeared alongside the little boat, zipping along the surface and jumping like dolphins. The parka-clad visitors were giddy with excitement. Then, the driver spotted a crabeater seal lazily dozing on an ice floe nearby and sped to the scene. 

Almost as if on cue, a whale tail discreetly flapped above the surface not even fifty yards from the Zodiac. Another inflatable from the Navigator motored over, and Matt spotted Robert, sitting bundled up to his chin, with a grin a mile wide. Matt’s heart leapt with gratitude that he, Robert, and all these people were experiencing such an incredible moment. Gloria would have loved it.

Back onboard the ship, the mood was light and warm. People filtered into the lounge for pre-dinner cocktails. Glasses clinked. Friendships formed. The day’s sightings were shared. Laughter echoed over “Piano Paul” at the keyboards. Matt became close with a couple from Minnesota, a courtroom sketch artist, two firefighters from Boston, a public defender from Miami, and a retired Air France employee. 

Matt slept soundly overnight. The new day promised another Zodiac excursion and—if conditions were right—the infamous Polar Plunge, where passengers were encouraged to jump into the frigid 28-degree water for bragging rights. He dressed and made his way up to the dining room for breakfast.

There was Robert, at his usual table, being fussed over by the staff. 

“Matthew, won’t you join me?” Robert greeted. Matt sat down across from the old man.

“What amazing things are we going to do today?” Robert quipped, waving his hand at the scene outside their window. The sun shone brilliantly, illuminating the brightening water. In the distance, snow-capped rocky islands appeared like candy confections. 

“Let’s take a boat ride and jump in some ice water, in Antarctica,” Matt offered.

“That sounds spectacular!” Robert roared. The two polished off their breakfast and suited up in their winter gear below deck.

The Zodiac loaded up in record time. The driver did a slow cruise through the impossibly shaped Dr. Seussian icebergs. Some were dingy and dirty, while some were a bright Windex blue. The driver explained that much of the glacial ice was thousands of years old. Through the clear waters, passengers could witness the submerged enormity of the formations. 

Their guide fished out a piece of floating ice and handed it to Matt, smiling. 

“Use it for drinks back on the ship.” 

The driver beached the inflatable on a nearby shoreline. The landmass was home to an enormous colony of penguins. The visitors disembarked and stood watching the birds waddling comically along well-worn pathways, wings flapping, wearing nature’s black and white tuxedoes.

“I didn’t think it would stink this much,” one of the passengers interjected. The whole crowd erupted in laughter. The happy humans giggled, took selfies, and marveled at this hive of activity at the end of the Earth. Eventually, the passengers waddled back to their craft and headed back to the ship.

That afternoon, the expedition leader announced over the Navigator’s loudspeaker that the much-anticipated Polar Plunge would be taking place as scheduled! Matt jumped into his swimsuit and robe and went below deck. About forty people had already lined up, and party music boomed throughout the mud room. A few people painted their faces to look like penguins. 

One by one, the plungers descended stairs to a small platform, where they were secured to a rope by a waist harness. A quick thumbs up from the crew and S P L A S H! 

Some dove. 

Some cannonballed. 

Some timidly jumped feet first—all cheered on by those waiting behind them. Within seconds, they were pulled safely back to the ship. 

The time had arrived for Matt! He climbed nervously down the slippery stairs. The team cinched him up. 

“OK, let’s go, Amigo!” the crewman encouraged.

With a running start, he became airborne and disappeared into the frigid waters. It was so cold his vision went black. He surfaced and felt the tug back to the landing. He had never felt so invigorated as he squinted under the brilliant Antarctic sun. With numb limbs, he climbed back into the mud room. A large tray of vodka shots had been set out by crew members. There, holding out a shaky glass of vodka toward Matt, stood a still-dripping Robert.

“To life well-lived!” he toasted.

“I can’t believe you would attempt this!” Matt laughed.

“My friend, I was first in line!” Robert said. “Now, let’s go up to the hot tub for a soak!”