A Storm at Sea

There was no landing on Deception Island, and there will be no landings today at all. We are in a storm of hurricane proportions in the great Southern Ocean. The wind gusts are over 100 miles per hour and the swells over 20 feet high. It’s the captain’s show now, no naturalist lectures, no bird watching, no penguins—the action is on the bridge. Beyond the storm, the only conversations are of the James Caird, the 22 foot rowboat Ernest Shackleton and five men sailed for 16 days and over 1300 kilometers in seas such as these.

Lunch was sparsely attended. One person fell to the ground, glasses and silverware flew off the table, tables upended, and dishes smashed in the kitchen. The waves crash over the windows, and the spray reaches the bridge. It’s much less dramatic from the bridge, as one feels truly on top of the storm, but it’s much more intoxicating and mesmerizing from that perch. The robust frothy waves gallop in from all sides like an endless herd of horses or buffalo—powerful and unstoppable.