Antarctica

Some things defy easy explanation. My trip to Antarctica was at once overwhelming, frantic, fascinating, confusing and, it must also be said, in some ways strangely disappointing. I’d wanted to go for a long time, but felt no release when I got there; I was as prepared as I’d been for any journey, but came back with more questions than answers.

I met interesting people – a renowned polar explorer, impressive young expedition guides on seemingly precarious contracts, lovely committed crew from all around the world, and inevitably a few arrogant wealthy bucket-list box-tickers. I saw a great number of penguins, quite a few seals, some humpback whales and even a pod of orcas. Counter-intuitively, thanks to a heatwave, it wasn’t as cold as the city I’d left behind. I enjoyed it very much and am incredibly lucky to have had the chance. But, speaking honestly, I came home disappointed that I wasn’t able to see more, to do more, to bust out of the imposed routine that the trip format caught me in. That’s no surprise – I always prefer to find my own way – though the format was no surprise either and there were good safety and conservation reasons for it.

That was the trip. The place was something different entirely.

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If nothing else I want to leave you with my clear impression of Antarctica as wild. Not wild like a lion but wild, like out of control, out of bounds, out of this world. Frighteningly large glaciers flowing relentlessly down to the cold ocean from valleys between outlandlishly high rocky summits. Katabatic winds – literally air falling downhill with gravity from the high altitude interior of the continent – hammering the coast. Thunder at random as ice walls collapse into the sea. Hair-raising sights like whole icebergs, bigger than office blocks, wobbling in the water as their centre of gravity shifts without warning (that one I will never forget).

It’s real wilderness, not even a national park, the kind that doesn’t care one way or the other about your presence. In most other wild spaces you’ll eventually run into someone. Not here. Humans had barely even been to Antarctica a hundred years ago and now only scientific teams live here, quite precariously at small scale and with expensive, specialized logistics. There are no rangers, no wardens, no interpretive trails, no rescue helicopters. It might as well be another planet.

So my thoughts about the entire experience are in flux. I can’t begin to set them out in any meaningful way. For now, all I can do is post some of my better images until my deeper reaction can catch up. Even selecting the photographs is a challenge. Not just because I’m out of practice at photography and feel it’s hard to find good ones; not just because my gear now qualifies as vintage (even my digital camera, let alone my film ones) and that shows; and not just because choosing images – especially the first ones I post – sets the tone for how I interpreted the place, the landscapes, and the locals (penguins, mainly). All those reasons, and more.

Like any wild place, at a philosophical level you take from Antarctica what you will – inspiration, awe, spiritual reawakening. It won’t take anything from you. It will just continue to exist. And even on a trip like this, two days’ sailing in heavy seas from the nearest hospital, the safety margins are tighter than in most places. There, whether you come home alive with photos or dead in a body bag (or disappear without trace) is entirely down to your own ability to cope with winds and waters that just do their own thing. Without warning, without fear or favour, without intent, and above all, without mercy.

For all that, I loved it.

And because they asked us to return as “ambassadors” for Antarctica’s pristine natural environment, I will also say these things:

• The Antarctic is a beautiful remote wilderness; travelling there is a privilege and we should do so with operators who try to preserve it for future visitors (I was broadly happy with the conservation measures used by the outfit I visited with, though I am sure there is more that could be done)
• Antarctica should remain pristine – if you hear of proposals to mine it, to drill it, to exploit its waters, to militarize it, to industrialize or populate it (other than for legitimate science), then “write to your congressional representative”.
• And last, for the love of all that’s holy, climate change is real and human activity is adversely affecting the environment. Melting snow and ice is natural, but human activity is significantly increasing the speed and intensity of that. It’s true. We know it, and have known it for a good long while. What counts now is how we deal with it. (This is especially annoying to me – I did my Honours thesis on the impact of climate change back in 1996. Yes, a year that starts with “19”! This is NOT NEW). Make changes in your own life (eat less meat, drive less, fly less and more efficiently, don’t waste electricity, maybe have fewer children, etc) and encourage policy change (vote with your vote, vote with your wallet, raise your voice).

Later, I’ll write more about the trip – what I did, what I took, what I saw, how I prepared, and even how cool it was to be the only person on the trip who still used film. And maybe, still later, I’ll come up with words to explain How. It. Felt.