Antarctica Vol 4: Hydrurga Rocks & the Drake Passage Storm!

I woke on our last morning in Antarctica, expecting our final activity to be a zodiac cruise without a landing. When Phil relayed that a landing had been added, I felt a surge of excitement!

We would explore an area of Hydrurga Rocks on foot and by zodiac. Then we would begin our much anticipated multi-day journey back to Ushuaia, through the storm already brewing in the Drake Passage.

Chinstrap penguins seemingly posing for me. 🧡

The weather was socked in, with little visibility in any direction. It provided the perfect setting to focus on our penguin friends one last time. And here, for the first time, a bonus, thriving chicks!

Penguins generally have two chicks each year.

And then all too quickly it was time to leave. As we began our journey north the visibility was still near zero. We had been instructed to take any sea-sick medication at dinner because it was anticipated that we would begin to hit rough waters later that night.

At around 2pm, I began feeling the edge of queeziness creep in. We had started rocking earlier than expected. I applied the patch behind my ear and went up to join a lecture, but instead of watching the speaker, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, trying to keep the queasiness from magnifying while I gave my patch its required four hours to kick in.

I was able to stabilize it, but not eliminate it. For the next two days, I would feel no better or no worse.

This Weddell Seal was right in our path at Hydrurga Rocks with not a worry in the world. A few people almost walked right into it!

On the afternoon of the next day, the rocking began to noticeably increase. The wind and the swells were gaining in speed and intensity, yet the light was still bright.

I positioned myself at dinner with a view out a large window. I watched in awe as the swells continued to grow. In one moment it would feel as if we were on top of a skyscraper, riding the ridge of a wave while looking down into the deep trough of another. The next moment, we would be in the trough looking up at the ridge of a wave towering over our heads. Back and forth we went. Amazingly, no glasses tipped over as the Ocean Victory gave us a perfect demonstration of how its X-bow-shaped hull, designed specifically for these very waves, could cut through them with ease.

The intensity continued to increase as the night went on. At around 9pm Ole and I ventured outside and to the front of the boat. A place I had spent a lot of time during that day, but now the conditions had really intensified and I needed to experience the update. It took a massive force to get the door open and as I turned the corner, I had to double down, bend over, and steady myself to combat the severe headwind. We stood on the bow with a hand on the railing to maintain balance, marveling at what we were experiencing. The wind ripped at our clothes. The sound of it stretched in our ears, giving us both pause. The cold was biting and immediately froze the few square inches of visible skin on our faces. But how invigorating it was! How alive we both felt! And how humbling it was to feel so insignificant at the same time.

A few minutes later, two others joined us, their clothes cinched up in every possible way. Terry stood next to Ole and me, turned his head, and though his mouth was only a handful of inches from my ear, he yelled as loud as he could so that the sound would reach my ear before getting carried away into the abyss. With a slight smile on his face, I heard the words as they reached me, “Is there any other place you would rather be on a Saturday night?!” The question filled me with energy. The answer was blatantly obvious. In fact, it was rhetorical, we all knew it. Yet with fire in our bellies, Ole and I screamed, nearly in unison, NO WAY!

Later that night the storm peaked with 8-meter (26ft) waves and 65 knot (75 mph/121kph) winds.

The final day of our adventure. Taken in the Beagle Channel.

Lessons from: Antarctica Vol 4

This storm did throw one passenger out of her bed, her head smacking into the nightstand. She handled her bruised, black eye with ease and confidence though she did not share my excitement that she now had a Drake Passage war story! Being rocked to sleep was not always fun and games, it seemed.
By this point, I was eager to return to Antarctica someday, so I started daydreaming by looking at future trips offered by both Orbridge, with whom I had booked this trip, and Albatros Expeditions, the boat charter company. Links to those options: Orbridge 2025 Antarctica + Albatros Expeditions Antarctica 2024/2025.

Something interesting: Our captain

Our captain was Russian, most of his crew Ukrainian, and all of the passengers American. I noticed when the bridge crew introduced themselves that he was the only one who did not tell us where he was from, and I wondered then if that was because he was Russian. I could not imagine giving two hoots which country he was from, so it made me sad that he was concerned about claiming his nationality in a room full of Americans.

He was a lovely man.

Once when Ole and I were on an outer deck, a guy came up to me, eyeing my camera. He said he had the same camera and wanted to see which lens I was using. We had a quick conversation about which lens he had opted for and then he smiled and wandered off. I knew he was from the bridge but did not know which role he filled. I asked Ole who said, “That was the captain!” I felt silly. The captain is ranked number one on the ship. He was a bit of a celebrity and I was clueless.

At the end of the expedition, Oleg stood before us, thanking us for joining the expedition. Then he said something that nearly made me tear up. He said that the earth is round, and because of that, we never know when our paths will cross again. Everyone gave him a sincere and lengthy round of applause. We felt lucky to have him as our leader, and I was proud of my fellow Americans for ensuring that Oleg knew that with us, his nationality had no bearing.

A look behind the curtain.

It was excruciating to leave Antarctica. It felt as if I was going in the wrong direction. As if I was being pulled from something I was not supposed to be pulled from. I had joked about hiding on the Ocean Victory to join the 18-day trip departing the afternoon of our arrival. It wasn’t so much a joke, it was an actual fantasy.

Several hours after disembarking, I boarded a flight back to Buenos Aires. As our 373 looped around the Beagle Channel gaining the needed elevation to cross over the Andes, my eyes were full of tears.

Everyone jumped up eager to exit when we arrived at our gate. I just sat there, paralyzed in my own sad weight. Questions were filling my mind. Why does this feel so awful? Why can’t I focus instead on how fortunate I am to have had such an incredible experience?

All of a sudden, a welcome feeling of peace washed over me. The peace came in a thought. It came to a realization. The peace came in a mantra: it was designed this way. And in that moment, I knew that I was feeling this way for a reason. Now, I needed to figure out why.