The First Antarctic Landing
It was our first time doing a landing like this. We put on the special boots, waterproof pants, Gill jackets, gloves, and every layer we had. One big problem was waiting in the corridors—where it was about 20°C—fully dressed in all our cold-weather gear.
We were also slow getting ready: putting on life jackets and all the equipment. The learning curve in unfamiliar settings is steep at first, and you need to be patient with yourself and with those around you.
Once geared up, we passed through a small boarding platform with stairs that connected the ship to the Zodiacs. There are two of these platforms on the sides of the ship, deployed only after the large hydraulic metal doors open on the hull.
We had already seen the landscapes—mountains with glaciers covering every inch, snow, vastness—but nothing prepared us for how the massive ship shrank in size next to glacier walls over a hundred meters tall.
The ship navigating through narrow fjord channels, so close to cliffs and islands, gave us a real sense of how massive the icebergs and glaciers truly were. It also gave us a sense of how close we came to dangers that, in past centuries, could be fatal—like they were for the Titanic, or for Antarctic expeditions in the 1800s and 1900s, such as Ernest Shackleton’s, which were literally swallowed by the ice.
But thanks to their lessons, we’ve advanced technologically to where we are today.
Zodiacs, Operations, and Penguins
Then, the Zodiac loaded with people accelerated through the waves, pulling away from the ship. After a short ride, it brought us to the shore, where another team handled passenger disembarkation and landing logistics.
After several days of watching the crew operate, I began to understand how things worked.
Very early in the morning, once the landing site has been decided, the first Zodiac is deployed with a guide and a safety team to prepare and mark safe areas. While they work, more Zodiacs are lowered. One Zodiac stays near the ship to shuttle helmsmen to their respective boats as they are launched. Each one checks in with the bridge, reporting their identification number or name and the number of passengers aboard.
Over the following hours, the Zodiacs continuously shuttle passengers to and from shore. On land, critical supplies are staged: food, fuel, tents, and likely any other item that might be needed in case something goes wrong and passengers have to remain overnight.
Once ashore, passengers can walk, take photos, and observe wildlife—including various species of penguins commonly found on the Antarctic Peninsula, such as the Gentoo penguin, Chinstrap penguin, and Adelie penguin.
Cold Splashes and Warm Returns
That morning, the ride to shore was very calm, but on the way back the wind picked up. Because of the bouncing waves, we returned completely soaked with freezing salty water. But the moment you step back onto the ship and feel the comforting 20°C air, it’s as if you leave everything behind. Once changed, you can head to your cabin for a hot shower. It’s surreal how, outside the ship, the weather can be completely harsh, but once inside, it feels like a hotel.
During lunch, the ship moved toward the next location, and in the afternoon, we had more landings—visiting incredible, historical, or penguin-filled places that were perfect for photography.
Ever-Changing Days on the Ice
The following days unfolded with a rhythm: Zodiac outings in the morning and afternoon, while during lunch and overnight we would relocate to the next destination. We tried to explore everything and see it all. Katie was especially drawn to the birds—particularly penguins—but there are hundreds of species, along with mammals like seals, sea lions, and humpback whales, among others.
I was more captivated by the sharp, glacier-covered mountains and the incredible shapes and sizes of the icebergs. I spent a lot of time near the mountains, and on some of them, I could see the ancient power of the glaciers that once carved their shapes. But here in Antarctica, everything is still active and in motion. It’s like the difference between seeing a dormant volcanic mountain and witnessing an active volcano—except here, it's glaciation in action.
It’s also important to highlight that Antarctica was never occupied by humans until about 200 years ago. Every other continent has had civilizations and human presence for thousands of years—but not Antarctica.
And so, during these days, we found ourselves immersed in thoughts like these: the stories of Antarctic explorers, the seal hunters and oil extractors who harvested animal fat, the territorial disputes and current claims between nations. We also wondered what daily life might be like for those who live at summer and winter bases, or those working aboard research and tourism vessels in these remote lands.
In short, it’s the closest thing to being on another planet. Everything operates differently. In summer, night doesn’t exist; in winter, there is no day. There’s no fresh water—only what you can melt from snow. There are no rivers or lakes—everything is ice and snow.
The atmosphere is thinner, the sunlight harsher, and the scale of everything is immense.
And all of this adventure happened on less than 1% of the continent’s surface—Antarctica is roughly the size of Australia.
Extra Adventures: Kayaks and a Night on the Ice
Some optional activities required extra payment and advance booking on the ship. Katie joined a scientific outing, and we both took part in two others: kayaking and an overnight bivouac on an island nestled in a glacial cirque.
The kayaking experience was incredible—being that close to the ice, the water, and the elements guarantees an unforgettable moment. However, because you're moving slowly, I wouldn’t recommend doing it for more than one day. If something exciting like a whale appears in the distance, it’s often gone by the time you reach the spot. It’s also harder to take photos or videos, and you're bound to stay with the group at all times. In contrast, from a Zodiac, you can focus more on observing and taking in a wider variety of sights.
The bivouac experience was unique. Beyond just sleeping on snow, what I enjoyed most was the freedom to be in Antarctica without a schedule—walking around, exploring, taking photos without rush, watching the eternal sunset, and finally going to sleep as the cold set in.
Early the next morning, many people were already lined up to return to the ship, which had moved away during the night to preserve the silence and darkness of the experience.
For many, it was their first time sleeping outdoors without a tent, exposed to the sound of glaciers cracking and collapsing into the sea with thunderous force. Some without prior experience suffered greatly—cold, sleeplessness, or claustrophobia inside their sleeping bags made it unpleasant.
But that same morning, they were back in their rooms with hot showers and having breakfast—warm coffee and eggs in the restaurant.
It’s humbling to think that these were the normal conditions for the crew of the Endurance, who endured almost two years of this. They cooked with animal fat and survived eating penguins and seals every day for that entire period.
Learning, Logistics, and Lost Presence
We learned so much about marine life, the history of this part of the world, ships, and navigation. We spent a lot of time on deck and in the bridge with binoculars, looking at instruments and weather conditions.
I also came to understand the complex logistics behind this industry. The ship was Australian but built in Poland in the 1980s. The operator was based in the UK. The deck crew were mostly Filipino, the kitchen and hospitality staff were Asian from various companies, and the guest-facing staff came from all over—England, Australia, the US, and a few from Argentina and Chile. Most of the passengers were American—around 60%, I would say.
It’s a highly complex operation. The captain was from Eastern Europe, and there were more Filipinos in leadership roles on board.
We also saw other ships. I read that some carry helicopters to reach emperor penguin colonies deeper inland. Others even have submarines for under-ice exploration. Some expeditions are designed exclusively for skiers.
It’s an entire world and industry that I previously knew nothing about.
To get a sense of scale: we were on the first expedition of the season for this particular ship. It would go on to complete 14 more that season. And that’s just one ship—there may be 200 or 300 others doing the same. More join every year. None of them are Argentine, and most don’t even stop in Ushuaia or anywhere in Argentina.
This raises an important point: I don’t think Argentina is on the right path to assert its presence in Antarctica. A handful of bases—while commendable—are not enough to claim sovereignty.
At one point during our trip, we visited an old, abandoned Argentine base just 200 meters from a British one. The Argentine base was closed off, with broken windows and inaccessible. The British one, by contrast, was a fully functioning museum—well-maintained, open to visitors, and filled with stories about what life was like in those early days.
Final Days, Farewells, and Rough Waters
In the final days, the experience was incredible. We spent a lot of time out on deck—taking photos, simply observing, and sharing conversations. Our last dinner took place on the deck, with a beautiful sunset, gourmet food, and whales visible in the distance.
That night, we once again felt the moment when we left the protection of the fjords and entered the open waters of the Drake Passage. The waves returned. The first night was again difficult for me, but the patch worked wonders—much better than day one on the way south.
One night during one of the onboard talks, the ship suddenly tilted more than 30 degrees. There was an immediate silence, followed by some screams and the crashing of objects. The movement came in a triple cycle—rocking to one side, then the other, and back. Over 70 plates already prepared in the kitchen slid from wall to wall along with the food.
It was a dramatic moment, watching the sea and the waves rise up to the windows.
The rest of the passage was calm, and since we had excellent weather, the captain announced that we could pass near Cape Horn—and we were able to see it clearly from the ship.
Final Days, Farewells, and Rough Waters
In the final days, the experience was incredible. We spent a lot of time out on deck—taking photos, simply observing, and sharing conversations. Our last dinner took place on the deck, with a beautiful sunset, gourmet food, and whales visible in the distance.
That night, we once again felt the moment when we left the protection of the fjords and entered the open waters of the Drake Passage. The waves returned. The first night was again difficult for me, but the patch worked wonders—much better than day one on the way south.
One night during one of the onboard talks, the ship suddenly tilted more than 30 degrees. There was an immediate silence, followed by some screams and the crashing of objects. The movement came in a triple cycle—rocking to one side, then the other, and back. Over 70 plates already prepared in the kitchen slid from wall to wall along with the food.
It was a dramatic moment, watching the sea and the waves rise up to the windows.
The rest of the passage was calm, and since we had excellent weather, the captain announced that we could pass near Cape Horn—and we were able to see it clearly from the ship.
Cape Horn has an incredible history. Many ships have sunk here—it was the only route between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans that didn't pass through Chilean or Argentine territory. The other options, the Beagle Channel and the Strait of Magellan, presented their own challenges.
The Chilean base at Cape Horn is staffed year-round. From what I’ve read, personnel live there with their families, and there's even a school. It’s the southernmost point of all the Americas. It was fascinating to be so close and navigating these legendary waters.
A few hours later, we turned west into the Beagle Channel and, by midday, arrived in Ushuaia for disembarkation.
The White Giant
Antarctica is simply enormous. We only visited the Antarctic Peninsula and a small part of it, but that was enough to understand the vastness of the White Continent. The size of the icebergs, the endless coastal ice walls that stretched as far as the eye could see, and the jagged peaks with glaciers constantly breaking—all of it was awe-inspiring. And in the midst of it all, Antarctic wildlife lives on, adapted and thriving without human intervention, ever since we stopped exploiting them for oil and leather.
Without a doubt, it’s a destination worth visiting—especially now. In the coming years, things will change, whether due to climate change, amendments to the Antarctic Treaty, or other reasons that may alter the pristine nature it still preserves today.