An Antarctic adventure

A bed of ice in the deep, deep south

Our borders are closed but we’re still part of the Earth’s team of seven billion. In this series, we shine a light on the people, places, experiences, cultures, and travel moments that make the world a better place. Think of it as inspiration for when our borders open. Jill Worrall shares the wonders of Antarctica.

The last thing I expected in the Antarctic twilight was to be sweating profusely, but multiple layers of merino topped with a padded polar expedition jacket were doing the trick nicely.

Plus, I was digging out compacted snow to create a pit for myself to sleep in. It looked disturbingly like a grave.

It was difficult not to feel just a little intrepid but I did have to remind myself that an hour earlier I had eaten a threecourse dinner (no matching wines though, for reasons that will become obvious). There were other people similarly engaged with shovels, and several drums of emergency supplies were nestled by the water’s edge.

We were distributed across a tiny islet, a few metres adrift from the shoreline of Leith Cove, a nick in the coastline of Paradise Harbour on the Antarctic Peninsula. Anchored, a 20-minute Zodiac ride away, was our expedition cruiser, Sea Spirit.

About 30 of us had taken up the challenge during a 12-night cruise of the peninsula for the rare privilege of being able to spend a night sleeping in Antarctica. We had been well prepared and equipped with a bivvy bag and heavyduty sleeping bag.

A huddle of gentoo penguins greeted us as we made landfall. They watched with interest but no concern as we crunched our way to the domed top of the islet through knee-deep snow to begin digging. Meanwhile, the expedition crew had built two low walls of snow, behind which were placed two buckets. These, we were warned, were the only permitted toilet facilities for the night and it would be appreciated if we used them as sparingly as possible.

My sleeping pit finished, I was able to perch on the edge and take in the view. Behind me was a curve of vertiginous mountain, tumbles of ice, and pristine snow slopes descending to the calm waters of the harbour. In front of me, small icebergs bobbed in the water, some populated by gentoo penguins.

It was December, the Antarctic summer, but an overcast sky created a deep twilight. Sleep was optional we were told, but after 11pm we were asked to stay totally silent.

Before the curfew, a group of us reluctantly contemplated the ‘‘toilet’’. I made the first trip and a cluster of gentoos just metres away stared unblinkingly at me.

With the camp settled for the night, I lay warmly cocooned and listened as the ice cracked and squeaked behind me in the mountains. That, and the odd penguin squabble, were the only disturbances in the profound, cold silence.

Strengthening morning light woke me a few hours later. I was still warm even though snowflakes were settling on my face.