Most people, myself included, come to Antarctica for the wildlife: penguins in tuxedos, seals loungin’ like royalty, whales surfacing from the ocean depths, and dolphins keeping you company.
We were cleared by both immigration and dolphin customs.
Everyone turns into a whale-watcher here.
One late evening, while our ship was anchored off the Antarctic Peninsula, Patrick, Helen and I were tucked into bed, but those still awake witnessed a pod of killer whales! I’m including the video a crew member took because, even though we were asleep, our hearts got to take part in the magic.
See the baby! (A theme of my season in Antarctica.)
Elsewhere, every breach we saw was a thrill and every fin cutting through the water was a flash of wild grace; everyone on the ship was always delighted! But it must be said that those moments weren’t the transcendent peak I’d imagined before I got here. There was something else in Antarctica that stole my heart…
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The definition of chill.
Sealiously adorable.
The seals were unbothered by our gawking. Even when we got super close, it didn’t seem like they noticed we were there. On an entirely different tier of unbothered: more seals, the elephant seals (see below). They were enormous and unhurried, like giant, living sandbags. Occasionally two would lurch upright and burp-bellow at each other in a contest that looked like combat-yawning.
Equal parts blubber, bravado, and heavy breathing.
The art of doing the absolute least.
Seeing all those seals in the wild was incredible!! It was part of what lured me to Antarctica in the first place! But, like the dolphins and whales, the seals weren’t what made me fall in love with this continent…
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Penguins, I found out, are (smelly) slapstick comedians. Tripping, face-planting in the snow, popping up unfazed, and tumbling down their “penguin highways” (yes, that’s the real term). I found I had a lot in common with them. They waddled, and I waddled too. Note: I did not just waddle because of my condition – there’s a degree of being a penguin in all of these layers of clothing that you must wear to stay warm. It didn’t take long watching the penguins to realize I’d found my flock.
Maximum charm, zero traction.
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, the penguins should be very flattered.
All of the penguins were pure delight! They were funny, curious, and impossible not to love. Watching them felt like a nature documentary, only better, because we were in it. They were a highlight of our trip, and part of the dream that brought me here, but if I ever make it back to Antarctica (and I hope I do!), it won’t be just for them.
Chinstrap penguins wearing, what else, a chin-strap while exuding business casual.
Penguins for joy. Ice for goosebumps.
Once you see it, you must protect it.
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Back when we were still crossing the Drake Passage, a crew member said something that became more true for us every single day in Antarctica. It didn’t hit all at once, but like a slow burn, her words became actualized.
“Come for the animals…come back for the ice.”
And that is exactly what happened to us. We came for the animals, but we will return because of the ice.
Profound & ephemeral.
The ice moved, breathed, cracked, shimmered, and glowed from within. Even the crew kept taking pictures; they had all been here only days earlier, yet nothing was the same. Icebergs traveled kilometers, shifted shape, melted in places, flipped, arrived, and vanished. Antarctica never repeats itself. It changed every minute, and I, with my growing belly, changed every minute too.
Sparkling silence.
You can’t truly capture this place, but it can absolutely capture you.
I love it here,
’mi & Pingüina
Adventuresam 
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