Mr Drake, it seems, was not home. As I write this we are roughly two-thirds of the way from Ushuaia to the north tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, almost all the way across the Drake Passage, and the seas have been relatively very calm. These are the most stormy waters in the world, and I must admit that on my List of Things to Do is to see a storm at sea. But it is not to be this time, unless something very unexpected happens overnight.
That is not to say, though, that the ship has not rolled – ‘calm’ for the Drake Passage does not by any means mean ‘flat’. I am sitting in the library as I write this, where I have spent many of today’s hours, and as I look out the windows opposite me they dip first down to the sea and then rise upwards to the sky. Generally the horizon is visible, moving up and down, but if there is a particularly big roll the view is entirely water or air before it regains equilibrium around the horizon. Looking out the front of the ship earlier today I thought the roll must have been about 15 degrees either side of the horizontal, meaning there is a decent overall distance to travel through. The period is approximately six seconds.
Every few hours a particularly large swell will hit us and the ship takes a much bigger swing over and back than it normally does. And on average, apparently, every seventh wave is unusually large. I woke at 3am last night with the movement, though I am not sure exactly when it started.
My principal discovery today, which is rather obvious in retrospect, was that the roll is significantly worse higher up the ship. What was a gentle pitching as I got up in the morning in my cabin on the second level was an energetic swaying on the fifth level where the dining room is. People were staggering around drunkenly, much to the amusement of the crew who were still pretty stable. Frequently they remind us to keep ‘one hand for the ship’, i.e. not to carry things in both hands in case the ships hits a bad roll and you arrest your unwanted motion with your face.
The difference in the roll at various levels has the odd side-effect that the more expensive your cabin the worse the roll is, as the best cabins are at the top. The poor crew get to stay on the first floor, below even myself and the other penny-pinchers, very close to the engines.
There were a series of lectures organised for today, which I was looking forward to. But when I got to the first one, not long after breakfast, I found that I was starting to feel rather unsettled. And then I found I was feeling quite ill. The problem was not the amplitude of the rolling but rather that it is relentless, never pausing or stopping. I went outside for some air and that helped, but as soon as I was back in the rather hot and airless interior environment, I felt bad again. Being seasick feels just like being regular sick. For some reason I had thought it would be different.
I went back to the cabin and lay down. I took a seasickness tablet and feel asleep for a few hours, skipping the second lecture also, but I was up and about and feeling much better in time for lunch and then the third and fourth lectures. They were on penguins and seals respectively, about which there is much to know. Ever since I have taken the pills every six hours as specified, and I have felt fine.
I went outside for a while, read for a while, went outside again, read again. I have met lots of people on the ship but not formed any acquaintance lasting longer than a meal, and I must admit I found the time a little long. I was hungry, and dinner at 7.30pm seemed far away. The wait was not exactly worth it, but it was not bad when it came – salad to start, onion soup, beef wellington and a small scoop of potato with mixed vegetables, cheesecake for desert. I would have eaten 30% more of everything if I could have got it.
The sun set rapidly, burning itself out in a thick bank of cloud that turned it to a red-orange disk. It doesn’t get completely dark for very long at this time of year, which is a pity, as in the total blackness the stars from here should be heart-breaking. The nearest human habitation of any significance is Ushuaia, which I think is about 500 miles away by now.
The good news though is that due to our swift crossing of the Drake Passage we have arrived earlier than expected, and should be able to land somewhere tomorrow. I don’t know yet where, or what we will be doing. But that will be very exciting.
This day has certainly piqued my interest in what long sea journeys are and were like. I have found on the longer bus journeys we took that I could generally fall into a semi-conscious state and the hours drifted by as I stared out the window in between phases of sleep. Here, there is nothing to see out the window but water. I imagine though that when you get used to it the days drift by easily and comfortably.
Incidentally I found out today that there is a sailing ship that goes from South America to the Antarctic, one with three masts and hopefully people who say ‘Yarrrrr.’ I think I have a new aim for the future.
And sin a bhfuil, really. I have the library to myself, as I have had for most parts of the day. After this I will go to the bar and see if anyone I have already met is around, or just find some new people to talk to, and then to bed. My poor roommate is having a miserable time with seasickness, and has been in the cabin almost the entire day. Many people are finding it pretty bad, so I am thankful to get off so lightly.
And then tomorrow, footfall on the Antarctic, or at least on the South Shetland islands. Either way, it’s the day that a dream becomes real.
