A voyage to the Ross Sea Antarctica, part six
Sailing along the Ross Ice Shelf.
At 08:41 we’re at 74°20.22' headed south at 13.6 knots. Terra Nova Bay sits to the starboard side, but too far to see. Later, I’ll learn that we’ve been sailing in the open sea to avoid ice and to increase our speed as we head towards Ross Island.
It’s a grey dawn, the skies leaded with cloud. The sun reflects a spot on the horizon, a play of light there for a minute and then gone the next as the sea and the clouds shift evermore.
It’s a day at sea and lectures have been scheduled for for the morning and the afternoon. It’s a double bill as Natalie is scheduled to speak on the voyage of the Endurance through the lens of the music they listened in the morning, followed by a talk on the discovery of the Endurance, the subject of her latest documentary, in the afternoon. Unfortunately, she’s not able to show the documentary in full, but promises to tease bits in the presentation.
The first lecture is a tantalizing glimpse into one aspect of what it might have been like on the voyage, as Natalie weaved musical clips around the story of Shackleton’s voyage south aboard the Endurance, one half of the team that went in hopes of securing the first crossing of the continent.
She talks of their favorite record—a recording of The Barber of Seville—and of the last record they listened to, trapped in the sea ice, right before they had to abandon ship: a recording of “The Wearing of the Green.” She tells us that they finished listening to the record before heading above decks to see what damage had been done as the sea ice shifted to crush the hull. She imagines they didn’t yet want to confront the truth of what lay ahead, enjoying their last minutes on board listening to a surprisingly jaunty tune given the song’s subject matter.
(Later, when encouraged by Leonie to attend an opera at the Sydney Opera House, we’ll discover that The Barber of Seville will be performed while I’m there. Buying a ticket is the first thing I’ll do when arriving in Sydney, a nice callback to my time on board).
She tells us that they also listened to a recording of Shackelton himself. He tended not to spend much time with the crew and occasionally they would listen to him speak of his Dash for the South Pole via phonograph.
For lunch we’re presented with suckling pig. It’s a highlght and I go back for seconds.
I retire to my room after lunch to edit photos until I’m distracted by shapes moving past the window. When I finally get up to take a look I see they’re snow petrels. They glide along the water, their bodies white as the cresting surf, and soar up into the sky.
Natalie asks me to film her second presentation for her agent, and I gladly agree. It’s a fascinating deep dive into preparation and the logistics of what went into the expedition and then the drama as the team first thought they found the wreck and then the wonder when they actually did. The photos and videos she shows us are astounding. The wreck is incredibly well-preserved and she shows us images of the wreck alongside photos taken by Frank Hurley during the expedition, pointing out various fixtures that can still be seen.
Afterwards, Patricia presents her with a scarf knitted with Shackleton’s tartan. She’s had a few made for the Antarctic Heritage Trust and gives them out to certain donors and individuals of distinction. They’re very limited. She’s been wearing one throughout our voyage, but it belongs to the office. She, herself, doesn’t even have one.
In the evening we reach the Ross Ice Shelf, a sheer wall of ice that stretches as far as the eye can see. It’s an imposing sight, and I can’t imagine the awe and despair that early Antarctic explorers may have felt upon gazing upon its walls.
On discovering the wall on 29 Jan 1841, Sir James Clark Ross—a man given to polar exploration over poetry—wrote “this curious wall . . . stretching to an indefinite extent.” It towered above the masts of his ships.
The sun sits low on the horizon, its light rakes across the trailing edge.
As we navigate alongside it we pass an iceberg with a few penguins perched upon it. They float lazily by as we continue our cruise.
I love looking at the seams and the folds in the ice, how the light catches an edge and sends shadows across the face. I long to ascend in a hot air balloon to be able to admire the sheer expanse of the shelf.
Orca appear along the ice, a pod of around 20, including a calf. The captain turns the ship so we can have a better view, as we glue our eyes to them, watching as they swim east along the shelf. “Magical” barely begins to describe the scene.
The colors continue to shift; the sea blue deepens as the sun teases the horizon. The sun won’t set for the next few days, but we’ll be able to experience an extended sunset and sunrise, seemingly in the same breath.
As we head towards Ross Island, Patricia, Natalie, and I linger in the forward observation lounge. Sam joins us for a drink. Patricia has told us about a ghost she had heard in her room. She’s on the deck just below ours, in a room that sits below the games table beside the piano. She tells us she heard sounds as if someone were walking directly around her bed. Sam tells her that people patrol the ship and the decks and perhaps she heard them. She also tells us she heard piano playing late at night.
This, Sam owns. He occasionally will play to relax after hours. We ask him to play for us but he demurs.
The hour grows late, but it’s hard to tell. The sun is still up and daylight lingers. Sam excuses himself to go to bed, but not before sitting behind the piano and playing for us. It’s beautiful: the music, the setting, the warm colors of the late night sun, the warmth spreading amongst new-found friends.
By midnight we’ve reached 77°15.88' S, 168°13.42' E. Ross Island is just to our starboard side, Mt. Erebus silhouetted by the sun. 🇦🇶
— 2 February 2025
