Save Log in , register or subscribe to save articles for later. Save articles for later Add articles to your saved list and come back to them any time. Got it Normal text size Larger text size Very large text size This story is part of the June 8 edition of Good Weekend.
See all 20 stories . It took a lot to get me to Antarctica the first time. I realise it’s on countless bucket lists, but as a lover of heat and light, sun and beach, the prospect of weeks at sea to reach what I envisaged as a white and empty refrigerator lacked appeal.
But my husband Andrew had made a TV program there and returned in a state of dazzle and elation. We must go. I must go.
After a great deal of debate – and shrewd deployment of wildlife photos – I got my thermals and waterproofs in order and agreed to spend the best part of the Australian summer journeying to the white continent with him. It was, of course and perversely, the longest, most weather-beaten route we were taking: due south from Hobart into the tumult of the Southern Ocean, via Macquarie Island, heading for Australia’s Casey Base more than 3000 kilometres away. After some five to six weeks at sea – revelation.
Far from empty, the continent pulses with life in sea, air, and especially on land, where the penguins nest in massive colonies stretching from beach to mountain-tops, as far as the eye can see. Millions of them. And as in a Disney movie, they know no fear; they’re so intensely curious, we had to back away from thei.