Charlotte Bay
Charlotte Bay is a bay in the Antarctic Peninsula.
On the afternoon of 2024-01-18 Selina, Markus, Anika, Lukas and I –along with a guide and four or five other tourists– spent an hour or two cruising around the bay in a little zodiac boat.
We don’t see penguins but big birds, mostly petrels, fly by often, ignoring us. Sometimes their fly along only a few meters from us.
We see many Humpback Whales. Every minute or two we discover a new one. At some point we see a large individual repeatedly smashing the water with its pectoral fins, making big splashes. We zig zag through the icebergs and get closer. The whale stops but, minutes later, starts again. A second, smaller individual is very close, almost getting slapped. Are they playing? Are they fighting? Mating? Threatening us?
They sky is clouded. It snows constantly, lightly. The temperature is a pleasant -2 °C. The waters are calm, but the wind drags the snowflakes horizontally.
The snow obscures our view. White darkness surrounds us, veiling the blue hues of the icebergs and bergy bits all around.
The human world, all its problems, feels very very far away. All we see is nature, with occasionally glimpses of the other zodiacs, kayaks and the main ship, our only link to the rest of the world. Everything that isn’t white is shades of gray or blue. No vegetation, only cool ice, only waves, only clouds and snow. We are alone, at the mercy of the elements.
I am overcome with a strong sense of isolation, of peace, of serenity. Everything is peaceful out here. Everything tranquil. Immense. Ethernal. Majestic. Raw.
Yet there is so much life! So many birds and humpbacks!
This may be what dying gradually feels like: your links to the rest of humankind fade out, you’re left alone with your thoughts, slow down, disappear.