Epic Antarctica: Trip of a Lifetime

All expedition voyages start with an itinerary. Few follow it. This month-long journey along the coast of Antarctica was no exception. What began as a voyage of exploration soon turned into something far more urgent—a rescue mission in one of the most remote corners of the world.

Antarctica lies at the bottom of the world—or perhaps at the top, depending on how you hold the map. When we set out to travel along the coast, we wondered: which coast exactly? East or west? It turns out that our route from the Antarctic Peninsula through the Ross Sea actually crossed from the western side of the continent to the eastern side. The boundary between East and West Antarctica isn’t a matter of map orientation at all, but one defined by the continent’s underlying geological and tectonic features.

Launched in 2021, the National Geographic Endurance accommodates 138 passengers in comfort and safety. Built to Polar Class 5—the highest ice rating of any passenger ship—it can navigate not only through pancake ice but also medium first-year ice. Its distinctive, dolphin-shaped X-Bow slices smoothly through the waves, ensuring a remarkably stable ride, even across the notoriously rough Drake Passage. Our passage across the Drake was smooth because of the ship and our luck with weather.

All cabins face outward, most with floor-to-ceiling windows and doors opening onto private balconies. Spacious and inviting, the cabin was a perfect retreat when we preferred quiet relaxation over the ship’s lively public spaces. Even in the cold, the balcony offered a front-row seat to breathtaking scenery and passing sea life.

Dinner was filled with lively conversation—a time to share stories and connect with fellow travelers who, like us, had long dreamt of traveling the Antarctic coast.

The Antarctic Peninsula is home to Adélie, Chinstrap, and Gentoo penguins. Fluffy chicks trail their parents, eager for the next meal. After several days of penguin watching, hiking, and drifting among sculpted icebergs, we continued south—past the Lemaire Channel, through the Gerlache Strait, and into the remote Bellingshausen Sea. Here, we were the only ship in sight.

The Captain announces a distress call: a long-line fishing vessel in the remote Antarctic seas needs urgent help. A crewman has severely injured his hand, and without surgery, gangrene will set in within days. Lacking medical facilities and unable to navigate ice, the fishing vessel cannot reach safety. As the fastest, most ice-capable ship in the region—with a modern medical suite on board—we are the only vessel able to respond. Our voyage became a rescue mission.

With no reliable satellite ice charts, our Ice Captain and a crew member scan the fog-shrouded, ice-strewn expanse in search of a path to the stranded fishing vessel. Navigation is treacherous—several times thick multi-year ice blocks our way, forcing the ship to turn back and try again. As we batter through fields of pancake ice, the hull echoes with sharp bangs and low shudders. Everyone waits anxiously, hoping to reach the injured fisherman in time.

Three days of probing for a passage through the shifting ice and we finally found a route. Passengers lined the deck as our rescue Zodiac sped through a narrow channel toward the stranded fishing vessel—hope at last for the injured sailor.

Our expedition leader pilots the Zodiac as a crew member tends to the injured fisherman. Once safely aboard, our ship’s doctor and a volunteer passenger—an orthopedic hand surgeon—perform an emergency operation to remove the gangrenous fingers. The sailor, from Ukraine, begins to recover and will remain with us until we reach New Zealand, where he can receive continuing care. With the rescue complete, our voyage resumes.

After three relentless days knocking though ice to reach the stranded sailor, we spent the night in the glass igloo atop the ship. At last, the sea lay smooth and silent, the rescue complete. We waited for darkness that never came—the sun only brushed the horizon, then lingered there, casting a golden glow over the endless ice.

With the rescue behind us, life aboard slowly returned to normal. Kayaking among the ice was a rare gift—a quiet glide through still waters framed by sculpted floes and distant peaks.

One afternoon, a juvenile humpback whale surfaced beside our ship, curious and unhurried. For several minutes it lingered close, rolling and gliding just beneath the water’s surface—as if to remind us that in these remote seas, we were the visitors.

While exploring a secluded bay by Zodiac, we spotted an Emperor penguin standing alone on an ice floe—majestic, still, and seemingly unbothered by our presence. Moments like this reminded us just how far we’d ventured into the heart of Antarctica.

Three orcas circled a leopard seal perched on an ice floe, working in tandem to rock the ice and dislodge their prey. For long minutes we watched, spellbound, as the scene played out—a stark reminder of nature’s raw balance. At last, the orcas moved on, and the seal lived to see another day.

The Ross Ice Shelf never ceases to amaze. From our Zodiac we drifted in silence, cameras ready, dwarfed by walls of ice that stretched beyond sight. Whether we were witnessing calving, light, or simply immensity itself, none of us wanted to look away.

We visited several of the early expedition huts, including the one built by Carsten Borchgrevink at Cape Adare in 1899—the first structure ever erected on the Antarctic continent. Others, like Robert Falcon Scott’s hut, still stand as silent witnesses to a heroic age of exploration. Today, the Antarctic Heritage Trust of New Zealand carefully preserves these fragile links to the past.

The sub-Antarctic Macquarie Island teems with life—home to more than 150,000 King penguins packed shoulder to shoulder along the shore. Other colonies host Royal, Macaroni, and Gentoo penguins, while Rockhoppers and elephant seals share the crowded beaches. The noise, motion, and smell of it all were overwhelming—and unforgettable.

Every expedition begins with a plan, but few unfold as expected. Ours was reshaped by ice, chance, and compassion—by a rescue that changed our course and moments of wonder that changed us. After more than a month tracing the edge of Antarctica, we reached Dunedin, New Zealand, carrying memories of a world where daylight never ended and silence spoke through the ice. The map had shown a route, but the voyage revealed so much more.

Post Script

The black line traces our actual route, recorded by satellite. The three humps at the center mark our repeated attempts to reach the stranded fisherman, each one slowed by fields of pancake ice invisible on the map. The purple areas show the vast ice shelves that guard the continent’s edge.