Beyond the Compass Part VII

Crossing the Drake Passage — Where the Compass Starts to Spin

For more than a year, I had prepared for this moment.

The Drake Passage has a reputation. It’s where the Atlantic and Pacific collide, where currents squeeze between continents, where waves can rise to the height of buildings. Sailors call it either the Drake Shake or the Drake Lake.

I was ready for the Shake.

Motion sickness pills packed.Horizon-stabilizing glasses that made me look ridiculous.Pressure bands for my wrists.Even a necklace of “lucky” crystals.

My time-lapse camera was fully charged, waiting to capture a rogue 30-foot wave that would make for the ultimate bragging rights video.

The Drake looked at all of this preparation…and chose peace.

Three-foot waves.A steady roll.More like a breezy lake than the monster of legend.

As we steamed south, I pulled out the commemorative shirt I had made:“I Survived the Drake.”

I started laughing.

How exactly was I going to explain this?

“I heroically endured… mild swells.”

For a day and a half, we crossed calmly. Albatrosses traced endless circles in the wind behind the ship. The horizon stretched unbroken in every direction. The temperature dropped. The light changed. The color of the sea deepened.

And even without the chaos I expected, the crossing still felt significant. This was the threshold between worlds. Behind us lay continents and cities. Ahead of us lay nothing but ice and silence.

Then, after what felt like a long exhale, it happened.

Land.

Not mountains of green or cliffs of brown, but white. Jagged. Pristine. Otherworldly.

We had exited the Drake and entered an entirely new realm.

Antarctica.

Next blog: Arrival.