One Ocean Expeditions
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Aboard the research vessel, The Pinta.
“This is ridiculous!” I said aloud, but my voice echoed around me as though underwater. “What kind of ship does this?” My heart was pounding in my ears and my stomach churning with nausea. I could feel it rising up to choke me. I had never felt seasick before—I’d been a sailor all my life; how could I be sick on an ocean?
I looked at my hands for some sign that this wasn’t real, or even possible: they were shaking so hard it took a few moments for me to realize they were clenched into fists.
The ship pitched sharply to port and then righted itself. As I regained control over my limbs, I noticed several other crew members staring at me from across the deck. They must have heard my outburst. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this.
This was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. I knew I should say something—something witty, perhaps, to hide what I thought might be an obvious embarrassment—but my brain refused to cooperate. It wouldn’t work properly. All I could think about was how much I wanted to vomit.
I tried to force myself to sit upright. If I couldn’t look at everyone, maybe I would be able to keep down my breakfast. I leaned forward slightly against the railing of the bridge, hoping that if I held still enough, everything would go away.
I closed my eyes tightly and focused on keeping my breathing slow and steady. When I opened them again, the ship had steadied. The motion was more gentle than the last one.
As I sat there, I realized the rest of the ship seemed quieter too. I strained my ears for any sound beyond the normal creaking and groaning of wooden vessels under stress, but no sounds came back to me except those made by the crew working belowdecks. The only thing louder was my own heartbeat, thudding loudly in my ears.
Forcing myself out of my stupor, I stood slowly. The movement seemed to help, as did the fresh air blowing gently through the open hatch above us. I walked to the edge of the bridge and stared out at the waves rolling past beneath us.
The water looked calm compared to when we left port. The wind had died down, which meant we had lost speed, but at least it was lessening the nauseating pitch and roll of the boat. I turned away from the window and headed for the stairs leading to the main deck.
When I stepped outside, I saw why the ship had seemed quieter. Everyone on board was standing on the starboard side, their backs toward me. I stopped short upon seeing the reason: a huge pod of dolphins, easily twenty-strong, swam alongside our hull, their dorsal fins glistening in the sun.
The sight of the animals put me immediately at ease. For years, I had dreamed of being able to see these creatures in the wild, but I hadn’t expected them to come so close to the boat. Their sleek bodies and long, graceful tails were beautiful and powerful at the same time, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from them.
A sense of peace washed over me. These dolphins weren’t the vicious predators depicted in ancient myths. They were intelligent and friendly creatures who simply wanted to play and explore.
Seeing them so near reminded me that nature is filled with wonder and beauty and that we are merely visitors here, temporary inhabitants of this planet. I remembered a line from a poem by Emily Dickinson:
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides into a leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
These dolphins were living proof that there was nothing wrong with the world. Everything was fine.
I returned to my cabin without saying another word. The rest of the voyage passed uneventfully. The seas grew calmer and the boat stayed in one place. We continued making slow progress toward our destination, which I hoped was going to be the site where the fabled golden city had once existed.
***
In the weeks following our encounter with the dolphins, the crew of the Pinta began to make preparations for the expedition. In addition to the scientists and researchers who joined the ship for its maiden voyage, we also brought along three men who had agreed to stay behind and act as guides to the ruins we planned to search for.
The three men had all volunteered for this mission. They were locals who lived on the island where we were planning to set foot ashore, and they knew the area well. Their knowledge of the land would prove invaluable during our exploration, especially since none of us had spent much time in South America before.
One man was a carpenter, and he’d been hired specifically because he spoke Spanish fluently. The second man was a farmer. He would lead us into the jungle, showing us where to find food and water while we were out searching for the ruins.
Lastly, we had a young sailor named Rodrigo, who was a good friend of mine and had served aboard the Pinta for some time now. He had learned English while serving as a translator on several other voyages, and he had been hired to serve as an interpreter for the scientists.
After spending months preparing the ship and gathering supplies, we finally sailed out of the bay where we’d anchored and made our way northward up the coast of what had been called Patagonia until the nineteenth century when Argentina gained control of most of the region.
It was a journey of many days, and each morning I awoke to find that the sun had moved across the sky. At nightfall, the moon rose and illuminated the endless sea in front of us. On more than one occasion, I woke up terrified at the thought that I might have drifted off course and become lost at sea forever.
But the next morning, the horizon always stretched farther ahead of us, and the Pinta steadily continued her steady progress north.
During the evenings, after I finished my duties as captain and had eaten dinner, I often found myself staring out the windows of my quarters or pacing back and forth on the deck. I tried not to worry too much about the future.
After all, I was on a ship headed to an uncharted land, where nobody else had ever gone before. If things didn’t go according to plan, then it wasn’t the end of the world. All I could do was keep working hard and hope that everything would work itself out eventually. And if it didn’t? Well, at least I wouldn’t die wondering.
As we neared our destination, the landscape around us gradually changed. From the open ocean, we sailed through the mouth of a narrow river. Once inside, we entered a large body of freshwater, which flowed northward toward the Atlantic Ocean.
As we followed the river downstream, it widened, becoming deeper and wider as we progressed further inland. Eventually, we came upon a small town located on an isolated beach, far removed from any major settlements. This was the town where our guides would live for the duration of the trip—and where we would spend the night before setting sail again the next morning.
When we arrived at the docks, our guide for the next leg of the journey was waiting for us. His name was Diego de Almagro. He greeted me warmly and invited me to come to join him inside his home. He showed me around his house, pointing out his belongings and explaining how they worked.
There was even a little library, containing books written in both Portuguese and Spanish. When I asked whether he would mind if I borrowed a book to read during my free time, he politely declined. “No,” he said, “that is a gift.”
That evening, I went over to the house where the others were staying. While everyone gathered in the common room, drinking wine and sharing stories, I took a seat on the couch and looked around. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and candles lit up the corners of the room.
Everyone seemed happy to be together. I felt like I was part of something special, a group of people who had come together to explore a new frontier, and I couldn’t wait to see what adventures awaited us in the coming days.
***
By the middle of March, we had reached the northernmost point of our journey: Tierra del Fuego. Our guides told us that here lay the southernmost tip of the continent. The waters were warmer, and the air smelled different. Here, the forests became thicker and denser.
We passed by several islands along the way, but none were inhabited. Instead, the islands were covered in dense foliage and dotted with small lakes and streams. We stopped briefly to pick fruit from a few trees. Later, we spotted several herds of deer grazing near the shoreline.
One afternoon, we saw two strange-looking birds flying overhead. They resembled giant condors, except their wings weren’t nearly as wide and their bodies were smaller. They flew in formation, making sharp turns and changing direction rapidly so that it was difficult to follow them with our eyes alone.
To track their movements, we used binoculars. The bird watchers onboard quickly realized that these birds were penguins, and they watched them for a long time, mesmerized.
I was fascinated by these creatures. I wondered why anyone would bother living so far away from civilization. Why risk your life to leave behind everything you’ve ever known? How could you possibly know whether or not you’ll survive in this unknown wilderness?
Was there anything worth dying for here? What if you never found the answers to those questions? Did it really matter anyway?
On another day, we heard a loud bang, and a moment later, a huge wave crashed onto the shore. One of the crewmen pointed to the water’s edge, and I turned to look at the waves crashing against the rocks. I noticed something odd—the water seemed darker than usual.
I thought perhaps we’d hit a rock underwater. But no sooner had I turned to ask one of the men if he’d seen anything when suddenly I heard another crash, this one louder and closer. Then, just as I began to wonder if I should duck, another wave came rushing toward us. It was larger than the last, and the entire boat shook violently as it crashed down onto the rocks.
A few seconds later, we saw the source of the waves: a massive glacier. I had never seen anything like it before. It was enormous, stretching all the way to the horizon. Even from a distance, its white color made it easy to spot.
In fact, the glaciers reminded me of icebergs floating in the sea; only these ones were much bigger, and they moved more slowly, forming ice fields rather than melting into the ocean.
We spent some time observing the glacier and taking pictures, then continued our voyage southward. We passed by numerous other glaciers, each unique in size and shape. Some were shaped like inverted bowls, while others were circular, jagged, or straight lines. Each one was beautiful in its own right, and I stared in awe at every single one.
As we sailed further south, the weather changed dramatically. On sunny afternoons, the skies remained clear, and the sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky. But on rainy nights, clouds rolled in thick and dark, casting an eerie gloom across the landscape. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking everything in sight.
During the day, the rain fell hard enough to make it difficult to stand upright without getting drenched. At night, the rain grew even heavier. Water pooled everywhere, creating puddles on the deck. I tried to keep my feet dry by walking barefoot whenever possible. But the wet conditions were too uncomfortable, and eventually, I gave up and put on my boots.
It rained every single day, sometimes for hours on end. The captain ordered the sailors to work overtime, using the ship’s sails to catch the wind and push the vessel through the water. For weeks on end, the rain did little to stop our progress. Finally, after many sleepless nights and constant discomfort, we finally arrived at the southernmost point of South America: Ushuaia, Argentina.
This town, located at the very tip of the continent, is called “the End of the World” because ships cannot travel any farther due to the harsh environment and lack of safe harbors. We anchored off the coast, and passengers boarded boats to go ashore.
Many of us decided to stay on board the ship since it offered better shelter and protection from the cold. After a week at sea, we headed back north again, where we stopped at several other ports along the way.
The journey back to Buenos Aires wasn’t particularly interesting. Our route took us through open waters, where we spotted plenty of whales swimming alongside us. Sometimes we would see schools of dolphins playing near the boat.
There were also occasional sightings of orcas, but I didn’t get a chance to photograph them myself. As soon as we started heading home, however, I knew I wouldn’t be returning to Antarctica anytime soon.
My heart ached to return once again to this frozen land filled with mystery, but I couldn’t deny that my curiosity about the world beyond Antarctica outweighed my desire to visit again. I felt torn between wanting to explore new lands and being content with what I already knew.
The End