I won the lottery to go camping on the Antarctic mainland. Out of the 3 people who wanted to go… Ok, I’m joking. Out of approximately 50 people, 18 were selected to go.
We had to dress up in a nicely warm regatta suit, we were loaned North Face tents, the little yellow ones they use on Everest and in all those post-apocalyptic movies. We were loaned down sleeping bags rated to be comfortable at -20 F, and were given a bottle of water and an energy bar sanctioned by whatever Antarctic treaty sanctions such things. Trust me, everything here to the smallest detail has to be approved by some international committee.
Every day here has been incredibly unusual and beautiful. Apparently the weather rarely cooperates to this extent. The day I left for the ship I met some tourists who had just disembarked another company’s ship after the same cruise I’m on now. They had nothing but wind and storms, so much so they weren’t able to reach land at South Georgia or The Falklands. This is the exact opposite of my experience.
Back to camping. Our exploration leaders had chosen a beautiful and protected little camp site some distance from the ship. We layered on the clothing and boots and were issued our gear. Then we piled into the little boats and were off.

Me as polar explorer roughing it in Antarctica. 

At the camp site we set up our tents. Then we complained about the clouds, and that no Milky Way or Southern Cross would be visible. After that we milled about trying to ‘feel the experience’. I decided to sit down on a rock and write a bit in my journal.

Our little tent city on Hovgaard Island close to Lamere Channel and Booth Island.The red jacket is our expedition team guide.Our tent at night all shored up with snow to keep the loose parts from flapping too loudly at night. Of course, as you see below, the wind was so strong no amount of trenching up the gaps made any difference. The wind blew, the tents flapped, and my earplugs came in very handy.

After a while the wind picked up a little, then if kicked up a bit more, and then a bit more and I was suddenly holding on to the pages of my journal unable to write for the whipping of the pages. This entire episode took no more than 2 minutes, from sitting there with barely a breeze to packing up my pen, 2 minutes. It blew hard all night. So much for the silence of the Antarctic, the wind howled and whipped and slapped the tent flaps about so much I could roll around restlessly in my sleeping bag and the lovely woman from Devonshire who shared my tent couldn’t hear me move.

The next morning the two room mates, Anne and Ann.

I have to admit I slept pretty well, insulated in that awesome bag where you could sleep in your undies and stay wonderfully cozy, unless you had to use the necessary room. This was a little portable potty outside, 50 yards away, behind a rock. ‘Freezing your butt off’ was no longer a cliché.
By morning, sunrise was at 6 am and that was our que to pack up and return to the ship. We waited to be picked up by the little skiffs and made friends with our neighbors.

The experience was another one of those that knocks you out of your everyday life. Something unusual, memorable, and utterly useful for an aspiring writer.

Our neighbor a Gentoo Penguin.