22. Silver Ring

With awe and fear, Aomi passes beneath a black cliff towering 91 meters above sea level and ventures into the interior of Deception Island.

Inside the giant ring-shaped landmass lies an entirely different world, seemingly cut off from reality.

The water is as flat as a bright blue lake, surrounded by mountains dazzling in white and silver. The panoramic view of the snow-blanketed landscape before my eyes resembles a postcard, vast and beautiful.

The razor-sharp clarity of the cold air distorts my sense of distance. The white hills a few hundred meters away and the shining mountains 10 kilometers away look the same. I cannot distinguish them; I cannot even tell which is which.

Everything appears flat, like an image printed on paper, missing any sense of perspective. It feels as though the dazzling snowy scenery is projected onto a cylindrical screen surrounding Aomi.

I cannot tell how near or far the screen is. It could be just a dozen meters away, with Aomi’s bow ready to crash into it at any moment.

It is unbelievably quiet. Even the sound of Aomi’s engine seems swallowed by the brilliant white slopes, their dazzling surfaces reflecting light off one another.

I am the only human within this light-filled island, roughly 12–15 kilometers in diameter. I feel strangely lonely, frightened, and mystified.

Encircled by a gleaming ring of snow-covered mountains, the water lies as smooth as a quiet blue pond. I do not feel the slightest sway or rocking; the hull seems perfectly still. Is Aomi truly moving forward? Time itself seems frozen.

Does time even exist within this dazzling ring? What is the meaning of human history and time compared with the shining landscape of mountains and sea before my eyes? What era am I living in? Where am I, and what am I doing? Am I simply in a dream? I feel dizzy.

At the boundary between snow-covered mountains and sea, where white and blue meet, I see large oil tanks and buildings. These are the remains of a whaling station abandoned in the 1920s.

Gazing at the ruins in the dazzling expanse of white, I feel like I have wandered into the past. An old fisherman might appear from behind the rusty oil tank and wave his hand.

In the flooded light and silence, I look toward the shore and suddenly notice steam rising from the water. I have read in a marine magazine that it is possible to boil eggs and swim in the warm water nearby.

Within this vast volcanic caldera ring are capes and small bays. According to the nautical charts, Aomi is supposed to be heading to a safe cove to anchor tonight.

Yet no matter how far I sail, the destination bay is nowhere to be found. Strange. Has it vanished, buried under volcanic ash? The island’s topography seems to have changed drastically because of repeated eruptions.

When I compare the depth sounder’s readings with the charted depths, I notice mismatches of more than 10 meters in some areas. I can no longer trust the charts. Dangerous rocks and shoals must be hidden somewhere.

After days and nights on watch, I feel utterly sleepy and exhausted. I will soon run out of energy if I cannot find a safe place to rest.

Is the cove I am aiming for on the chart still there? Is this glowing landscape around me even real?

I point my binoculars at the white shoreline and see overlapping bent steel frames. These are the remains of a weather station destroyed by an eruption.

I turn my head back and, before I know it, the mouth of the island has vanished, sealing the silver-white ring completely.

Unsure of which cove to anchor in, or how to find my way out of the ring, I wonder:

Will I be lost forever inside this timeless island?