22. Silver Ring

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

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

The water is as flat as a bright blue lake, surrounded by mountains that dazzle 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 completely distorts my sense of distance. The white hills a few hundred meters away, the shining mountains ten kilometers in the distance—they look the same. I can't distinguish them; I can't 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 that surrounds Aomi.

I can't 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's unbelievably quiet. Even the sound of Aomi's engine seems swallowed by the brilliant white slopes, their dazzling surfaces reflecting light off each other.

I am the only human within this light-filled island, roughly fifteen 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 don't 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 to 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 a large oil tank and buildings—the remains of a whaling station abandoned in the 1920s.

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

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

Within this vast ring of volcanic caldera island 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 drastically changed because of repeated eruptions.

When I compare the depth finder's readings with the charted depths, I notice mismatches of more than ten 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'll soon run out of energy if I can't find a safe place to rest.

Is the cove I'm 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 bent, overlapping steel frames—the remains of a weather station destroyed by an eruption.

I turn back from Aomi's deck, 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—I wonder,

"Will I be lost forever inside this timeless island?"

 

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For more details, see the Explanation page.

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