23. Fire Island

Is the safe anchorage I'm heading toward—the cove inside Deception Island—buried under volcanic ash and lost forever?

 

At least seven eruptions are said to have occurred in the last 300 years. Could an eighth have happened recently, significantly changing the topography?

Aomi continues sailing inside the ring-shaped island until she reaches the white coastline at the far end, yet the cove I aim for still doesn't appear. I must reach a safe anchorage before sunset, or else...

For a moment, I'm struck by hopelessness. Yet, I turn the bow sideways and continue along the shoreline inside the ring, carefully examining the terrain.

An hour and a half after entering the island, a vertical crack appears in the white screen of the landscape surrounding Aomi. I pull the tiller and steer the bow toward it. Suddenly, the pure white opens along the crack, revealing the target cove like a brilliant magic trick.

Aomi sails into the cove, and I drop the anchor after checking the seabed with the depth sounder. I then secure a long rope to the shore, preparing for the strong northeast winds warned about in the Sailing Directions.

Tonight, for the first time in 30 days, I can sleep soundly in a bed that doesn't rock. The long, harsh, and painful 3,000-kilometer journey from Buenos Aires is over, and Aomi has finally reached the gateway to Antarctica.

 

The next morning, as sunlight fills every corner of the cabin with yellow light, I jump out of bed like a compressed spring. I scratch the frosted surface of the double-glass window with my fingertips, revealing blue lines—the sky outside must be clear! I leap into the yellow rubber boat and paddle into the morning light.

Within minutes, I reach the shore, pull the boat onto a black beach covered in cinders and volcanic debris, and climb the slopes of the silvery-white ring. The dazzling carpet of fresh snow over the packed, eternal snow is dotted with my rubber boot prints.

Not the slightest breeze or sound surrounds me. Only the bright sunlight fills the space between the deep blue sky and the pristine white snow. I feel like I'm the only thing moving in frozen time, among the particles of light floating in the air.

From halfway up the mountain, Deception Island—about 15 kilometers in diameter—looks like a shining ring in the clear Antarctic air.

In 1921, volcanic heat reportedly boiled the seawater near the island's entrance, stripping all the paint from the bottom of a whaling ship anchored there. But now, only the mountains, sea, and sky, with no sign of human presence, look frozen in time, like a silent painting.

Back on shore, I take a military folding shovel from my backpack and dig into the black volcanic ash. I discover a layer of white snow, then another layer of black ash, and another layer of snow as I dig deeper. The volcano must erupt frequently with short intervals.

As a souvenir, I pick up some spongy, hard volcanic debris and row back to Aomi in the dinghy.

From the deck, I see three penguins on the shore, clambering up a snow slope with unsteady steps. I shout, 'Hey!' several times, smiling each time at their cute gestures as they nervously look around.

When the island erupted in November 1967, the penguins reportedly fled to the sea, abandoning their nests and eggs two days before the scientists noticed anything unusual.

There seems to be no danger of an eruption for now, as the penguins still look fine.

Late at night, when I wake in Aomi's cabin, I hear a strange noise echoing in the darkness, like a dog sniffing.

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For more details, see the Explanation page.

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