27. Blue Chamber

Eventually, Aomi ran aground—in the Antarctic, of all places.

Since the beginning of human history, how many ships have visited this small bay? It's also the end of summer, the season when ships leave the Antarctic. There's no hope that Aomi will be discovered here—in this hidden chamber surrounded by ice domes and pale walls, cut off from the outside world. I'll have to spend the winter here alone if I can't escape the reef.

I climb the mast steps I designed and installed back in Buenos Aires for this Antarctic voyage. From the mast top, I look down at the small bay.

The shallow water stretches out before me like a wasteland, each stone on the seafloor visible, as though I could count them one by one.

I descend the mast as if falling, lower the dinghy onto the water, step into it, and lean over to check the seafloor from the lowest angle I can reach.

The ballast sticking out from Aomi's bottom has hit a rock, with another small rock just behind it. She has jumped over one rock and got stuck between two.

I immediately put the engine in reverse and try to back out, but even as I increase the RPMs, nothing happens. I alternate between forward and reverse, even attempting a U-turn, but nothing works.

Gripping the wires that support the mast, I lean my weight to one side of Aomi, hoping to tilt the hull enough to lift the bottom off the seafloor.

But Aomi's small hull, which usually tilts easily, stays level and doesn't move an inch. After shifting the supplies—food, water, and tools—to one side of the cabin, I try again, but it's no use. Aomi is completely on the shoal and not moving at all.

I hastily load an anchor into the dinghy, row about 50 meters out to sea, drop the anchor, then row back to Aomi and pull the anchor line from the stern using the winch. Once the anchor bites into the seafloor, Aomi's hull should shift back, freeing her from the shoal.

But no matter how hard I pull or how much force I apply to the winch handle, the anchor rope only tightens, and Aomi doesn't move at all, as if her hull were fixed to the seafloor with concrete.

I put the engine in reverse and increase the RPMs. With the added power of the winch, this should work.

But to my surprise, no matter how hard I try, even when I push the RPMs to the limit, Aomi doesn't move at all.

I should have enough food to last about three months. I can make fresh water for cooking by melting ice, and I have 30 liters of kerosene left for that.

By the time I run out of food and fuel, it will be mid-winter in the Antarctic. If I'm determined to leave Aomi, I might be able to walk across the frozen sea to the nearest manned base—a U.S. base 100 kilometers away.

No, I have absolutely no intention of abandoning Aomi.

I feel desperate for a while, but keep trying to free Aomi from the shoal, refusing to give up. I push the engine to full power and put all my strength into the winch handle, doubting it will work. Still, I keep trying with everything I have.

After an hour, the winch handle suddenly lightens, and the anchor rope loosens, which had been as taut as an iron bar. Fortunately, the tide is rising, and Aomi's hull lifts just enough to free the ballast from the rocks.

Quickly slipping away from the shoal, Aomi moves between the white domes and anchors in the next bay I've chosen from the chart.

For the first time in two and a half days since leaving the volcanic island, I can finally rest. Sailing alone in the Antarctic is exhausting, and I'm running out of strength.

In a pentagonal bay surrounded by ice domes, Aomi drops anchor. Seals occasionally poke their heads above the water, circling Aomi as they glide past.

Along the bay's shore, a forty-meter-high ice wall crumbles into the sea several times an hour, releasing a thunderous roar.

The ice cliffs look as if they've been dyed with blue ink, and the ice walls resemble masses of blue mineral crystals. This impressive blue penetrates deep into my heart as though it comes from another world.

By sunset, countless ice blocks that have broken off the walls are carried by the tide, completely surrounding Aomi and leaving no way out.

In the cold cabin, where the temperature hovers around 2 degrees Celsius, I open several nautical charts from different publishers and compare possible routes to the Antarctic continent.

Some charts show coastlines marked with dotted lines as if they're based on guesswork, while others include a surprising notice, likely due to a lack of data.

"Commanding officers of ships using this chart are requested to add ship's track, soundings, aids and dangers to navigation, any pertinent remarks, and return the chart to..."

Can I reach the Antarctic continent without running aground again in this sea of sparse information?

I jot down my worries in Aomi's logbook, then fall asleep in my cold bed.

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For more details, see the Explanation page.

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