28. Storm Signs

At 5:40 a.m., as the sun rises over the Melchior Islands, clouds hovering above the ice-covered islands glow a silvery peach-gray.

There is no wind in the bay where I have spent six days, and the storm that raged until yesterday has finally subsided. However, the pressure remains low at 985 hectopascals, hinting that another storm may be approaching.

Determined to leave, I put on my bright red winter jacket and light the kerosene stove. With no time for hot tea, I board the dinghy, retrieve the mooring lines from shore, and leave the Melchior Islands.

Looking back at the water, I see fish chasing Aomi; then, through binoculars, I realize they are more than a dozen leaping penguins.

My next destination is Dorian Bay, 80 kilometers to the south. Though it is a bit far to reach by sunset, I need to arrive before the next storm hits.

As I hurry forward, sunlight illuminates the surrounding islands, highlighting the sharp contrast between the glaciers’ dazzling white and the sheer black cliffs.

But this bright scene is only before me; behind, ominous clouds spread across the sky and darken the mountains.

The line between clear and cloudy skies seems to stay right above me, moving at the same speed as Aomi. Strangely, the icy mountains I have just passed are already in shadow, while Aomi remains bathed in sunlight.

Soon, strange blue masses appear on the water around me, and I feel as if I am journeying through a world of wonders.

Each blue iceberg has a distinct shape, perhaps formed by uneven melting or by the waves that carve it. They resemble enigmatic abstract sculptures.

Some look like a giant glass palace abandoned mid-construction. Some look like a stack of transparent dinosaur bones. Some look like clusters of pale, monstrous mushrooms.

The sight is so surreal that my eyes can hardly focus, and the scenery around me seems to spin like a kaleidoscope. As Aomi moves forward, my perspective shifts, and the melting icebergs transform moment by moment, like dreams or illusions.

After passing through the field of blue icebergs with strange shapes, I feel a sudden impact on Aomi's hull, and she comes to an abrupt stop.

“Oh no! Aomi has hit a reef. It’s not on the charts, and this is why sailing in the Antarctic is so dangerous. What if a storm hits while unable to move?”

For a moment, a flood of anxious thoughts flashes through my mind as I prepare for what might happen next.

Then, ice blocks drift down and scrape against Aomi’s hull with a rattling sound. It is ice, not rock, that has collided with the hull.

Aomi’s bow, reinforced with stainless-steel plates, is completely unharmed. In fact, the several-meter-long piece of ice has split in half.

“Aomi, the icebreaker!”

Meanwhile, the sun moves across the northern sky as Aomi enters the Neumayer Channel, a narrow passage between white islands. She sails through the indigo-blue waterway, with silver-white peaks gleaming on either side. The long, narrow channel is covered with ice, large and small, and its pure white stings my eyes.

The line between clear and cloudy skies has always been directly above me. But before I realize it, the line moves far ahead, and the sky has already turned completely gray.

If I do not hurry, a storm will catch up with me. My next destination, Dorian Bay, lies farther down this Neumayer Channel, as long as the charts are correct.

Fearing hidden reefs that are not on the charts, I steer a safer course, keeping my distance from either shore of the channel. Ice blocks float everywhere on the water, and if I am not careful, Aomi could collide again.

I frequently stick my head out of the hatch to look around while cooking pancakes in the cabin. Then I take the pan onto the deck to eat, keeping an eye on the water.

But something strange appears. In the middle of the 30‑kilometer-long channel, a white, mountain-like cape unmarked on the charts, stands out as if blocking Aomi’s path.

“Am I lost, or are the charts wrong?”

I approach the cape, looking up at the steep white slope with doubt.

“Ah, it’s a giant iceberg. It looks like real land—or an enormous aircraft carrier.”

Immediately after I sail around the iceberg, dark clouds spread across the sky, and the barometric pressure is dropping steadily. Sharp white waves rise like spikes on the water, blending with the floating pieces of ice. If I am not careful, Aomi could crash into them again.

The rocky, icy mountains on either side of the waterway are breathtakingly beautiful, even under a sky darkening with signs of the storm. Driven by the strong following wind, Aomi sails so smoothly that I almost forget the approaching storm.