28. Storm Sign

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

There's no wind in the bay where I 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 a cup of hot tea, I board the dinghy, retrieve the mooring rope from shore, and leave the Melchior Islands.

Looking back at the water, I see fish chasing Aomi—or rather, upon closer inspection with my binoculars, more than a dozen leaping penguins.

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

As I hurry forward, sunlight illuminates the islands around Aomi, highlighting the sharp contrast between the glaciers' glistening white and the rocky mountains' deep black.

But this bright scene is only in front of me; behind, ominous clouds spread across the sky, darkening the mountains.

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

Soon, unusual blue ice appears on the water around me, and I feel as if I'm journeying through a world of wonders.

Each blue iceberg has a truly unique shape, perhaps formed by differences in how quickly they partially melt or by the way the waves carve them. They resemble incomprehensible abstract sculptures.

They look like a magnificent glass palace abandoned due to a construction error, a pile of transparent dinosaur bones, or a cluster of pale, monstrous mushrooms.

The sight is so surreal that I can hardly focus my eyes, 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 watching strange dreams or illusions.

After passing through the field of blue icebergs, I feel an unexpected 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 stranded? "

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's ice, not rock, that 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 had always been directly above me. But before I knew it, it moved far ahead, and the sky has turned completely gray.

If I don't hurry, a storm will catch up with me. My next destination, Dorian Bay, should be further down this Neumayer Channel.

Fearing hidden reefs that aren't on the charts, I steer a safer course, keeping my distance from each shore. Ice blocks float everywhere on the water, and if I'm 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 out 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—juts 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 some doubt.

"Ah, it's a giant iceberg. It looks like real land—or an enormous aircraft carrier."

Immediately after I detour 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'm not careful, Aomi could collide 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 about the approaching storm.