33. Resource Called Beauty

At 9:00 a.m., Aomi departs the island, leaving behind the British base.

After warming up her engine, she breaks through the glass-like ice in the bay with her bow. On shore, crew members from the base wave at me, while others aim their cameras.

When I turn around again, the two-story main building, the huts, and the powerhouse lined up along the base appear no bigger than grains of sand, as if compressed on all sides—top to bottom and side to side—by the vast ocean, sky, and ice. I am alone again, surrounded by the white light of the Antarctic atmosphere.

Heading north, Aomi weaves left and right repeatedly to avoid small pieces of ice floating on the water. After a month of navigating the Antarctic coast, she seems to have perfected her slalom through the ice.

Ahead, the Lemaire Channel—a passage with steep cliffs on both sides, famous for its spectacular views—opens into a valley between mountains.

Soon, I reach the entrance to the channel and see the calm water at the bottom of the valley, like a perfect mirror reflecting the steep peaks on either side under a leaden sky. The floating ice, sandwiched between the symmetrical landscape above and below, is sparse today.

When I came through this channel last time, heading south, I struggled with the ice, but this time, I should be able to make it through and reach Anvers Island, about 60 kilometers to the north, by evening.

Looking up at the sheer, cliff-like mountains towering with majesty from the valley floor, I sigh repeatedly and begin sailing through the channel.

Two hours later, a fierce headwind blows in from the approaching exit. The mirror-like surface reflecting the majestic mountains shatters instantly, and the waterway becomes a chaos of whitecaps.

Aomi still presses on, carefully toward the exit, dodging the sharp, glassy ice shards rising and falling among the numerous wave caps.

I notice a flat, hill-like tabular iceberg approaching Aomi from the lee side. Each time I glance back, it seems to grow wider and taller. Because 90% of its mass is underwater, it is carried by currents instead of the wind—moving against the wind as if it's chasing Aomi!

I push forward to get away from the iceberg, but the headwind is too strong, and Aomi's speed barely increases. Caught between the intense headwind and the looming iceberg behind, Aomi has nowhere to go.

What’s worse, the tabular iceberg with its vertical cliffs comes closer and closer, becoming as high as I look up at it. Each white wave breaking against the fluorescent blue wall of ice is clearly visible. If Aomi's hull, moving up and down with the waves, makes even the slightest contact with the ice wall, she will be instantly destroyed by the protrusions on it.

I increase the engine speed even more and try my best to get away from the ice wall, but as I think, it is no use. There is no way to move forward against such a strong wind. Escape is impossible, no hope of escape. Aomi will definitely come to a crash in a few minutes.

I take a deep breath, and with a sudden thought, I stop my attempt to escape. Turning the bow sideways, I run parallel at full speed beneath the towering blue-white cliff of the iceberg, which looms closer and closer, almost touching Aomi. As soon as Aomi reaches the corner of the tabular iceberg, I steer sharply to its back.

At the very last moment, Aomi is saved!

At this moment of relief, the winds blowing through the Lemaire Channel at the bottom of the valley have already reached an unusual intensity. Tornado-shaped plumes rise from the water in places, and snow blows off the mountains in spectacular trails of white smoke hundreds of meters long. Even with the engine at maximum power, Aomi cannot go faster than a child can walk.

What should I do—turn around? No, I'll press on a little longer. If I'm lucky and the wind dies down, I can reach Anvers Island by evening and rest.

But it's strange. The islands far ahead that I could see through the outlet of the channel have somehow disappeared, replaced by a gray sky. The steep rocky peaks and ice that line both sides of the channel are also very hazy. Are my goggles fogged up? No, it is the same even when I take them off. That means the visibility ahead is getting worse.

"A blizzard is coming up ahead!"

Now, it is definitely impossible to go forward. If I do not hurry back, I will be blinded by the snow and will not even be able to go back.

"All right, let's go back."

With a shout, I turn the bow 180 degrees. Then the steep mountains that line the left and right sides of the channel, with the sharp outlines of black rocks and white glaciers, painfully stimulate my eyes through the crystal clear air.

Even the tiny ridges and bumps on the slopes a few kilometers away, and the pale ice crumbling at the foot of the mountains, are as clear as in my hand. It is like a giant screen displaying a detailed painting of the mountains in front of my eyes.

While the snowstorm obscures the north side of the waterway, the mountains to the south, where I'm returning, rise so sharp that they could hurt my retinas.

—As if the resource called "beauty" is inexhaustible here.