[…] John provided light, local anesthesia and a needle. Mark set to it, with a reassuring professionalism some doctors could emulate. I don’t know if it was morbid fascination or a desire to learn but we all craned and stretched to watch the proceedings. […]

[…] Speculation, some doubt, renewed enthusiasm when the sun makes an appearance - all very similar (excepting the digital world) to the golden era of polar exploration when the weather halts all forward progress.

[…] But tonight, a quiet boat with most of the guests sleeping after their first dinner at sea, reminds us we are back to the ultimate purpose of the boats. We are on an expedition, and we are taking people to discover such a remote and unique world.

Marco Grandi is our metal fabrication mastermind and a key partner for each year’s annual refit. Grandi Manufacturing operates like an extension of the expedition team – fortifying the boats for the fierce conditions they’ll face in the Southern Ocean. […]

[..] I found it totally fascinating how it is possible to determine the current location with a sextant and skill and patience without any electronic aids. I'm already looking forward to determining a position with a sextant again. […]

[…] I spent three years imagining Tristan da Cunha, since I sailed with VINSON as a celestial navigation student in 2022. That year, raging headwinds formed an impassable wall, and we had to divert to Gough Island. I was heartbroken (soon, completely enraptured by Gough Island), and never would have guessed I’d be back so soon as a crew member on twin sister ship AMUNDSEN. […]

[…] On board are six RYA Yachtmaster Ocean students, all with their own unique reason for doing this celestial navigation delivery from the Falkland Islands to Cape Town. One dreams of owning a sailing boat, another already has one and wants to hone their bluewater sailing skills. Some are mesmerized by the ancient art of celestial navigation – tracing positions not by satellites but by celestial bodies, while another just wants the thrill of an Atlantic crossing. […]

Kenneth, our instructor, put down his mug of yerba mate and looked at us. “Why bother learning astro-navigation when we have perfectly good GPS?” […]

Have had many walks on many islands. Hiked hills and strode across passes. The views are breathtaking in every direction and history whispers from all the corners. One can hear the voices of the past speaking from the buildings and the few forgotten artifacts […]

For someone who has never sailed in their life, I was really diving into the deep end, taking an RYA Competent Crew course in the “Furious Fifties.”

[…] The locals we’ve met have been just as robust, resilient, and resourceful as the flora — always looking forwards, even as they face the huge challenges of just existing. Particularly as gardeners and island caretakers, instead of putting tennis courts in, they’re protective and nurturing the precious land they’re wardens of: holding in balance the roles of farmers and conservationists.

“Just how much wind is a lot of wind? Is this a normal amount of wind?” Very few Competent Crew courses have learned how to sail in a Force 8. Winds touched 40kt our first day on the water, with a 90 nautical mile overnight passage from Stanley to the West Falklands, making the most of a short weather window. “Well, technically this is a gale.”

Skiing downhill with a pulk is an acquired art. On a gentle glacier, with a firm frozen surface, it can be a joyful trundle. On a steep crevassed slope, trying to turn on breakable crust, avoiding lethal slots, it degenerates quickly into farce. […]

[…] Climate change, as everyone knows, has hit the Antarctic Peninsula harder than almost anywhere else on Earth, and right now, with our current northwesterly airstream, it feels as though the mountains are falling to pieces. […]

[…] It is essential to be captivated by the tempest and, equally, by the subtle nuances that emerge from one day to the next. Without this gift, a sailor might see only a heavy, monotonous blue horizon—a reality that would soon lead to alienation and perhaps madness. […]

[…] The sunlight danced and sparkled on the “million year” ice and we were all struck by its beauty and scale.  Were we really seeing this with our own eyes?  It was too good, too perfect to be true, but the drone witnessed what we saw. […]

[…] The dust cloud surrounding us was immense; it was the very earth mingling with the seascape. Everything was infused with the scent of sand, rather than the scent of the sea. Two theoretically contradictory elements merged—the ocean and the desert. […]

[…] The world felt both infinitely large and strangely small at the same time. The horizon stretched endlessly in every direction. There was no land in sight, no other boats for miles—just the vast expanse of the ocean. It made everything else feel distant and insignificant […]

[…] All around us there was a dark threatening sky but for just a few moments the sun peaked out and lit the scene in strong sunlight. […]

[…] But just to walk that short distance in the footsteps of those great men felt a real privilege. To stand on the mountain where Shackleton stood looking down into Stromness knowing that at last they were safe and could set about rescuing the men left behind on Elephant Island. […]