Mounds of snow, blown by the wind, thaw and freeze into solid blocks. They stand as sentinels, guarding the polar terrain from inquisition.
The occasional cigar-shaped blob catches my eye on these sheets of ice. Seals, rich with blubber, snooze in the daylight. They are wary, however. Despite the bland surrounds, they keep ears alert for the sound of an approaching nanook. But for now, it is silent.
I feel strange here: lost and waiting for something to happen, even if I’m not sure what. I am hypnotised by it all, and challenged by its stark honesty. This is not a welcoming place.
Under the warmth of the midnight sun, I stare from the bow of the ship and marvel at the surreal majesty of my hostile surrounds. I count myself lucky to have seen what so few will.
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