Monday, March 14, 2011
The Drake Passage
In these conditions, it is more than a day’s sailing to even the closest shore. Rolling swell, metres high, tosses our 100m vessel like a toy boat in a bathtub. The wind is gale-force through the mountainous waves, forcing them to foam crests of white water. Patiently, and without concern, the Captain quietly issues instructions to his officers. He has sailed the Drake Passage in far worse conditions than these.
Most of the crew are down. The ship’s uneven rolling has thrown the sea legs of even the most hardy members of his crew. For some reason, I have been spared their torture and have wedged myself into a corner of the bridge, hypnotised by the restless ocean boiling around us.
I have my old, point-and-shoot camera with me. I neither trust my balance nor my good fortune to bring better gear up during this storm. Here to capture one image, and one image alone, I am sorely tested. Timing is everything and it takes me more than an hour to finally freeze the moment in time I seek.
Descending the back of one wave, we smash into the rising mass of another. Spray is hurtled tens of metres into the air and the impact reverberates through the hull. This is no theme park ride. I love it.
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