I made a list. Antartica was number seven, at the bottom. I needed to see all seven continents. It was my finish line. I was excited, but it was more about the goal than the place.
We arrived in Ushuaia not knowing what to expect. It's a sleepy port town at the end of the world. I embarked from port towns like this before. However, this time something felt different.
These weren’t normal tourists. They were experienced travelers. Veterans. Each one had their own fascinating stories from destinations all over the globe. I spent most of my time listening. Before long, all the stories started to melt together. Different dates, times and locations, but the experiences were similar. We shared each other's stories.
The ship itself was modest. It wasn't a luxurious voyage. This was a vessel filled with seasoned adventurers. Travelers. People who understood that sometimes the best places require a little discomfort to reach.
The captain announced we were sailing into the Drake Passage, arguably the most vicious waterway in the world. He let us sweat for a moment before announcing our luck. The waters were going to be calm.
We escaped the Drake unscathed.
On to Antarctica.
It is unlike any place in the world. There is ice, snow, mountains, and abundant wildlife. The landscapes seemed foreign and untouched. There was also something else.
A quiet. A quiet that consumes.
Not the quiet you experience before bed or when the house is empty. Something deeper. You feel it inside.
I was in a kayak with our guide and five other people. At one point he asked us to stop paddling. "Keep the kayaks still. Raise your oars. Don’t talk."
We all sat there listening.
Nothing.
No engines. No voices. No city humming somewhere beyond the horizon. Just ice. Water. Mountains. It was a kind of silence I never experienced before.
That was the moment I truly appreciated this final continent. I traveled all that way to check off number seven. Somewhere along the way, keeping count became the most important task. I forgot to listen to the quiet.
I don’t think anyone on the boat could adequately describe how Antartica makes you feel. It's an impossible task.
But I’ve noticed something about people who have been there. Ask them about Antarctica and they’ll try to explain it. They’ll tell you about the ice. The mountains. The wildlife. The Drake Passage. The cold. The endless white.
But eventually, there will be a moment when their eyes drift. They’ll grow quiet.
And for a brief moment, they’re not telling you about Antarctica anymore.
They’re back in that place. Reliving the quiet.