Report 30 January - Team B on board Pelagic

Saturday, January 30th, Bellingshausen, 23.55pm. Land ahoy. We survived the Drake! Here we are between the icebergs at last. This morning Troy and Adrian were the first to see land during their early shift. And it was not just land and fluorescent ice they saw. There were whales swimming along. Both killerwhales (10 Orca's) and Humpback- whales. We are such a lucky team, seeing al these marvellous animals, though we have only been away for one week.

Hamish has a tape with humpback-whale-songs aboard the Pelagic. Humpback- whales are the only whales that really sing songs. We put on the music as loud as possible to attract the whales that were swimming around us. We spotted dozens of these whales. A family of three came to the boat and swam around whilst making elephant-like noises and blowing high fountains of water. They didn't quite understand this Pelagic- animal. It made the right noises but it surely looked quite strange. It was great to have these huge fellows so near to us.

Since we sailed we hadn't had a proper meal. So tonight while anchored onto a giant rock in the bay near Bellingshausen, we had a celebration dinner. Afterwards we had a strategy team meeting to discuss the plans for tomorrow. Adrian and Hamish have already met the Russian base-commander Constantin on arrival. They went ashore in a zodiac (inflatable) to the base, where they were warmly welcomed. The survey-team had obviously left a great impression. Adrian arranged a team-meeting with the base-commander first thing in the morning to set an agenda for the next few days. Report by Kirsten

Drakes Passage - a retrospective by Jeremy Topple
You're standing on the edge of the Empire State building, one forward movement and you plunge 1000ft to an instant and messy death. Your toes jut out over the edge, your hair billowing out as the wind swirls around you. Cars and people on the streets far below look improbably small and the building seems to sway out towards them. You raise your arms, hands reaching for an imaginary barrier, but feel nothing but air at it's absolute thinnest and then it is just seconds before you lurch forward and plunge downward in a twisting, tangling mess of limbs, hair and terror.

You're standing on the deck of the Pelagic as it pitches and rolls it's way across the Southern Ocean, one slip into the icy waters and you have two minutes to live. The shock takes the breath from you, the cold will cramp your muscles and the depths will claw at your saturated clothing until, 120 seconds later, you spiral downwards in tortured, frozen horror.

It's this that has you stuttering around the deck as if you're learning to walk, each movement seemingly a first step in the dance with death. Normal relaxed and controlled movement is an evolution away as you trip, stub and bump your way along the rails. You don't really sleep in the first days on the Drake. If the constant movement doesn't prevent you getting comfortable then the persistent threat of storm and towering swell will. Around this there are two environments; one is the draining beat and drone of the diesel engine powering the boat on through gnarly seas and windless skies. This drowns out all other sounds and makes conversation possible only with raised voices and as the hours pass it ultimately pulls your spirits down to its own metronomic tempo.

The other provides the reverse,a noise and sensation that seduces the ear and stirs the soul. With good sail up and the boat angled with the wave it kicks off its shoes and surges ahead dragging the propeller into a spin and powering the drive shaft to turn. The result, as the drive shaft whips around, is a deep lasting hum that runs the length of the boat, through the rigging and into your very being. It is the substance of the boat liberated , the tone of harmony and probably the essence of sailing.
Jeremy Topple