In 2017 I saw my first total solar eclipse.

I had gone mostly because it was “something to do” and would include a camping trip in Central Oregon, which I’m always up for. I was prepared to be unimpressed (read more about my experience here). To my surprise, witnessing the sun completely blink out in a matter of minutes was by far one of the most visceral, full-body, knock your socks off and make you cry moments of my life. I was hooked.

As soon as we arrived home, I found myself surfing the internet to find where I could travel to see future total solar eclipses. Online, I found a large community that for decades have been traveling the world chasing these astronomical phenomena. In fact, there are entire tour companies set up for just this purpose.

You can imagine my elation to discover that in 2021 there would be a total solar eclipse in Antarctica. The idea of such an adventure didn’t just tug at my wanderlust soul, it all but consumed it!

I am drawn to remote places that are hard to reach and love the experience of being off the beaten path seeing something few others have seen (Atacama Desert, Svalbard, Khutzeymateen grizzlies, Churchill polar bears, “pods of death,” to name a few).

The opportunity to see a total solar eclipse in Antarctica was the epitome of a once in a lifetime experience that I couldn’t pass up. So – before Glenn knew what was happening – I had us booked on a special eclipse viewing trip to Antarctica that wouldn’t transpire for yet another four years.

Then I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

The big day finally arrived and we found ourselves aboard a large boat (albeit, tiny in comparison to most cruise ships these days) that could carry about 200 passengers. The cruise was set to take 11 days and included multiple stops in Antarctica, as well as a large traverse of the Southern Ocean/Antarctic Ocean to be in position to view the eclipse in totality (meaning, the sun being 100% blocked by the moon).

The trip was organized by a public outreach arm of the NASA Johnson Space Center Astronomical Society which has organized tours to see over 50 eclipses in all parts of the world. The ship was filled with astronomers, scientists, and long-time eclipse enthusiasts, many of whom have known each other for decades.

Chasing an eclipse at the bottom of the world isn’t as easy as it may sound.

The Antarctic region is notoriously cloudy and has some of the roughest seas on Earth as multiple oceans come together without any large landmasses to slow down the wind or the currents. The ships travel slowly, even in calm seas, which means getting anywhere can take days (e.g., it takes about 48 hours of sailing just to get from the departure point at the tip of South America to Antarctica).

The ship’s captain, as well as the various scientists onboard, were employing sophisticated weather models (wind, cloud cover, ocean swells) to try to predict the most ideal location to position the ship for the magical eclipse moment.

Because it takes so long to get anywhere, they had to make such decisions days in advance of the eclipse and then hope for the best. The cloud cover model indicated that, on eclipse day, there might be a break in the clouds considerably north of where we were near the Antarctic peninsula, so we made a run for that region…with a large storm on our heels.

The day of the eclipse we woke up just in time to see the 2:30 AM sunrise (!!!) in preparation for the eclipse that would begin 45 minutes later (3:15 AM). As we opened our cabin’s curtains we were disappointed to find the ship completely engulfed in a sea of fog with very limited visibility. We donned our multiple layers of winter gear anyhow and set up shop on the balcony awaiting the big moment. (Note: From start to finish, the eclipse would take just over 1.5 hours, with “totality” – no sunlight – lasting just over 1 minute and 15 seconds.)

About 10 minutes before totality (sun being entirely blocked by the moon) the fog started to lift, and we could see a mottled sky above, with bits of blue peeking through and occasional glimpses of the sun (which was floating just above the horizon line). A sense of elation began bubbling inside of me. This was really going to happen!!!

Friends often joke that I lead a charmed life; that “rainbows and unicorns shoot out of my ass” as one dear friend has lovingly described it. As the fog began to part, I felt sure this was going to be one of those charmed-life moments where against all odds…and weather model predictions…I was about to see a miracle.

You can imagine my disappointment when just moments later the fog swept back in out of nowhere, completely blocking everything out. We later learned that this likely happened due to the sudden drop in temperature as more and more of the sun was blocked out by the moon, causing the fog to rapidly reform and swallow us again.

I tried to set my disappointment aside and focus on being in the moment.

We knew all along that there was a good chance we were not going to be able to see the actual sun during the eclipse. The previous evening a woman who has seen countless eclipses around the world said “experience with your body what you cannot see with your eyes.”

I took her advice to heart. Even though we couldn’t see the sun, we were still able to experience the eeriness of having the sunlight disappear – plunging us into total darkness – before emerging again. In those moments I got goosebumps (and not from the frigid Antarctic temperatures) and tears began forming in the corners of my eyes. It was spectacular!  

Of the 15+ cruise ships on the ocean that day seeking out the eclipse, it is rumored only one of them got a clear view – the NatGeo ship located to the far north near the Malvinas Islands/Falkland Islands. The only others that saw it clearly were a handful of folks camping among the penguins on the Antarctica mainland.

Eclipse aside, Antarctica has boundless wonders and splendor to offer.

One of my favorite aspects of the trip was getting to see icebergs, en masse. Big ones, little ones, white ones, blue ones, even ones covered in penguins. I stood on the deck of the ship for hours on end (trying in vain to hide from the frigid wind) watching the icebergs as we passed by.

Due to high winds and rough seas, and despite heroic efforts of the captain and his crew, we were only able to get off the boat and onto land once during our journey. This was a highlight of the trip because: a) we got a close-up view of adorable penguins and less adorable elephant seals, and b) I was able to tick Antarctica off the list and have now visited all 7 continents (plus the far north Arctic Circle)!

This was the first real cruise Glenn and I have been on in terms of being on the open ocean for an extended period. While we’ve been on multiple boat trips before (including some multi-day ones), this one was different. We’ve decided such endeavors just aren’t our cup of tea. I think I could be lured back onto an open water cruise (with some trepidation) for the right experience, but Glenn is firmly in the “hell no, never again!” camp.

Aside from our passages through the Beagle Channel (located at the Southern tip of South America) and some of the time around the Antarctic peninsula, we found ourselves in rough seas traversing 10, 15 and sometimes 20-foot swells. Day after day, night after night…for eleven days.

The captain assured us it could be much worse (and would be if the storm we were trying to outrun on the final days caught us), but it still felt oppressive. I was desperate to get off the boat by the time we returned to port.

Even then, for days after we returned to land, Glenn and I had horrible vertigo. As we would try to hike, or even sleep in our hotel beds, everything around us seemed to sway and move as we tried to regain our “land legs.” It was as if the ship had us firmly in its grip and refused to let us go. It took nearly a week before the last vestiges of this vertigo faded away.

Another aspect of cruising I struggled with was being surrounded by so many strangers with no means of escape other than hiding out in my cabin (which I did a lot). I’m naturally a very introverted person and the idea of mingling with strangers is not high on my list of enjoyable activities.

No doubt this tendency of mine has been exacerbated by the various forms of COVID lock-down including working from home and avoiding social gatherings. For nearly two years Glenn and I had been very cautious in terms of limiting our exposure to COVID. To suddenly find myself surrounded by nearly 200 fellow passengers, and nearly as many ship crew members, was overwhelming and I crawled further into my cozy introvert cave.

In many ways, the ship was likely one of the safest places we could be in terms of COVID. We were already at sea before Omicron really became a thing. Everyone aboard had been fully vaccinated (and most, like us, were boosted), had passed several COVID tests in the multiple days leading up the ship’s departure, were always masked except when eating, and no new exposures were being introduced from outside forces. But I still felt a strong desire to stay in a little isolation bubble and avoid the masses. This made for a very boring existence in which to pass the days and days and days it took to traverse the open ocean on our journey.

Even so, I’m still glad we had this adventure and there are several things I’m grateful for:

• I got visit Argentina, which until just a few weeks before the trip was still closed to tourists due to COVID.
• I got to leave the port. There was a much larger eclipse cruise boarding around the same time as us when some of the crew tested positive for COVID, so everything was cancelled leaving hundreds of passengers stranded with their eclipse dreams collapsed.
• I got to become one of a handful of people to experience an eclipse at the bottom of the world!
• I got to see icebergs and penguins and other magical creatures in their natural environment.
• I got to ride on a ship in high seas without tossing my cookies (which was fun…for a while) thanks to effective motion sickness medications.
• I got to get off the boat in port. If any one of the ~400 people on the boat tested positive for COVID upon arrival to disembark we would have been unable to dock and been trapped on the ship for an undetermined number of days.

The trip was totally worth it, even with the less desirable little bits in between. In the end, I think an epic adventure like this must come with some challenges and misery…that’s part of what makes it such a memorable experience.

I’d definitely love the chance to visit Antarctica again someday…later in the year when the seas are calmer…and ideally by plane instead of by boat!

Below you will find a bunch of photos of our trip, starting with this slideshow:

Before getting on the ship to Antarctica we had the chance to visit Tierra del Fuego National Park which contains dramatic scenery and the terminus of the Pan-American Highway. Pretty much the end of the world (see slide show below).

Most of the ships headed to Antarctica depart from Ushuaia, Argentina, the world’s southernmost city. On the ancestral homelands of the Yahgan and Selk’nam peoples, it’s a beautiful town surrounded by majestic mountains and weather that turns on a dime (see slide show below).

P.S. Why does no one in Antarctica have COVID?

Because they are ice-o-lated.

(Thought I’d share that little gem in case any of you are running low on new jokes, courtesy of Kevin Fredericks).