Anouk of the north: Goes South

Anouk of the north: South to Antarctica

In which I embrace previously manifested notion: I go south.

Listen to link below for soundtrack to this post.

From the tourist named Annie, i.e. one who makes a journey.

Tourist = journey and Annie = grace, so maybe, just maybe this could be a graceful journey.

I have guided many long seasons, but this one is different. I will be gone somewhere between 54 and 57 days, if all goes as planned. I train for 14 days. Train sounds tough, badass. In this case, training = cruising aboard the Sea Adventurer, one of Quarks boats.

This is the "easy" part of my journey.

The second part involves a sailboat and Drake's passage. To be clear, I will cross the Drake 4 times. The Drake, otherwise known as 'The Southern Ocean', a place where the most terrible seas on planet earth are known to toss thousands of journey-makers around each year. 10,000/year is the last number I read. I will cross twice by big easy boat, above.

I will cross twice by sailboat.

This picture is taken by John Miton, I think. I give all the credit in the world to whomever took it and will hear by learn the rules on using photos. I will take them down if somebodies undies end up in a bunch.

75 foot sailboat, three crew, me, and 7 clients. We will travel from Ushuaia to the Antarctic Peninsula.

The sailing trip sounds elegant, graceful, and terrible. Terrible idea to bring a small boat for the most dangerous waters. One guide I know said "crazy." Another with 30 years experience said "We don't do small boats." This is for a reason. The seasoned guides speak of something they know and I trust these women.

But, even with kids to leave, and guides to listen to, this trip calls me. Whales call me with a sing song tune. Ice that might not be here for my kids to see, calls me. Money, income, earning a living for my family, calls me. Adventure calls me. And so does story. The story of this place, calls me.

One story, people like to tell, is the one of being seasick, facing the toils of the southern ocean, begging the southern cross for mercy (I made that up, but I see myself on my knees, all green with fright, looking up at the stars, which surely won't be seeable if a storm is raging, still, I see the cross and beg). I am curious about this story. I am afraid of it and wonder about its truth. Are the gods of the sea laughing as I doubt the mighty Drake? It isn't the sea I doubt. It is our tendency to make big that which we feel we've earned, endured. I am sure it will kick my ass, but I think a more complicated story will arise then the one I know now.

We shall see.

Safe Travels by Lisa Hannigan shared by Becky Alsum, for her sisters and the girl next door which is me.