The (Polar) Lord of the Flies (Antarctica

An interesting thought experiment would be to dig into why a set of people, all reasonably if not above average successful, traveled thousands of miles to the edge of the world, paid at least $10k for their spot, and spent two days in rough seas hunched over the toilet, all in order to sleep on the exposed snow in white nights and pee in a bottle.

In other words, camping in Antarctica. If you’re curious about the temperature, it was around 32F.

A few peculiarities about Antarctica.

1. It’s owned by no one - 12 big wig countries signed a treaty that essentially said “I won’t ruin the last un-ruined place on earth if you don’t (for now)”. Going on 60+ years strong so far.

2. Very strict conservation rules - a self-governing band of private enterprises takes “leave no trace” to a new level. All of clothing, backpacks, shoe soles were inspected and vacuumed to prevent accidentally bringing foreign species on land.

3. It’s physically impossible to start a fire, can’t find anything to burn.

4. No food can be brought on land, and aside from your pack with necessities, nothing else but two bottles. One of those is your water bottle.

What’s the other one? A pee bottle. Yes, you are not allowed to leave anything behind on land, #1s and #2s included.

With a shy bladder, questionable aim, and performance anxiety, I was purposely dehydrating. Prevention > cure.

So, camping.

After a full day of activity and dinner, where I took exactly two sips of water, I went back to my cabin and put on every layer of clothing I brought. Waterproof pants on top of fleece leggings, multiple pairs of wool socks, thermal undershirts, a fleece pullover, a waterproof jacket, two pairs of gloves, a hat.

We said goodbye to our creature comforts and took the zodiac boat to land.

The landing site was an uninhabited island of deep snow, where every fresh step sunk to your thighs.

At least the fluffy snow made it easier to dig your grave for the night. Yes you read that correctly.

We grabbed shovels to dig our graves. I was never quite clear on why - various reasons came up, including wind protection, preventing yourself from sliding off the island into the icy waters below, easy cover up in case we die, and pure entertainment for the crew. The graves came in all forms and sizes. It was easy to distinguish who worked for a mafia boss at some point in their lives.

I’ve finished my grave - fairly shallow, a little lumpy, but will be easy for covering up in the morning and getting onto the first zodiac back to the boat.

At this point it’s around 11pm and the sun is still bright. Those Antarctic stars will not be seen for another 5 months, as the sun doesn’t go down in the summer.

I look around to take in the views and the light. Looks like our ship has repositioned itself perfectly for a photo op.

Wait…but why is the boat moving?

It dawns on me that it’s leaving us. They didn’t leave any zodiac boats for us either, since these waters can freeze overnight and become unnavigable.

Bye bye boat. We aren’t getting off this island, not tonight.

Some folks have settled in for the night, others are chatting or still digging a proper 6 feet under. It kind of feels like the first day of a social experiment, where a bunch of strangers equipped with a few survival supplies are dropped off on an island. Does that ever end well? There was a book written about that...

Watching your only source of warmth, food, and shelter leave you on an island buried under 20 feet of snow is a bit unnerving. Yes it’s coming back tomorrow…if the ice conditions are well enough to navigate. I’m starting to feel pretty stupid that I willingly got off the boat for this. That I paid what amounts to a full year's salary in some countries for this. It occurs to me that I left my passport on board.

What would I do with the passport anyways, eat it? Show the penguins I’m a US citizen and I demand to be airlifted or American freedom will come after them?

Hah.

I did bring some critical supplies for the night - sleeping mask, ear plugs, a sleeping pill, and a couple shots of whisky. I can’t take credit for the last one, it was my roommate’s idea, but what a great idea it was. I’m sure someone somewhere has said don’t drink in the cold for some reason, but tucked into my warm cocoon wearing a bajillion layers I felt warm and cozy. And much like the boat, my worries ever so fading away.

The next morning the ship DID come back, much to my bladder’s excitement.

Digging the bare minimum shallow grave was actually genius, not lazy. Overnight the snow froze and the people who build snow forts and trenches were still filling in their holes as I was whisked away back to the ship.