It was late yesterday afternoon that we embarked the ship. We remained docked for a couple of hours, before a gentle evening passing through the sheltered waters of the Beagle Channel as we got used to our surroundings. I quickly tried to get lost, but the corridors around the cabins, the lounge and dinning area, and the three observation decks were easy to navigate. The Ushuaia is a north American research vessel from the 1970s. About fifteen years ago it was brought by a commercial company to supply Antarctica’s few scientifically focused inhabitants with whatever they might need to survive in the furthest reaches from civilisation. The organisation is woefully and unimaginatively named as Antrpply (Antarctica – supply; get it?), and they fast came to realise that there was far more money in tourism. Now, in each summer season, between November and March in the southern hemisphere, the Ushuaia makes a procession of 10 or 11 day voyages to the Peninsula and back. There are 88 passengers on board, and approximately 50 crew. This is small fry compared to some of the large modern Antarctica cruise ships of 300 passengers or so. Even if it does roll more, I’m happier on this smaller ship steeped in Antarctica tradition. There are still coast lines of the continent that have never been stepped upon. Yet, it’s the place where weather and eco-systems are born. The scientific importance of this place to our understanding of the world and how we might be changing it is undoubtedly important. It’s with an open mind to see and learn about the this far flung continent I came on-board this 10 day voyage.

The ship was quickly explored. Instead I made it my mission to begin to explore the stories of the passengers. To try and distinguish those to talk to, and perhaps, those to not. There is the cute and good natured Australian who is here as part of her first solo travelling experience. She was the first person I said hello to, as she was immediately behind me in the wait to embark. We already have a bet that I feel I can’t lose. If she’s to sight all the 8 types of penguins in the pocket guide I was given by my travel agency I’m too give her a bottle of wine. Three of these species never even call Antarctica home.

Then there is the Spaniard whose hair is tinged with grey more due to the experiences he’s lived through than his age. As we chat on the sofas on the first evening, I discover that he’s a forensic zoologist, a CSI of the animal world. Using techniques developed to catch traditional criminals and instead applying them to catch poaches and profiteers of the illegal animal trade. When younger, his work also took him to the wild frontiers of the South American continent. While it may now be peppered with young backpackers and holiday makers at ever increasing ease, his memories are testament to the wilderness of the land. On a scientific expedition to cross the Andes mountains of Patagonia in the 80s, one of his party died, succumbing to disease in a place yet unreachable by medical care. And in rural Paraguay, his path was intertwined with a lawless state that treated the large native Indian population – the Guarani – as sub-human. Machete wielding locals, dentists that pulled the healthy teeth from the Guarani as practice, and young girls willingly selling themselves into prostitution to give their parents some small income. I was in Paraguay recently, and I found a different modern society in its cities. Still rife with corruption, but of people and culture that both perplexed and enchanted me. The contrast with his stories of the recent rural past were sobering to hear. He was with his niece and nephew – and together they became one outlet for Spanish practise on board.

There was the large Irish contingent, who were already making themselves very apparent. They were brought together as part of the Shackleton 100, a group commemorating the 100th anniversary of Shackleton’s voyage in the Endurance. Stereotype are sometimes are undeserved thing, yet right now they were true to form. We’d only just set off, and already they were beginning to drink the bar dry! Amongst their group was a mountaineer called Frank Nugent. A true modern day explorer. He’d tackled Everest, and retraced some of the steps of the reckless Arctic and Antarctic pioneers. He could also do an Irish jig and sing with or without a drink in hand.

There’s an allure about a trip like this. Somewhere so far from the day job. Or a place to go once you’ve been everywhere else. A bucket list destination. There were a number of people with hearing aids finally coming before they dropped. With these people, conversation was only ever strained over the near constant drone of the ships engine. On the other end of the spectrum there were a small group of twenty-somethings like myself. We’d started our careers relatively young and liked far flung travels – and as we could afford the indulgence, where better than this. There is definitely a difference in mentality in youth. We seemed to be the only ones with the foresight to stash bottles of wine into our cabin baggage. While a good wine can be brought in Argentina for just a few dollars, the on board bar was charging American prices, and was going to be emptied fast by the Irish.

Amongst the others: a kind elderly Mexican couple, an erratic high singing business man, an enthusiastic Korean who had slain thousands of sheep to pay for his tickets, a deep sea-diving Australian whose husband nearly started another cold war, a CEO of Indian media companies, a photojournalist, some gruff faces I tended to avoid, and others who were just happy to sit in the corners and sleep. Over the days ahead I’d be stumbling into all of these in the corridors, or on the land of the Antarctic continent.

In the fading light the ship neared the end of the Beagle Channel. I walked out side to see the last of it. This smooth straight of water cuts through the very southern tip of South America, famously named after the ship that carried Darwin on his career defining voyages in the early 1800s. Back then, these lands were empty of humanity apart from small natives tribes that foraged and fed off the fish and seals. Today, little has changed. The small port city of Ushuaia from where we embarked is the small oasis of civilisation within this sweeping landscape of low mountains, lakes, and forests. But now miles from there, only occasionally were there lights on the shores – small sporadic settlements allowing Chile and Argentina border claims in these otherwise empty lands.

I was out on deck to watch it, talking to a white bearded man from Belgium. He was a lawyer in the twilight of his career. And after all these years of professionalism work habits had merged into his social behavior. I was bombarded by sharp inquisitive questions. Age? Job? Direction? Why was I here? I felt like I was being weighed and measured. To be neatly slotted into some kind of narrative of his own construction.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a small wave breaking. Then another. And then a cry of happy amazement from another passenger on the upper deck. Visible in the half light, a school of dolphins were effortless jumping out the water and arching through the air. I’d never seen them in the wild before. With such ease and friendly grace, no wonder swimming with dolphins is felt to be such a therapeutic activity. They swam by the side of the boat for some moments, and then they were gone. They would be back to play when our ship returned some days later. For now they were just a taster of what lay ahead. Over the voyage we wouldn’t have to chase down the wildlife. In many ways it would come to us.