The horizon, a silver line that seems to drift in and out of existence as if in a dream, is gradually broken. The effect is subtle at first, almost like a trick of the eye, but soon it’s clear icebergs are rising out of the sea like the vanguard of an approaching horde, eventually towering in icy blue majesty as we approach.
It’s dawn—or at least the transition between the shades of twilight that represents the birth of a new day this far south—and I’m on the bridge of a state-of-the-art expedition vessel as she silently slices her way through near-frozen seas into the depths of the Antarctic Sound.