The Drake Passage
Sea Sickness
I must go down to the seas again, where the billows romp and reel,
So all I ask is a large ship that rides on an even keel,
And a mild breeze and a broad deck with a slight list to leeward,
And a clean chair in a snug nook and a nice, kind steward.
I must go down to the seas again, the sport of wind and tide,
As the grey wave and the green wave play leapfrog over the side.
And all I ask is a glassy calm with a bone-dry scupper,
A good book and a warm rug and a light, plain supper.
I must go down to the seas again, though there I’m a total loss,
And can’t say which is worst: the pitch, the plunge, the roll, the toss.
But all I ask is a safe retreat in a bar well tended,
And a soft berth and a smooth course till the long trip’s ended.
- Arthur Guiterman
The dreaded Drake Passage! Just the name is enough to send shivers down any sane person’s spine. To a sailor these latitudes from Antarctica north to the tip of South America are known as the screaming sixties and the furious fifties. There is no land anywhere at these latitudes to stop or even mildly abate the westerly winds that chase themselves literally around the world, building massive waves in the open ocean as they go.
It can always be hoped that one might encounter a crossing back to South America from Antarctica that could be dubbed as the “Drake Lake.” But our crossing today would earn no such moniker. Ours was to be a fairly representative crossing, with moderate winds, large waves, and only a portion of all on board accounted for in the dining room for breakfast and lunch! By late afternoon the winds had started to lessen, the sea state to drop, and more folks were up and around for dinner.
Put quite simply, the Drake Passage is the cost of admission to the privilege and pleasure of the Antarctic Peninsula. There is no way around it; you must go through it. Not once but twice. But rest assured, dear reader, the price of admission is absolutely worth the show.
