Neptune’s Bellows

After prior expeditions into the southern latitudes of Argentina and Chilean Patagonia, we have been fixated on one place: Antarctica, the White Continent, the only one in the world that belongs to every single nation, governed by the Antarctic Treaty. It’s also one of the most, if not the most, remote and unexplored areas on the planet. 

Like our past trips, we’ve set out with two goals: At the micro level, we’re hoping to find surf—good surf. But at the macro level, we’re working on a film project to document not just the surf, but also the wider need for conservation and environmental protection in Antarctica.

The continent and its surrounding waters, which include more than 5 million square miles of land and sea, are split into nine planning domains. We’ve focused our expedition in Domain 1, which Argentina and Chile are proposing should become a Marine Protected Area.

After five years of planning—researching the area, running logistics, assembling a documentary crew and collaborating with environmental scientists and experts, obtaining the necessary gear and supplies, booking flights and chartering boats—we begin our monthlong journey. 

*

We meet the rest of the documentary crew in Buenos Aires, Argentina, to pack our gear. Our team consists of drone operator and still-camera photographer Marko Magister, cameraman and sound technician Sebas Vereertbrugghen, and water shooter and Super 8 operator Mike “Miguelito” Veltman. We load surfboards, film equipment, the thickest wetsuits on the market, safety supplies, and a month’s worth of food and water, among many other items needed to survive for a month at the bottom of the world. 

We also need authorization from the local Antarctic office, which requires an explanation of our trip and a thorough outline of our environmental impact plan. Permission to travel to Antarctica is not easy to get, nor is it fast. Even though we applied early, we still have to wait, checking our email for days on end. Finally, just before we are set to fly south to Ushuaia, permission arrives. 

There are three ways to get from the mainland of South America to Antarctica: military plane, cruise ship, or sailboat. We’ve chosen the latter, and in Ushuaia we meet Ezequiel Sundblad, the captain of the Ypake II, a 60-foot steel monohull, and his son, Santiago, a sailor. Some years ago, we did two expeditions aboard the same vessel to Isla de los Estados and Malvinas/Falklands, so we know it’s trustworthy even in extreme weather conditions. 

To get from Ushuaia to the South Shetland Islands, just near the Arctic Peninsula, we’ll have to navigate the Drake Passage, one of the most treacherous ocean crossings in the world, where winds can reach up to 100 knots and unpredictable, fast-moving storms can create huge open-ocean waves. Since records have been kept, it’s been estimated that more than 800 boats have been shipwrecked in these waters.

*

After five days of rough seas and lots of vomiting, we arrive in a safe bay at Deception Island, a volcanic landmass in the shape of a horseshoe. Here, in the late 1960s, a series of eruptions tore apart every piece of manmade construction, including the whaling station, and covered the entire island in ash. 

We see a small wave at the bay’s entrance, known as Neptune’s Bellows, so we load our longboards into the dinghy and make our way toward it. We jump into the 37° water, surrounded by fur seals, penguins, and a backdrop of red soil and snow. After 40 minutes of fun in 2-foot surf, the male fur seals start jumping, lunging, and snapping at us. Eventually, Mike, who’s shooting video from the water, gets bitten. He’s taken to the boat immediately to check his wounds, and we paddle in. 

As we go, we are escorted by a different seal baring his fangs at us, his eyes red and angry. Back on the boat, Mike shows us the marks left by six teeth on his right butt cheek. Luckily, the 7 mm wetsuit offered good protection, and the wound isn’t serious. The captain cleans it anyway, just to be safe, while explaining that the fur seals are simply protecting what’s theirs. 

A few days later, we’re able to explore Deception Island on foot. We tie boards to our backpacks, filled with film and safety gear, food, and water, and begin hiking the 8 miles to the exposed side of the island. Our prior research indicates there might be rideable reefs, and the forecast says it will be offshore. 

As we near one of the potential spots, a storm suddenly falls upon us, gusts of 40-knot winds accompanied by heavy rain. We’re pushed backward, our surfboards acting as sails, snow and dirt from the steep slopes flying into our faces. At times, we have to throw ourselves to the ground to avoid being swept away entirely. We’re also hit with the sudden realization that we’re in a position of major risk in one of the most isolated parts of the world. 

Half an hour later, the storm passes and we’re able to reach the far coast. We find a legitimately good wave—a slab that, judged from a distance, is probably 6 to 8 feet. However, it’s crossing that distance that proves impossible. The entire stretch of coast features 150-foot cliffs falling straight into the ocean. There’s no safe way down or back up, so we don’t attempt a descent. Instead, we watch the reef break totally by its lonesome. 

We return to the ship with news of what we found. To our dismay, the captain explains that the wave is also unreachable by boat. It’s too exposed, and the rock shelves surrounding it are too shallow. Safety must come first. 

*

The waves we’re waiting for on Deception Island never arrive. With our time in Antarctica ticking, we start quickly moving from landmass to landmass. 

First is Low Island. There, we manage to surf another small wave on longboards. The scenery is unbelievable: glaciers coming down toward us and leopard seals popping out of the water, scrutinizing our every move but otherwise leaving us alone. The water is 34.52°. 

Next, we eye the Antarctic Peninsula, and, after checking the charts with the captain, we decide to head to Trinity Island. It’s a rough night of sailing, switching watches and hitting rocks and ice with the keel, before we arrive and are able to find safe anchorage. Passages and charts are not very detailed in this part of the world. We often have to launch the dinghy and, with the handle of its oar in the water, check the depths to find a clear path. Unfortunately, Trinity is far too sheltered for the swell at hand, requiring a huge storm to make the proposed spots work. 

Next up is Livingston Island, where, after a long night sailing around icebergs, we arrive at what looks like a great setup for a long right-hander. Again, the variables of swell and correct wind are not aligned. We spend the night at anchor nearby, hoping to wake up to more swell. But nothing has changed by morning, except for the heavy snowfall accompanied by massive floating icebergs. 

Finally, we head to Snow Island, which is totally uninhabited; there are no army bases here belonging to any country. We go ashore and are met by a large colony of male elephant seals. We head toward the island’s interior, toward the glacier, and are shocked to see how much soil is visible. We can see where the glacier has receded almost 1,500 feet. We even find moss and mushrooms growing, vegetation that should not exist in this environment. 

The following morning, the captain decides to move the sailboat 5 nautical miles farther east so we can disembark with the dinghy to explore the other side of the island, which is more exposed to swell and where the charts show potential reefs next to a channel. Given the current conditions, launching the dinghy is no easy task. We nearly capsize due to the swell and strong wind. 

Once on land, we walk for 3 miles until, finally, we find the slab-like peak. However, in what’s becoming an increasingly frustrating common theme, the reef is too dangerous to risk it. The current is too strong in the channel, and we’ve got no rescue available. Again, we’re forced to sit and watch good waves go unridden.   

Back at the Ypake II later that evening, the captain tells us that a huge storm is incoming and we can’t stay anchored here any longer. 

*

Back along the coast of Deception Island, we find shelter in Telefon Bay. We tie the boat to shore with four ropes and drop our anchor to avoid being dragged by the strong winds. Early in the morning, we’re awoken by the voices of Ezequiel and Santiago calling for all hands on deck. We dress immediately and head up to find the wind whipping at 80 knots from every direction, hitting the water hard enough to create williwaws taller than the mast. Suddenly, one rope comes loose, another breaks, the anchor begins to drag, and the boat starts drifting until we hit a rock. Within minutes, the ship is lying on its side, grounded at an almost 45-degree angle, and water is coming over the deck.

The captain remains calm and makes fast and assured decisions. With the winch and another rope tied to a boulder on the shore, we manage to haul the boat upright during the peak of the storm, water still coming over the foredeck. We are forced to wait for the tide to rise in order to float her off the reef. It takes all day. This stretch of time is our lowest point. 

Finally, the Ypake II is freed from the reef by the incoming tide. We hope to be able to surf the next morning on the storm’s tail, but the captain has to get into his dive gear to check the hull, the keel, and the rest of the vessel below the waterline. After almost an hour, he comes back with 50 feet of rope that was tangled around the propeller. Had we set out without noticing, it would have been catastrophic; the engine would have been useless, leaving us entirely at the mercy of the wind. 

After repositioning the boat into deeper water, we launch the dinghy again to look for a wave at the entrance of Neptune’s Bellows. Halfway there, we notice it’s taking in too much water and are forced to return. We realize that the dinghy had been torn by a rock during the storm. Fortunately, we have a spare—but we have only one more day to try to find more surf. 

Early on our last morning in Domain 1, we pump air into a new dinghy, swap out the engine, and start out toward Neptune’s Bellows for one final session. As we get closer, we see that it’s 3 to 4 feet, breaking perfectly over the reef, including a barrel section at the beginning of the wave. We can’t believe that after nearly a month of searching, and after so much planning, somehow all of the conditions and variables have aligned on our very last day. 

We jump into the water just as it starts snowing. The waves are beautiful, and the water is so clear that we can see the rocks along the bottom as well as the penguins and seals swimming under our feet. We surf for hours.

Afterward, we climb back aboard the Ypake II to return to Ushuaia, the snow still falling, and set sail, reflecting on the end of a five-year vision to explore, surf, and document the need for conservation on the White Continent.