Another thunderous clap whips through our tent like a gunshot. Then, as suddenly as the sound erupted, we’re pulled back into the almost eery silence that preceded it. The glacier behind us has carved into the icy waters which lay just metres beyond where we’re attempting - if somewhat half-heartedly - to sleep. As the wonder subsides our breathing joins the subtle shifts and movements of our surroundings; the gentle plosive blows of whales coming up for air, the trilling whistle of sea birds, and the distant crackle of ice pushing and receding.

We’ve been on this small island off the coast of mainland Antarctica since yesterday evening, and since then, despite the cold and sleep’s stubborn evasion, I can sense a feeling of calm and awe settle amongst my fellow campers. We erected our tents like a row of red beacons in the snow and watched as our ship sailed away, leaving us to the ice, the stars and the only-occasionally-interrupted silence.

At 5:30am the ship, as promised, returns to our camping spot. We take down our tents and wander giddily to the zodiacs that hail our return to the expedition… and cabins with underfloor heating. It’s a stark contrast to be in this raw magical place with so many modern luxuries at hand; only yesterday I sat sipping pinot gris as I watched a pod of humpbacks beyond panoramic windows. Tomorrow we’ll spot an albatross circling the ship from the hot tub. It’s all quite surreal.

But then that’s what’s totally captivated me - this place that’s like nowhere I’ve ever explored. Waking up each day to mountains sitting above an iceberg-speckled sea is an experience beyond compare; kayaking next to penguins that seem to hop across the water like aquatic bunnies is a sight that I won’t readily forget. Each day has brought us a myriad icy treasures that my camera has yet to accurately capture.

We’d set sail from Ushuaia and spent three days crossing the Drake Passage. Despite some green faces we were assured that we’d been lucky and had been graced with the ‘Drake Lake’, instead of the infamous ‘Drake Shake’. In honesty it was relatively tame and nothing that some over-the-counter anti-nausea couldn’t tackle (I’m not proud to say that I’ve had more offensive hangovers). Days at sea were filled with lectures, marine life sightings, and more seabirds than my harassed companions cared to acknowledge; although I suppose we can’t all be self-proclaimed twitchers…

When we arrived in the White Continent we drank up the jovial atmosphere; snap-happy fingers twitched above camera shutters and fumbled for impossibly-sized zoom lenses. Passengers ran from deck to deck, exchanging congratulations on wildlife sightings, or radiating thinly-veiled smugness for their perfect whale-fluke shot. As the days passed we hiked, paddled, at one point even swam in the vast pristine wilderness of Antarctica. Donning expedition gear and binoculars we observed disgruntled penguin chicks waiting to shed their awkward patchy downs; we spotted leopard seals slinking from icebergs into the black briny depths of the ocean; we were even met with fin waves and boisterous breaches from the resident whales. Morning shore excursions saw boots crunching on virgin snow and gave way to afternoons weaving through seal-peppered icebergs on small zodiac boats.

Back on the ship we learnt about Antarctica’s fascinating past. Some of my favourite times were spent poring over the photographs from Shackleton’s expedition aboard the famous Endurance. It seemed impossible to be traversing (however more luxuriously) the same realms of those explorers. Wildlife became larger-than-life in the daily lectures that brought out the Attenborough in everyone. I’m still surprised that I was so enthralled by the chemical make up of ice - I guess sometimes you just have to be there. 

Meals were spent in a constant state of flux between digestion and wildlife hunting. Just when you thought you could enjoy your creme brûlée there’d invariably be a chorus of ‘Humpback whale! Starboard side!’, and the subsequent shuffle of diners would see your dessert spoon hastily discarded.

On the average cruise you spend three nights sailing to Antarctica, five nights there, and a further two nights travelling home. Each of the five mornings that we woke up in that wintery wilderness felt like waking up to another white Christmas. Greedily we’d throw our expedition parkas over our pyjamas, hurtle onto our balcony and wonder what shiny new presents the day would bring.

For more inspiration take a look at our Antarctica Cruises pages.