It was low to the water, about three feet above where the chop was catching the side of the ship. The sky was cloudy and icebergs floated nearby.
One by one, we were called over to the platform. The crew tied a rope around our chests so that if we passed out from the shock of the cold, they could reel us back in like a fish.
When it was my turn, I knew that if I didn't jump immediately, I would lose my courage and wouldn't jump at all. As soon as the rope was around me, I leaped from the platform into the frigid sea.
There are two memories that stick out. That's the first memory: Cold. My body instantly felt like it was being jabbed with needles, and any other idea of what I was going to do in the water -- take a few laps, maybe hold my breath for a bit -- went out the window, and the only thing I could do was get out immediately.
The other memory is just a shade of blue. The water in Antarctica is so cold and so clear that the water appears to be a bright blue, almost like the Caribbean, but of course, not as warm. In the moments I was in the water, all I could see was blue in every direction.
Cold and blue. If anything sums up Antarctica, it's that. I'll never forget my trip there.
