Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [90]
No one saw it coming, although we all had been completely focused on the water. We hit an iceberg. It was what Debbie Woodruff described as a baby berg, just two feet wide, and most of it was below the water’s surface, except for a patch of ice that was only a foot wide. When we hit the iceberg, the impact sounded like a giant boulder had slammed into the boat. Fortunately, the berg just bounced off us without making a hole, but this first encounter heightened our anticipation. We watched the water, hoping we wouldn’t miss another submerged berg. Our anticipation continued to increase when we sighted two larger bergs, two to three feet high and wide. When we passed within a couple yards of them, it felt as if we were standing naked in front of an open Sub-Zero freezer.
How could I even believe this swim was possible? What was I thinking? Maybe it’s time to reconsider. Maybe the smart thing to do is to gather up all my marbles and just go home. Sometimes I wasn’t sure why I did these things. I stifled a shiver. This was more than I had expected.
Strong currents began coming at us from a multitude of directions now, flowing at up to a knot, pushing pan ice and bergs into us. It was like getting hit by comets flying at us from outer space, smashing into us from every direction.
Suddenly, the boat lurched to one side when a piece of ice connected with the propeller. Koschman checked the line; it seemed to be okay. He told us he couldn’t make the boat go any slower, to reduce the impact of the icebergs. If we hit one hard and it punched a hole in the side of the boat, we would sink quickly. Survival time in this water for an untrained person was less than ten minutes.
Shaking his head, Koshman turned to me and said reluctantly, “Maybe we should turn back now. But if we do that, we won’t be able to come back tomorrow. The ice will be worse. You won’t have a chance to try this swim until next year. And I know you really want to do it now.”
“I really do. It’s important for my long-range plan. But if you feel that we are putting your boat and the crew in real jeopardy, then I think we have to turn back,” I said, unable to conceal my disappointment.
“We have only a couple miles to go. The thing is,” Kochman said, “I want to get the swim off as soon as possible. It’s late afternoon, the sun’s going to set soon, and when that happens, the air temperature here will plunge. More pan ice is going to form, rapidly. And that will make our trip home very difficult. But I’m more concerned about getting locked in the ice. The air temperature could drop more rapidly than I’ve anticipated, and if that happens, we could get stranded.”
“You mean like Shackleton’s expedition? You mean we could be trapped in the ice?”
“Yes, it happens easily here. We could be stranded for a day or two, or more. The ice can also freeze around the boat, compress the two sides, and crush the hull. So if we’re going to do this, you’re going to have to hurry. We’ve got to get in and out of here fast.”
“I will go as fast as I can,” I promised.
There were bears in this area. Dena Matkin had told me all about them. She worked with the Forest Service as a biologist, spending her time studying bears and humpback whales. She said that older adult bears who were no longer strong enough to fight younger bears for territory with an abundance of food were pushed north into the Muir Inlet, near the Riggs Glacier, where we were headed. Here, because of the glaciers and glacial rock, food was scarce. The bears in this area were always very hungry, and it was dangerous to camp there. Against the warnings of park rangers, one tourist had decided to go camping in Glacier Bay and wandered off on his own. After a couple of days the rangers began searching for him; all they found were his feet in his boots. No, we would not be camping.
The air temperature dropped a few more degrees. It was probably in the mid-thirties, and I blew my breath into my jacket to trap the warm air and keep me