Ready to Go: Ushuaia, a Picturesque Holding Ground
Personal Entry from crew member Remy Johannsen (Team Malizia), 09.02.2026
The Malizia Explorer is a big yacht. When asking for directions in the marina, people usually say, “Go to the boat with the highest mast.” Once reached and entered, one or two comments often follow about the size of the saloon. Admittedly, this boat is quite spacious for a sailing yacht, however, everything gets crammed when 14 people live aboard for a month.
The first month of this year’s Antarctic mission, carried out in cooperation with Under The Pole, ended a little later than planned due to weather conditions, finally concluding on the 2nd of February 2026. After their return, a quick turnaround was needed for the new crew to arrive and set off on the second and final leg of the mission. So, right after docking the first crew and a few hugs and strong suggestions of showers, the new crew went straight aboard to help get the boat shipshape for round two.
Cleaning, engine maintenance, mast checks, food shopping and preparation…everything at once, all to be finished as quickly as possible. And then: waiting.
Waiting for the right weather window to allow a calm passage through the Beagle Channel and later across the Drake Passage, notorious for its ferocious seas. With weather conditions hard to predict, and huge mountains lining Ushuaia and distorting wind patterns, the right window was expected to come late on February 7th, or possibly in the early hours of the morning.
That evening, the captain’s apprehensive eye paced the upper level of the saloon, moving from window to window, watching the wind develop and die down. As time went by waiting, the crew began living as if we had already set off: eating meals meant to help seasick stomachs, talking through night-watch plans and assigned jobs.
There was something childlike about it, a “waiting-for-Santa-Claus” feeling. We knew the departure was coming, however we didn’t know when, and we didn’t quite know what to expect.
Yet, not long after dinner, it was time. The crew got their gear on, (sallopettes and red head lamps), waved goodbye to land, and turned the bow away from the city lights, heading out into the darkness.
Everyone on board was acutely aware of what an incredible privilege it was to visit Antarctica, this near-pristine environment, in the name of science and protection. Thoughts of adventure, the unknown, beauty, and hardship had dominated conversations for days leading up to this, and the excitement built steadily until this moment. When we docked off and severed ties to land, I even asked two people if I could have a hug; it felt like a moment that called for one. I’m not entirely sure why, perhaps to commemorate the act of leaving, or perhaps for comfort, with the Drake Passage (often dubbed the Drake Shake) looming in mind.
Leaving at night was necessary. It was the only time the wind offered a reliable hint of safe passage south. Somehow, that felt fitting in the context of climate and nature: that we could only leave when the wind allowed it. Nature determined our actions, and that left a quiet mark.
As the city lights faded into nothing, everyone slowly crawled into their bunk beds, hair akimbo from the wind outside. Although we had slept in them before, the rocking motion and the persistent thought of “It’s not so bad yet… when will I start feeling sick? Will I?” made rest uneasy.
For me, this fear came from conversations with the crew who had arrived before us, now occupying the beds we slept in. Their daylight stories of Antarctica, filled with wonder and photographs, sparked excitement, but the journey there still dominated my thoughts.
By morning, it was my turn to come up for watch. After a while on deck, I went below to get a coffee and barely managed to fill my cup before being called back up: Dolphins were jumping around the bow, performing pirouettes, and large blows appeared on the horizon. Everywhere we looked, plumes of vapor rose into the air.
Not wanting to experience this magic alone, another crew member went to wake the others. Once everyone had gathered on deck, and after slowing the boat for safety, two fin whales appeared beside us, diving in unison, clearly showing their characteristic fins.
What a gift for a first morning.
The day passed with many naps and endless snacks, all in an effort to keep seasickness at bay. But by evening, it became clear that seasickness was not the most important thing to think about…. one of our crew members had a medical issue, nothing to worry about, however, after consulting medical specialists and following their advice, we decided to return to Ushuaia, retracing the route of our last 19 hours at sea. After weighing up pros and cons, as well as having the duration and solitude of this Antarctic expedition in mind, this seemed the only good option and so, after returning to Ushuaia, Argentina in the early morning, just two days after first setting off, we wait for the next weather window, take good care of our core crew member and wish them a speedy recovery.
Looking at the weather forecasts, it looks as though we may re-attempt to reach the western Antarctic peninsula in the next days, having only had to delay the mission by a few days. If all goes well, we hope to make the journey as a full team!
