Antarctica, Part 3: Avalanches, Icebergs, and the Polar Plunge of Doom (and Glory)

At this point in our journey, we’d already crossed the Drake, explored a flooded volcano, paddled past icebergs, and had our first penguin run-ins. But nothing—and I mean nothing—could’ve prepared us for what was coming next: avalanches, iceberg graveyards, and the long-awaited Polar Plunge.

Avalanche Alley

One morning, just as we were boarding our Zodiacs, a massive avalanche thundered down a mountainside across the bay. We all stopped mid-step, mouths open, eyes wide, and just watched. The sound was like thunder rolling across a cathedral of ice. Unreal.

Brooklyn said, “That’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard that didn’t come out of Colt’s room.” Accurate.

We later learned that avalanches in this region are surprisingly common in the summer due to melting at the surface. But knowing that didn’t make it any less jaw-dropping. You could actually feel the rumble under your boots. For a split second, every one of us locked eyes like, “Did we just witness Antarctica breathing?”

Iceberg Graveyard: Beauty in the Freeze

Later that day, we floated through what the guides called an “iceberg graveyard.” It was a wide bay where currents carried massive bergs and then stranded them in shallow water. Imagine a field of glittering blue giants, frozen mid-drift.

Some looked like spaceships. Others like castles. One even looked like a half-melted croissant. (Erin insisted that was just because I was hungry.)

The shapes were mesmerizing. One iceberg had a tunnel carved right through it, and we all silently dared our Zodiac driver to steer us through. He didn’t. Probably wise.

We drifted silently among them, cameras clicking, brains short-circuiting from the sheer scale of it all. It was the kind of moment where you feel the isolation of Antarctica—not in a lonely way, but in a "how is this planet even real" kind of way.

Colt said, “It’s like we’re floating through an art museum where the artist is a frozen god.” Deep stuff for a kid who still hides peas in his napkin.

The Polar Plunge: No Turning Back

Ah yes. The plunge.

They’d been teasing it for days. Whispered rumors, smirking staff, ominous sign-up sheets. And finally, the call came: “The Polar Plunge is happening now.”

Erin looked at me and said, “It’s actually happening!” I looked at her like we had just been volunteered for hand-to-hand combat with a walrus. No notice?

We gathered on the ship’s port hatch, where two zodiacs had been secured above the icy water. The temperature? Negative 2 degrees. The crew was bundled up like Arctic firefighters. We were... not.

Erin went first, wrapped in nothing more than a string bikini (white to match the ice) and the requisite harness.

She came out of the water laughing like a lunatic and yelling, “that was so cold!” But the adrenaline made her glow. Or maybe that was just mild hypothermia.

Colt went next. This kid, who normally negotiates bedtime like it’s a hostage situation, slid himself into sub-zero water like a caffeinated penguin. He popped back up just as quickly and I honestly thought he was about to ask if he could do it again.

Brooklyn watched from the sidelines but firmly declined any invitation to follow. “I just started running a hot bath,” she said, still wrapped in sweats and sipping cocoa.

I went next. The moment my body hit the water, it was like every cell in my body hit Control-Alt-Delete. You don’t even scream because your lungs forget how to work.

But then—after the brain freeze and the flailing—you come out of the water feeling invincible. It’s the coldest, wildest, most electrifying 15 seconds of your life. And we did it farther south (south of the Antarctic Circle) than most adventurers who come here.

They wrapped us in robes, handed us shots of Grand Marnier (for me) and vodka (for Erin), and just like that, we joined the Polar Plunge Club. We are now those people. The ones who did the crazy thing. The ones who will now judge swimming pools by how not-deathly they are.