At 18, the allure of the frozen continent captivated me. I can vividly remember the moment it all began: I was sitting in my lounge, watching Channel 3 News. They were running a segment about life in Antarctica, specifically the need for skilled tradesmen to live and work there. The footage was mesmerizing – the stark, raw beauty of the endless white wilderness, the isolation that felt both daunting and exhilarating, and the sense of adventure that came with it all. Antarctica beckoned me, not just as a distant dream but as a tangible goal.
Brimming with youthful enthusiasm, I sent my first application in to Antarctica New Zealand, convinced that this would be my ticket to the unknown. But reality hit hard. I wasn’t accepted. They didn't take on apprentices, and I was still too inexperienced. But the dream, that powerful pull towards the bottom of the world, didn’t fade. A few years later, I applied again, hoping that time had shifted things in my favour. Once again, no luck. Life, as it does, got in the way, and my Antarctic dream seemed to slip further out of reach. But I never let it go.
By 2020, after years of working and gaining experience, I felt more confident and prepared than ever before. I applied again, with renewed hope. This time, I thought, surely, it was my moment. But once again, rejection. This time, it stung even more. They had chosen more qualified candidates, and I was left to watch from the sidelines yet again.
But I’m not one to back down. Instead of seeing this as another failure, I took it as a challenge. If qualifications were the barrier, I was going to smash through it. I poured myself into more training, earned more licences, and made sure that the next time I applied, there would be no reason to reject me. I wouldn’t let anything stand between me and Antarctica.
And then, it happened. The opportunity came knocking in the form of the Australian Antarctic Division. They had an opening, and this time, I was ready. My application was accepted. I was finally going to Antarctica! The excitement was indescribable. I would be making my way south aboard the RSV Nuyina, Australia's state-of-the-art icebreaker.
The Nuyina was a beast of a ship, cutting through the icy waters like a knife through butter. Onboard, I found myself surrounded by a remarkable group of people: expeditioners, each with their own unique reasons for coming to the end of the earth. The camaraderie we built during that voyage was something special. We weren’t just passengers; we were a crew bound by a shared sense of adventure and curiosity.
The journey itself was nothing short of spectacular. Towering icebergs, ancient and other-worldly, floated by, glistening under the pale Antarctic sun. Sheets of sea ice stretched out as far as the eye could see, a frozen landscape that seemed more like another planet than a part of the Earth. Each day brought something new: the daylight getting longer the further south we went south, the thrill of navigating through pack ice and the awe-inspiring sight of wildlife – penguins darting through the water, seals basking on ice floes.
After weeks at sea, we finally arrived. As the Nuyina approached the ice-covered shore, I saw it for the first time: a station that looked like it had been built out of Lego blocks, perched on the frozen coast. Stepping onto the land, I was overcome with emotion. This wasn’t just a job or an adventure; this was the culmination of years of dreams, setbacks, and relentless perseverance. I had made it. I was in Antarctica.
My time on the continent has been filled with moments that words struggle to capture. We’ve travelled on foot through the Vestfold Hills, a jagged and surreal landscape of ice and rock. We crossed vast expanses of sea ice in Hägglunds, vehicles purpose-built for traversing this frozen world. Every journey revealed something new and breathtaking about this enigmatic place.
One moment that stands out is when we were crossing the frozen Lake Druzhby. Our Hägglund broke down, leaving us stranded for a time. But instead of frustration, what we experienced was awe. The ice beneath us was so clear that we could see frozen bubbles trapped within it, perfectly preserved. It was as if we were walking on a window into the past, and it reminded us all why we had come here: for moments like this, where the beauty and mystery of Antarctica lay right at our feet.
Life in Antarctica is challenging, to say the least. The cold is biting, and the isolation can weigh heavily at times. But every challenge, every obstacle is part of what makes this experience so extraordinary. The camaraderie with my fellow explorers, the shared meals, the long hours of work, the moments of quiet reflection as the Antarctic wind howls outside – it’s all part of what makes this place feel like home in a strange way.
There are also moments of profound beauty that make it all worthwhile. The endless ice stretching out to the horizon, the vast sky that sometimes explodes in shades of green and pink as the auroras dance overhead, and the wildlife that thrives in this seemingly inhospitable place – it’s a reminder of how small we are in the grand scheme of things, and how lucky we are to witness such wonders.
Now, standing here, in a place where few people ever get to set foot, I know that every rejection, every hour of training, and every bit of perseverance was worth it. I’m part of something larger than myself, part of an extraordinary world where the landscape is like no other, where adventure awaits around every icy corner, and where dreams, no matter how long they take, do come true.
Dael Moffatt
