Christmas, With Error Bars

(Dec 25-26, 2025)

We board the ship on Christmas Day – Koreans are apparently insensitive to our Euro-centric holiday schedule. Walking across the gangway for the first time feels a little surreal, but not unfamiliar. I was on this same boat four years ago for a similar cruise, and in many ways, nothing has changed. The ceilings are less than 7 ft tall and hallways are narrow. I guess they assume no one will be making a career transition from basketball to Antarctic science. But within ten or fifteen minutes you adjust.

Every deck of the ship is cluttered with scientific gear—crates of equipment and supplies for the journey ahead. Almost all of it is familiar from last time: the British Antarctic Survey’s giant hose reels and drilling equipment, helicopters with their blades removed, moorings and rosettes for oceanographic work. Our own massive crates and Hardig boxes have made it safely onboard too, strapped down on the heli deck in the same spot they always seem to end up.

I see a lot of familiar faces from my last cruise four years ago. You spend a few intense months living and working side by side, cut off from the outside world. For better or worse, the ship becomes your community. There’s Dominic, the Kiwi helicopter pilot. Our team has worked with him over many seasons, and he seems genuinely excited to do it again. Jamin is on deck assembling equipment, as usual. He’s always working – showoff. I manage to catch Paul and Scott from the British Antarctic Survey. We were buds on the 2022 trip, so naturally—like “real” men—we haven’t spoken since. Everyone who has done this before is having two thoughts simultaneously: first, are we really doing this again? and second, a quiet pride in knowing just how rare this experience actually is.

There are plenty of new people onboard as well. They’re easy to spot: equal parts excited and apprehensive, spending their first day roaming the ship and figuring out where the gym and the mess hall are. Many of them are students. We’ve got two rookies of our own—one an undergraduate—who is just as wide-eyed and enthusiastic as anyone here. Dillon and I are doing our best to stay upbeat and not come across as jaded veterans. I really want both of our newcomers to have good experiences. I keep telling them this is the experience of a lifetime—one I’d enthusiastically recommend, once.

Science crap.

This year there are also two journalist crews onboard. One is a PBS film crew led by Miles O’Brien; the other is a New York Times reporter traveling with a videographer. I can’t help wondering about so many berths being occupied by media instead of scientists. I’m curious what the angle is, and how it might change the dynamics over the next two months. Will they blend in and become part of the community? Or will some people be more focused on being visible than being useful? Time will tell. I plan to watch this unfold carefully.

It’s Christmas Day, and the Koreans have put up a small Christmas tree in the hallway. Dillon gave each of us a modest Christmas gift this morning—adhesive hooks, string lights, and magnets for our cabins. Thoughtful, practical things. Out here, minor creature comforts matter more than you’d expect; morale is a real component of getting good work done. I was genuinely touched.

At the same time, these small gestures make me think about what I’m leaving behind. Christine, my partner, loves Christmas. Even though it hasn’t been my favorite holiday for much of my adult life, it was harder to leave this year. We weren’t together in 2022 for my first voyage, and boarding the plane this time felt especially heavy. I’ve spoken with Christine on the phone each of the past two nights, but that won’t be possible much longer and I’ll miss her. It’s also my mother’s birthday today—Christmas Eve back in the States. I called my parents earlier as well, and it was good to hear their voices. This is only the second time in my life I’ve missed celebrating Christmas with my family. The last time was 2022, my first Antarctic cruise on the Araon.

Life on the boat is, in many ways, an exercise in routine. Missing the holidays has become part of that routine for many of the people on this voyage.

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