A Breach in Time

I spent my birthday at sea, somewhere between the Falkland Islands and South Georgia, surrounded by nothing but water and sky. There were no candles, no cards—just the steady rhythm of the waves against the ship’s hull and the vast, open silence of the Southern Ocean. The kind of silence that makes you feel small in the best possible way.

Then, without warning, the call was made “humpbacks on the port side”. I grabbed my camera and headed out on deck just in time to see a whale breach—rising from the depths in a perfect, fleeting arc before crashing back into the water. A moment of pure, effortless power. I held my breath, trying to memorise it, knowing that no photo, no words, could ever truly capture the feeling of witnessing something so wild, so untamed. In that instant, time felt suspended. But of course, time is never still and within seconds the whale continued on its journey, disappearing into the waves. 

Antarctica and the Southern Ocean are often seen as the last great wilderness—vast, inhospitable, and protected by distance. But that illusion is breaking. Climate change is melting glaciers at an unprecedented rate, reshaping landscapes that have existed for millions of years. Warming waters threaten krill populations, the foundation of the entire Antarctic food chain, putting whales, seals, and penguins at risk. Even human activity, once limited to explorers and researchers, is increasing, with rising tourism and expanding commercial interests.

What happens here doesn’t stay here. The polar regions regulate global climate, acting as the planet’s cooling system. As ice melts and ocean currents shift, the consequences ripple outward—rising sea levels, extreme weather, disrupted ecosystems. The fragility of this place is not just Antarctica’s problem; it is the world’s problem.

I wonder what this ocean will look like in another lifetime—how many more birthdays it will take before the balance tips too far. Before the whales have fewer places to roam, before the ice becomes memory instead of presence.

Being in Antarctica felt like standing on the edge of something vast and otherworldly. It made me think about what I can do to protect this unique part of the world. We have a responsibility to act—to reduce our impact, to demand stronger protections for these fragile ecosystems, to recognise that what we do, even from thousands of miles away, shapes the future of places like this.

Because if we lose the polar regions, we lose more than ice and ocean. We lose a part of the world that reminds us what true wildness is. And maybe, in some way, we lose a part of ourselves too.