First Leg - Calgary

I've been so busy these past few months teaching, raising kids, living in the twenty-first century, that I haven't had a chance to imagine Antarctica. Now, on the first leg of my trip – the flight from Victoria on Vancouver Island to Calgary, I'm beginning to think about what it means to be going to Antarctica. I'm opening my mind to what it will be to set sail from Ushuaia, Argentina – the end of the world – and to ride the swells across the Drake Passage for two days. The water is dark, the sky is grey as lead. The ship has been lifted by giant hands and pounded into the sea, a wash of froth bearding the prow as the boat stumbles on.

And then there will be the moment when we are across that wide open stretch of ocean and, just barely at first, it will appear. Antarctica. It is an island that floats out of a dream; waves smash the rocks along the shore and a skua flies out to see what all the fuss is about. And...

But that is a while off still. At -16, Calgary is probably colder than Antarctica. This is the staging point.  Last chance to make sure I've got everything I need. There are still half a dozen airports to find my way through. And miles to go before I sleep.