The time has come for us to say good-bye. You and I are turning the page on this chapter in the book of our lives, an unfinished story that will not die.
True, I feel some sadness. This is the eternal paradox that confronts us when we look back and look ahead at the same time—when the past meets the present. My future uncertain, I am going home, aware that I will find in myself the strength I need to go on, as I do after every expedition. I am beset by a variety of feelings that settle into the deepest part of my soul, where they will remain forever. I speak only for myself, respecting the privacy of the others, but I know that we all feel this indescribable inner upheaval that changes a person’s life.
As I turn this page, I would be remiss if I failed to thank you, virtual mariners. If only you knew how important your presence was to us throughout this expedition. Your words inspired my own, and you transformed my way of writing and telling my stories, in short, my way of communicating. An exceptional, open and trusting relationship developed between us. I thank you for this.
The Antarctic Mission was so much more than the 13 individuals who dared to winter over in Antarctica. It was also all the men, women, boys and girls who took part in this modern-day expedition. I’m thinking back to the crew for the ferrying leg of our voyage, when on 19 September 2005, we left our home port at Cap-aux-Meules, in the Magdalen islands. On the pier, I remember the smiles and tears of those who now await our return. Then there was the first wave of filmmakers and scientists, who came on board at Buenos Aires, happy to be on hand to record the subantarctic islands for posterity, to tell the tale of the sea and the earth in all their splendour. The majority of crewmembers remained on board to round Cape Horn the first time, on our way to the Antarctic Peninsula.
Albatross1, penguins, whales and seals, you have made this journey memorable through touching encounters and images. Then, at last, came fulfilment of the ultimate dream, as we sailed to the very limits of the eternal pack ice. I had dreamed of this day, hardly believing my dream would actually come true. Our sailing ship slipped deftly through the ice, steered by a tremendous crew. A valiant group of people.
As the much talked-about wintering-over time drew closer to becoming our reality, doubt and inner conflict began to settle in. But the crew remained united in the face of this great human challenge. This is when the last members of the crew arrived, the remaining links in the human chain that would have to face the storms of the Antarctic winter. These storms would come from the surrounding environment, but also from within. Every trial sent our way was met with a new solution, carried out with success.
Many men and women were part of this crew. Your generosity and talent laid the way for the success of this grand expedition. Thank you, thank you.
And then there are all the people who remain unseen—the incredible production staff, in Montreal and the Magdalen Islands, the extraordinary Web team, the scientists and the sponsors. Thank you for your part in making the dream a reality.
As you have asked me to stay in touch, I will do so on a weekly basis, so that you can be in on the experience of the return home. If you feel so inclined, send me a message in a bottle.
I’m having a hard time ending this log entry. Time seems to be standing still. I am afraid of losing you. But all good things must come to an end...
One last time, thank you!
One last time...
Fair winds and clear sailing!
Jean
1Translator’s note: Please note that we have added an English translation of the Spanish poem included in the log entry of November 15. The translation is by Lisa Carter, a member of the Literary Translators Association of Canada.
