Zoe in Antarctica: A Story of Hope
That's a photo of Zoe lying in the snow in Antarctica, taken by Geoff Green. It's posted on It's Getting Hot in Here, along with Zoe's account of her visit to Antarctica with a group called Students on Ice that teaches youth about sustainability.
I feel helpless when asked to describe Antarctica. It is the command centre of our world’s ecosystems, yet the slightest mention of the word ‘Antarctica’ renders your mind to a place seemingly farther and more foreign to humankind than the moon. Only through poetry could anyone even begin to do it justice. A summary of the experience is just the tip of the ice berg, but I have a feeling might be worth it.
It sure is.
They took small, inflatable motor boats from the mother ship to land on the continent:
One landing was on a rocky beach with ice cubes the size of your body washing up on shore. Another was onto a slab of sea ice in a bay as calm as glass with the surrounding sounds of avalanches every 4 minutes from mountain peaks high above us. Another was onto the beach of an active volcano crater where we went for a slightly brisk swim followed by digging into the gritty sand to find the hot thermal waters to de-numb our bodies.
And then Zoe brings it home, explaining the reason why the journey is significant:
Perhaps the most important part of this story is why Antarctica is the way it is. The Antarctic Treaty has been active since 1959. The Treaty outlines that only peaceful activities are permitted, the environment must be respected, and no land claims may be made. This means no weapon development, no oil exploration, no fishing or whaling, no garbage, and restricted number of visitors at a time. Is there any other continent on earth that has not seen a war? Is there any other continent with as stringent environmental protection? Is there any other continent with as strong international cooperation?
And there she is in the photo, lying in the snow in that land of peace and possibility. She ends her story this way:
As I stepped off the ship with wobbly sea legs, the 6-year-old idealist in me breathed a little sigh of relief - I was filled to the brim with hope, optimism, and a whole deeper level of calmness and sureness that I never before thought possible.
I clipped the url and pasted it into an e-mail. Subject line: Hope.
"Read this...it's great," I wrote to my daughter, who is almost 15. "Maybe one day you will go there. Love, Dad."
When I hit the "send" button -- it being Saturday and here at the office alone -- I let the lump in my throat turn into tears which rolled down my cheeks.
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