Onboard Obsession is a new series that explores the can't-miss highlights of the best-loved cruises—from the shore excursions to book to the spa treatments too relaxing to pass up.
On your first Antarctica cruise, the continent's icy peaks will rise on the horizon as you sail ever southward, providing you with the first glimpse of the land you're hoping to set foot upon. In my case, I flung open my curtains one morning to see sculptural icebergs just off my personal balcony, behind which were looming glaciers hundreds of feet tall, with snow-laced summits towering thousands of feet above them.
For most visitors to Antarctica, these sea-level views are the bulk of how one visually takes in the continent, save for any hikes up hills or climbs to mountain ridges. But a very lucky few are provided another vantage point: a bird's-eye panorama through the window of a helicopter.
I had the fortune to visit Antarctica years ago, and I was not just captivated by the White Continent, but I became absolutely obsessed with it. I had long harbored a fascination with Antarctica—for some 20 years, in fact—but after my first visit, it went into overdrive. In waking hours, I'd voraciously consume Antarctic literature. At night, I'd dream about it.
So when I had the chance to venture south for a return visit, this time on an Antarctica cruise aboard the luxury expedition ship Scenic Eclipse, I was more than eager to pack my bags. Antarctic fixation aside, there were two (or technically three) things that caught my eye about the ship: a pair of Airbus H130-T2 helicopters and a custom-designed six-passenger submersible. As someone who always picks the window seat for the overhead view of the world, I couldn't wait to get up in the air and peek down at Antarctica’s expansive sheets of ice.
Several long flights and a fortunately smooth Drake Passage crossing later, I was in the prep room adjacent to the helipad on the top deck of Scenic Eclipse. I am, admittedly, a nervous helicopter passenger. (Stick me on a fixed-wing aircraft, however, and I'm be happy as can be.) But my fear melted the moment we lifted into the sky, our ship shrinking beneath us, and the vastness of Antarctica expanding in every direction.
When you're sitting on the edge of a Zodiac, or perhaps on your cabin's balcony, it's hard to get an accurate read on scale in Antarctica. After all, there are very few man-made structures around to help you get your bearings. A glacier that might seem just a few hundred feet away could actually be distant by a half mile or more, or a mountain peak might be thousands of feet higher than you thought. But as your helicopter takes off, you can use the ship as a reference point, and all of a sudden, Antarctica's immensity comes into focus. Beyond the mountains that surround the ship are more bays and more mountains and more glaciers—all as far as the eye can see.
I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of existentialism as I gazed out at the distant horizon. It's like seeing the Pale Blue Dot photograph of Earth for the first time, but with your own eyes, rather than through a spacecraft's camera—you truly feel insignificant in a strangely liberating way.
And, oh, the feeling of zipping along those unreachable rocky crests, swooping down low over monumental glaciers with deep blue crevasses scarring their porcelain faces—it's indescribably exhilarating, like experiencing an IMAX film as the cinematographer rather than a member of the audience. When we finally spent our last few minutes in the air circling the beautiful ship, I had a new appreciation for our safe harbor in the middle of this inexorable wilderness.
Back on board the self-described "discovery yacht" Scenic Eclipse, there were plenty of onboard offerings, including seven restaurants (plus room service and other specialty dining experiences, like a chef's table tasting menu); the Senses Spa, with its treatment rooms, plunge pools, and fitness center; and the onboard entertainment spanning lectures to operatic concerts. But without question, the helicopter flight was the star of the show. Many passengers booked the tours not just once, but several times over—despite the significant price tag of about $700 for a 30-minute flight.
I will note, though, that while my aerial adventure filled me with unbridled emotion, there are some concerns about helicopter operations in Antarctica—and as a visitor to the White Continent, it's crucial to consider them. The first is the vehicle's impact on wildlife. Like the vast majority of cruise lines operating in Antarctica, the company is a member of the International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators (IAATO), which has strict regulations for all tourist operations down south, not only in terms of guest and crew safety, but also wildlife and environmental protection. Thus helicopter pilots, including those that work for Scenic, must adhere to a strict set of rules, such as maintaining a certain distance from concentrations of wildlife like penguin colonies. With those restrictions in place, I felt comfortable taking the flight.
Then one needs to consider the dangerous conditions in Antarctica. Helicopters are subject to the ever-changing weather; it's not uncommon to have blue skies one moment and a blizzard-like whiteout just minutes later. There are also phenomena like katabatic winds that rush down mountain slopes—potentially at hurricane speeds. While accidents are relatively uncommon in Antarctica, rescue in the remote region is difficult, which makes every flight a somewhat risky one. Unlike on most helicopter rides, you need to be prepared to be stranded on an icy slope if something goes wrong; you're told to wear much of your cold-weather gear during the ride, though that is recommended every time you leave the ship.
Antarctica is a harsh, unforgiving environment, but it is an extraordinary one. During any visit, it will constantly demand your respect, reminding you that you are just a visitor there. For me, my Antarctic helicopter ride only added to my reverence for the extreme continent, whose vast geologic and glaciological features are perhaps best appreciated from above, where both the beauty and fragility of our planet is most apparent.
That is, after all, the ultimate purpose of Antarctic tourism. While we need to ensure the preservation of the environment, a visit to Antarctica—and a helicopter flight above it—provided me with an entirely new perspective of the planet that will have a lasting impact on my day-to-day life. Though I long for the day I get to see the Earth from the vantage point of outer space, I think my helicopter ride above Antarctica has given me plenty of food for thought. For now, anyway.