A Rescue at Sea: An Unforgettable Antarctic Mission
- Digital Rabbit
- Jan 29, 2023
- 6 min read
Updated: Mar 11
When I signed on for a 32-day expedition cruise from Ushuaia, Argentina, to Dunedin, New Zealand, the possibility of a sea rescue never crossed my mind. Expedition cruises rarely adhere strictly to their itineraries, but that’s usually due to weather conditions, not emergencies. So when Captain Oliver addressed the passengers during our evening recap on January 7, I was puzzled by his introduction: Murphy’s Law.
We were ten days into our journey, deep in the Bellingshausen Sea, about to enter the vast, isolated expanse of the Amundsen Sea—an Internet black hole where communication, let alone emergency assistance, would be impossible. I assumed the captain was about to remind us to be extra cautious in such a remote area. Instead, he shared an urgent message received the night before, on January 6.
TO MASTER NAT. GEO. ENDURANCE
GOOD AFTERNOON MASTER, I REQUEST THAT YOU PROVIDE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE TO S/F MARIGOLDS, WHO HAS A CREW MEMBER INJURED WITH 2 FINGERS OF HAND AMPUTATED, WHICH CAN PROVIDE MEDICAL ASSISTANCE, IN ADDITION TO CARRYING OUT THE TRANSFER TO BAHIA FILDES WHERE A HELICOPTER WILL WAIT FOR HIM TO PERFORM HIS EVACUATION.
MRCC Chile
Operador de Guardia
MRCC PUNTA ARENA
Gobernacion Maritima de Punta Arenas
Armada de Chile
A distress call had come from the longline fishing vessel S/F Marigolds, trapped in the ice with a severely injured sailor onboard. Our ship, the National Geographic Endurance, was the closest and most capable vessel to respond. Most ships avoid this route, but our ice-strengthened hull and speed made us uniquely suited for the task. More importantly, we had a well-equipped infirmary with a seasoned Cleveland Clinic ER doctor, Dr. Rita, and a nurse practitioner. The S/F Marigolds, by contrast, had no medical facilities. The injured sailor faced the threat of gangrene and, if untreated, possible death.
The rule of the sea is clear: mariners help one another. But executing a rescue here was far from straightforward. The S/F Marigolds crew spoke Ukrainian and some Russian. The Chilean officials coordinating efforts spoke Spanish. The consulting physician in Ukraine understood the medical urgency but spoke neither English nor German, the languages of our captain. Fortunately, one of our navigation officers spoke Ukrainian and played a critical role in bridging communication gaps and negotiating a plan.
Captain Oliver also had a responsibility to us—the 120 passengers and over 100 crew members. He had to balance the rescue with keeping our ship safe and continuing our westward progress. By the time he briefed us, a preliminary plan was in place: we would alter course, navigate through the ice, and retrieve the sailor while passengers participated in an off-ship expedition near the rescue site. Thus began a multi-day rescue operation.
Navigating the Ice
For three days, our ship crunched through the shifting Antarctic ice, the rhythmic boom, boom, boom of impact reverberating through the hull. It was mesmerizing to watch the ice fracture before us. Despite our speed, the vastness of the Southern Ocean meant that reaching the S/F Marigolds was a slow, arduous process. Each update brought more urgency—the sailor’s condition was deteriorating, and we were racing against time.
Finally, within 14 nautical miles of the S/F Marigolds, the rescue seemed imminent. But then we hit multi-year ice—too thick to break through. Captain Oliver made the difficult call to backtrack north, attempt a westward route, and then push south again. The detour would cost us another day. (Movie: The bow of National Geographic Endurance as it crashes through the ice pack.)
Satellite ice charts were outdated, and the Antarctic ice pack is constantly shifting with the wind. Our ship had not just one but three captains on board: Captain Oliver, a dedicated Ice Captain, and Emeritus Captain Leif Skøg, a legendary Antarctic navigator with a bay in the region named after him. Even with their combined expertise, navigating these unpredictable waters was a challenge.
On January 10, at 2:30 AM, I awoke to the familiar crunching of ice and thought the rescue was imminent. I set my TV to display the ship’s forward-facing camera and drifted in and out of sleep, checking periodically for signs of the S/F Marigolds. At dawn, I went to the bridge—only to learn that we had hit yet another impassable ice barrier and were forced to turn back once more. Once again, we had come within 14 nautical miles, but the S/F Marigolds remained unreachable.
When our expedition leader, Brent, announced that the rescue had been abandoned, the disappointment onboard was palpable. It was a crushing blow, but we had done all we could—or so we thought.
A Third Attempt
The following day, while having lunch with Dr. Rita, she surprised me with unexpected news: Captain Oliver had ordered a third attempt, this time approaching from the southwest. The medical team was back on standby, and hopes were cautiously renewed.
January 12 vanished as we crossed the International Date Line. When I woke up on January 13, we were just an hour from the rendezvous point. Through the storming snow and thick fog, we spotted the S/F Marigolds. Two Zodiacs were launched, reaching the fishing vessel within minutes. In less than ten minutes, the injured sailor was on board. A wave of collective relief swept through the ship—we had done it.
The Reality of Remoteness
It had taken five and a half days to reach the S/F Marigolds from the moment we received the distress call. The remoteness of this region cannot be overstated—planes and helicopters were not an option, as there were no airstrips or landing facilities within reach. Without our intervention, this sailor would have had no chance.
His name was Andre. He had a wife and children in Mariupol, Ukraine. Our onboard medical team successfully operated on him, and within days, he was recovering. In an extraordinary stroke of luck, one of our passengers, Dr. Gary, was an orthopedic surgeon specializing in hand surgery. He volunteered to assist with Andre’s procedure, ensuring he received the best possible care.
At first, Andre was rarely seen. Dr. Gary encouraged him to walk the ship to regain strength, and over time, he started appearing more frequently, often sitting alone, gazing out the window. Communication was limited—he spoke no English, and I spoke no Ukrainian or Russian. But thanks to our Russian-speaking naturalist, Katja, I learned a simple greeting: Privet, Andre! He would always smile in response.
A New Beginning
With Andre stable, the question of where he would disembark arose. McMurdo Station, the closest base, was completely iced in. New Zealand, our final destination, was the best option—not just for its accessibility but because its socialized healthcare system would cover any additional medical treatment he required.
But what of Andre’s future? Would he be able to fish again after losing two fingers? Returning to war-torn Mariupol seemed bleak.
On our final night at sea, an auction was held for the ship’s Penguin flag, signed by all crew and expedition staff. All proceeds would go to Andre. The bidding was fierce, climbing to an astonishing $20,000. Overwhelmed, Andre had no words.
The Mystery of the S/F Marigolds
As for the fate of the S/F Marigolds, we learned that fishing vessels in Antarctica are often prepared to wait for shifting ice to free them. Longline fishing boats like S/F Marigolds catch Patagonian toothfish—sold in the U.S. as Chilean sea bass. Curiously, until the accident, the S/F Marigolds had its location transmitter turned off. While Captain Oliver confirmed the ship was legally licensed to fish, its exact position when the accident occurred remained a mystery. Why had they disabled their tracking system? A question for another day.
Reflections
The rescue altered our itinerary, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It reinforced my respect for the unspoken moral code of the sea—the obligation to aid a fellow mariner in distress. It also granted me an intimate look at the haunting beauty of Antarctica’s ice-covered waters.
But most of all, I will never forget the moment Andre stepped onto our ship, saved by the relentless determination of those who refused to give up.
I remember things a bit differently as a lead of scientific team on board of Marigolds. Anyway, thanks for your story. It was very kind from your side to collect extra money for Andre, he also revived his part from sold fish. Andre is Ok, working as a cook on Marigolds, while vessel is in port between fishing seasons.