It was sometime in mid-January when our Cape Shirreff population of 4 first heard about it. You know of what I speak; I don’t even have to name it. I was doing my usual glance through the New York Times Digest that Palmer Station emailed us daily when I saw a blurb about a new virus in China. While sharing limited tidbits from the Times with the others in camp, I think I even phrased it that way.

“There’s some new virus in China.”

That’s all. It was just a note in the paper, nothing big. The sports section was intact – even though the same couldn’t be said for the quality of my teams’ seasons. The Red Wings were continuing to tank, the Minnesota Vikings were close to falling out of the playoffs, and Michigan State basketball was struggling more than usual.

Little did we know how much “some new virus” would become the contagion we all know as coronavirus today. It’s a little funny that I’d never even heard of the movie “Contagion” when it was part of lesson plans left behind by a biology teacher I substituted for back in October. When the students were being obnoxious while I took attendance, I asked them to keep quiet for all of 5 minutes before I’d play a Hollywood movie – no notes required, no educational value – for the rest of class.

Now the world seems to be participating in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” showing of the movie.

As the days and weeks continued from January to February, I started noticing that coronavirus was popping up more and more. Soon our 10 page newspaper had 3-4 articles per day that somehow referenced it. By mid-February it was more like 5-7. By late February, scanning the headlines for coronavirus reference counts became a weird kind of game. The stock market was plummeting over this invisible foe. It was the topic of 8+ articles every day, and by our pick-up date before mid-March, even the sports section was gone. All that could be said about sports was that they were being canceled over coronavirus concerns.

With such limited information, all our camp of 4 could do was wonder what was going on in the north. Reports from family members back home indicated that the virus was like the flu, but it seemed to mostly take down the older population. Why all the hubbub then? Why was the media making such a huge deal out of this?

Even now we don’t really understand what’s happening.

Our Cape Shirreff season ended with our pick-up on March 11th. Although this was about 5 days earlier than usual, I was not pulled from my home kicking and screaming. (I did shed tears in the zodiac and as we boarded the R/V Laurence M. Gould, though.) Instead of heading straight north, we first traveled south to retrieve 3 oceanographic gliders that had been collecting data throughout the course of our season. Then, since the Gould had a free day in the schedule because we’d busted our way through camp closing, we were able to cruise into the caldera at Deception Island. The ship hadn’t had permission to go there in about 12 years, so it was a big deal!

The trip south continued with travel to Palmer Station to pick up other scientists at the end of their season. We Cape Shirreffers got to see what the famous Palmer looks like!! Since we typically get dropped off as the ship heads south at the start of the season and picked up as the ship returns north at the end, this was a special treat. Compared to the Cape, it’s a real place with full electrical, plumbing, and mold-free walls. It was unexpectedly “fancy” compared to what I’d been picturing. Even the residents said it’s a little like living in a retirement community.

Unfortunately, our time at Palmer was cut short by storms building west of Cape Horn. In an effort to make it to the Drake Passage before the worst of the weather, we left Palmer on the evening of the 16th. Beautiful light on the mountains and the fact that countries around the world were closing their borders made it particularly difficult to head north.

Northbound we needed to travel, though, as two scientists were on the brink of being stranded by coronavirus.

During our last 6 days at Cape Shirreff, a film crew had joined us to document the leopard seals of the area and the work that the pinniped team does to study them. They had arrived via Australian sailboat from Ushuaia, Argentina, and they had two whale biologists from Stanford aboard, as well. The whale biologists were due to be passed off to a cruise ship before the sailboat headed to South Georgia Island. Well, that cruise had been canceled, thereby taking away a ride to South America. Fortunately, the Stanford team realized the Gould would be headed north and could potentially rendezvous to pick them up, which is what we did at 02:30 on March 17th somewhere near Wilhelmina Bay, Antarctica.

Reports from the north only got worse as we traveled that direction. Since I was planning on finally hiking the Circuit at Torres del Paine from 24-31 March before heading over to Buenos Aires, Uruguay, and Iguazu Falls, I wasn’t concerned about booking my flight back to the States; I didn’t need to be there until early May for a wedding! Unfortunately, coronavirus was taking down the world as we traveled back to reality, away from the blissfully unconcerned Antarctic world. In the Antarctic, we could still hug, high five, and shake hands.

As the news started hitting us, it hit hard. Argentina was closing its borders, meaning Laura couldn’t go to Ushuaia and I couldn’t go to Buenos Aires. Laura’s friend in Brazil said airports would probably close, so she shouldn’t go visit him. The U.S. declared a national emergency. States began to mandate shelter-in-place and social distancing. Airlines began to drastically cut their international flights.

Still, I figured I’d be able to at least do my hike in Chile before heading home. I could easily practice social distancing in a national park. Besides, perhaps the park would already be more empty, providing me with more fresh air and the famed park practically to myself.

My personal protective bubble burst in the afternoon of March 17th when my hostel in Puerto Natales responded to my inquiry with the statement “Torres del Paine is closed from today.” With that soul-crushing news, I had to face reality and join the crowd in figuring out how to leave Chile and where to go. I was seriously tempted to just quit the U.S. and fly to NZ; I’d rather be stuck there than anywhere else. However, I knew that returning to the States was probably in my best financial interest, so I turned to my employer to help me book flights.

Next came the news that Chile had declared a state of catastrophe… and that all terrestrial, maritime, and aerial borders would be closing. In other words, our ship was heading to a country that might not let us in. Wonderful. We had always known we were headed to some level of chaos, so why did we leave Antarctica in the first place? Maybe it’s just because it was our time to go; scientists and station personnel due to swap with the winter crew have since learned they’ll have to spend extra time at Palmer because the next cruise has been delayed 45 days. [Update: The Nathaniel B. Palmer, a different research vessel, is going to swing south to pick up the scientists so they don’t have to twiddle their thumbs for so long.]

On March 18th we got my flights to Alaska booked, and today (the 19th) one of my flights got canceled. Now I’m rescheduled to fly just 3 days from now, as are most of the others on the ship. We have permission to dock at Punta Arenas, but there’s no guarantee that we’ll be allowed to travel beyond the pier. If we aren’t allowed into Chile so we can leave Chile, we may sit at the dock until they let us in. Rumor has it that the Falkland Islands are allowing ships to enter, so maybe we could fly from there if things get dire. Secretly, I hope that’s what happens. Adventure! …and avoiding society/coronavirus for as long as possible.

Antarctica, please just take us back.