If you’ve ever talked to someone who’s been to Antarctica, they will bring up the Drake Passage. Some people swear it was a nightmare; others call it smooth sailing. I’d heard about the “Drake Shake” and the “Drake Lake,” and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I wanted the drama—the wild ride, the full oceanic chaos—just for the story. But what I got was something in between.
We left Ushuaia late at night, slipping quietly through the Beagle Channel. Around 3:30 a.m., I felt the change—the soothing sway turned into more pronounced rocking. I peeked at the clock and realized we’d just crossed into the Drake. Right on time.
The next day, it was clear some passengers were feeling it. Seasickness was making its rounds. Barf bags lined the halls for quick grabs. People sported scopolamine patches behind their ears and seasickness bracelets. One of my friends even had special glasses to help with seasickness – the rims were half filled with liquid to mimic a steady horizon with each roll of the boat, a game changer, according to her. I was lucky. My naturopath had told me to start taking ginger a few days before the crossing, and I stuck to that plan religiously. Whether it was the ginger or just good genes, I felt fine. Others weren’t so fortunate.
Was it terrible? No. But it wasn’t calm either. We had decent-sized swells—enough to slide a water bottle off a table and make walking feel like a core workout. Meals were quieter, with fewer faces in the dining room. Nighttime felt like trying to sleep on a mild roller coaster – sleep was hard to come by, but it was also so much fun! Overall, the ship held steady, and I never felt truly unsafe or overwhelmed. Just… rocked.
As the days went on, the seas calmed, and people perked up. We settled into the rhythm of ship life, and by the time we saw our first iceberg (I won the onboard betting pool, by the way), the Drake was a distant memory—still fresh, but behind us.
Fast forward to the return journey.
By the time we began heading back, we were all a bit worn down—in a good way. Worn out from fresh air, wildlife overload, emotional peaks, and yeah… a bit of partying. I’d also caught a little bit of “the crud” going around. The timing wasn’t ideal, but at least I’d already done all the big adventures.
The captain had been tracking incoming weather and made the call: we needed to move fast. If we didn’t beat the storm, we might not be able to dock on time, or at all. So we kicked up the speed and started the race back across the Drake.
This time, the passage felt less dramatic—probably because I was exhausted. The rocking was similar to the way down, but I was so tired I barely noticed it until a particularly loud wave smacked the ship and woke me up in the early morning hours. Classic. Seasickness was still an issue for many, although I think people had somehow adjusted to ship life by this time, and it just didn’t seem as bad.
And just like that, we were back in the Beagle Channel—sliding smoothly toward Ushuaia with a double rainbow in the distance. Our final full day at sea was mostly calm. I stayed in bed late, watched a documentary in my room, and soaked up my last moments on the ship. The lectures were fun, and there was a slideshow of our photography group’s best shots that played on a loop, each time revealing something I hadn’t noticed before. It all felt like a dream winding down.
Back on land, I experienced something unexpected. For almost a full 48 hours, walking still felt like I was on the boat. Somehow, the ground seemed to be rocking with every step I took. Interestingly, the few of us who never got seasick seemed to experience this the most.
So… was the Drake Passage as bad as they say?
For me, no. But I see how it could be. I also know that even the “mild” version has its moments. Would I do it again?
Absolutely.