Time has stopped. Or, at least, your watch has stopped. The hands are permanently locked in a tumultuous moment that occurred somewhere along the Drake Passage when the seas tried to spit your ship out like a bad batch of krill. You shake your wrist but nothing happens. Well, who needs to keep track of time in a place that never goes dark for months at a time?
When your ship drops anchor about 1/2 mile from the shore of Antarctica, you hitch a ride on a Zodiac. Excited, you ask if you're going to run into any polar bears out there. Everyone laughs.
