Navigating the Infamous Drake Passage

The waters around Cape Horn, the southernmost headland of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago, are part of the Drake Passage. Todamo/Shutterstock

To this day, it remains one of the most feared stretches of water on earth. Even with state-of-the-art Azipod thrusters and super-charged stabilizers, just mentioning its name can send a chill down the spine of any casual cruiser. It conjures all sorts of images: white-capped waves, shrieking winds—not sea monsters, but almost.

I’ve crossed the Drake Passage a total of 10 times (and flown across it twice). Perhaps the most memorable was my voyage a few years ago, sailing south from the Falkland Islands. On board an old retrofitted research vessel, we sailed right into the heart of a roiling storm—the stuff of legend. Conditions worsened as the day wore on. Wind blew the tops off the waves. The ship rocked at extreme angles. We reached 11 on the Beaufort Scale, one level below hurricane force.

It was during happy hour drinks in a bar with 270-degree views off the stern that a massive wave hit the ship broadside. It caused the glasses at the bar to rattle and smash and a few people to drop their gin and tonics. A bit later, at dinner, an even bigger one rolled in. Diners were thrown from their chairs, and every item—plates, cups, and silverware—flew off the table. Save for one fork, which somehow held on, solitary, sitting right there in the middle.

The Drake Passage is considered one of the most treacherous and roughest sea crossings in the world due to its notoriously turbulent and unpredictable weather conditions. Giovanni Fattori/CC BY-SA 3.0

Earning Its Reputation

When I tell people I’ve been to Antarctica six times, those in the know ask me one question: What’s it like to cross the Drake Passage? For some who dream of a trip to the frozen continent, the stories they’ve heard and the videos they’ve viewed on YouTube are enough to keep them from booking. Which is a shame.

The Drake Passage stretches roughly 500 miles across at its narrowest, from Cape Horn at the southern tip of South America to the South Shetland Islands, a snow-capped archipelago off the end of Antarctica. It’s not just the extreme southern latitude that leads to bad weather here.

The South Shetland Islands are located at the northern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, making them a gateway to Antarctica for scientific expeditions and tourism. ViktoriaIvanets/Shutterstock

The issue is that this is one of the world’s most powerful convergences of the seas. The Drake connects the Atlantic, Pacific, and Southern Oceans. Currents here whip around Antarctica with no land mass to slow them down. I always use a simple, perhaps somewhat unscientific, example. Because this is the narrowest spot, a pinch-point between continents, the flow of the Passage is like water rushing through a big hose—and you’re holding your thumb over the end. That spray? That is what’s happening in the Drake.

Named for an intrepid, infamous man, this waterway has stressed sailors for a long time. While discovered by a Spanish navigator in 1525, it was the English privateer (professional raider) Sir Francis Drake who gave the Passage its name in 1578. He was sailing a fleet of three ships, the Elizabeth, the Marigold, and his flagship, the Golden Hind, through the nearby, protected waters of the Strait of Magellan. Upon entering the Pacific Ocean, they were met with a tempest, blown far south—into what we now call the Drake.

The Marigold was lost, and the Elizabeth didn’t continue with the fleet, so the privateer continued forward with only his flagship. His namesake had extracted a very dear price.

The Drake Shake

While today’s sailors and guests don’t face quite so serious challenges, one concern hangs over any discussion of a Drake crossing—seasickness. Speaking from a place of experience, I can tell you that it can be quite terrible. When the ship rocks, your stomach aches and churns and cramps, and all sorts of unpleasantness ensue. Yes, there are remedies, but, especially when deploying them initially, it’s hard to know how well they will work. And there are definitely side effects to think about.

I’ll never forget my very first trip to Antarctica, a decade ago. Boarding the small expedition ship in Ushuaia, our group of about 150 passengers was a happy, eager group. Off to visit a place that, especially back then, very few people got to see or experience.

After feeling the seas build overnight, we awoke to waves so huge that it seemed they couldn’t be real. The captain closed the outer decks for safety. In an announcement, he declared we were sailing through Beaufort 11, classified on the scale as a “violent storm.” We could expect winds gusting to hurricane force and waves that might top 10 feet. People talk about the opposite personalities of this Passage—Drake Lake (unusually calm) and the Drake Shake (very stormy). Today, we would get the Shake.

People disappeared—not into the sea, thankfully, but rather into their state rooms. Flat on their backs. Sick, riding out the storm, which lasted a whole day and part of the next. The dining room and lounges were ghost towns. With every big wave, the ship creaked and rocked and shuddered. Furniture flipped over. Those brave enough to leave their cabins stumbled around in the hallways.

But then—and I’ll never forget it—everything calmed. The grey skies cleared. The ship seemed to be gliding along on a cloud. Perhaps it just felt that way after days of hard rocking.

The South Shetland Islands are home to multiple species of penguins, including Adélie, Chinstrap, and Gentoo penguins. Kostiantyn Talakh/Shutterstock

And they appeared. With the winds now tranquil, we emerged onto the outer decks, perhaps a little disheveled, blinking in the sudden sunshine. On the horizon, small at first, then looming large with an almost alien beauty, were the South Shetland Islands. They were like something from another planet, with glaciers pouring down black mountains. And penguins. Lots of them.

We had made it. A week of Antarctic exploration lay ahead. People were almost ecstatic in their joy. But there was a hitch, something that would hang in the back of all our minds the entire time. The fact that after all the fun with penguins on the peninsula, one thing lay ahead. The Drake. Behind us for the moment, it awaited our return trip to Argentina. Shake or Lake? We would find out soon enough.

Tips for Crossing the Drake

1. Bring seasickness medication—lots of it. It’s a good idea to have a range, from lower dosages with fewer side effects to a stronger solution for extreme situations. It’s a good idea to consult your doctor for the right combination.
2. Read “Endurance“ by Alfred Lansing. This is perhaps the best book written about Ernest Shackleton’s disastrous and miraculous Trans-Antarctic Expedition and how he navigated the Drake in a retrofitted lifeboat.
3. Consider flying. Some cruise lines now offer flights across the Passage, landing at a Chilean base on King George Island. While possibly pricey, these “air bridge” options are a good choice for those who really want to avoid a crossing.
4. Bring layers of clothes. Temperatures here can range from frigid to relatively balmy. If there’s one place in the world that epitomizes “if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes,” this is it.
5. Overcome your fear. If the one thing holding you back from booking Antarctica is the possibility of a rough Drake crossing, don’t let it stop you. Visiting the ultimate south is definitely worth it, and most of the time, the Drake won’t be as bad as you think. (And if it is, you’ll have a great story to tell for the rest of your life.)