The Zodiac boats were a huge part of our Antarctica trip. They were how we got from the ship to shore, how we went out looking for wildlife, and basically how we traveled anywhere the ship itself could not go.

For anyone who has never been on one, a Zodiac is essentially a small inflatable rubber boat. Which sounds fine. Until you remember you are in Antarctica. In freezing water. Surrounded by ice. And sitting on the OUTER EDGE of said inflatable rubber boat.

There are no comfortable little seats with armrests and seat belts. You sit on the inflated side tube, put your feet inside the boat, and hold onto a rope.

That is the safety system. A rope.

So naturally, this was also the vehicle we used to go look for whales.

On one of our rides, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by them.

Huge whales were swimming right next to us and underneath us. It was absolutely incredible. You could see their bodies moving beneath the water, disappearing under one side of the Zodiac and coming out somewhere else.

It was one of those moments where you are completely in awe of nature while also quietly thinking: That animal is significantly larger than the inflatable object I am currently sitting on.

Still, everyone was excited. Cameras were out. People were watching the water.

And then, directly behind me, I heard: WHOOOOOOOOSH!

I nearly left my body. I jumped off the edge of the Zodiac and straight into the middle of the boat.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

Apparently everyone else had realized immediately that it was a whale. I had not.

My brain had skipped right over “whale” and gone directly to “something enormous is about to eat us.”

Then I turned around and saw it.

A whale had surfaced directly behind me. As in RIGHT behind me.

The giant sound I had heard was it blowing air out of its blowhole.

Which is a beautiful, magical sound when you are watching a nature documentary from your couch. It is slightly less magical when it happens three feet behind your head while you are perched on a rubber tube.

The whale surfaced, showed us the top of its enormous body, and then casually slipped underneath our boat.

Underneath. Our. Inflatable. Boat.

Everyone was amazed. I was amazed too. From my new position in the middle of the Zodiac.

I had apparently decided that if a 40-ton whale wanted to overturn the boat, moving myself eighteen inches toward the center was going to make all the difference.

But I felt better there. And really, that is what matters.

You would think that would have been my most nerve-racking Zodiac moment. It was not.

That came on our final day.

We had left our expedition ship and were heading back toward King George Island, where we would catch our flight from what has to be one of the tiniest airports and runways on Earth.

So there we were again. Sitting on the edge of our trusty inflatable boat. Freezing Antarctic water underneath us. Holding onto our rope.

And then I heard it.

Hissssssssssssss.

There are some noises that immediately get your attention. A smoke alarm. Glass breaking. Your car making a noise it definitely did not make yesterday. And the sound of escaping air while you are sitting in an inflatable boat in Antarctica.

I looked at Sarah.

“Do you hear that?”

She looked at me.

“Yes.”

Hissssssssssssss.

We both looked around.

No one seemed overly concerned. Which somehow made me more concerned.

Because apparently we were the only two people who had noticed that our boat was possibly deflating.

At this point my brain started doing calculations it was absolutely not qualified to do.

How much air is in a Zodiac? How long does it take one to deflate? How fast can someone rescue us? How cold is the water?

Sarah and I kept listening.

Hissssssssssssss.

Then Sarah looked down. And froze.

Her leg was resting against one of the Zodiac’s valves. Not just any valve. The valve that releases the air.

Sarah. Was. Deflating. The boat.

She moved her leg. The hissing stopped.

And there we sat. Surrounded by freezing Antarctic water. On our way to shore. In an inflatable boat. That my wife had apparently decided needed just a little less inflation.

I looked at her. She looked at me. There really was nothing to say.

We had survived Antarctica. We had survived giant whales swimming beneath us. We had survived the Drake Passage. We had survived freezing temperatures, ice, wind, and the polar plunge.

And in the end, the thing that almost took us down was Sarah’s thigh.

Apparently the greatest danger in Antarctica was sitting next to my wife.

So I left Antarctica with two very important lessons about Zodiac boats.

If you hear a terrifying explosion of air behind you, it might just be a whale.

If you hear air slowly escaping from underneath you…

check Sarah’s leg.