Soon I will be leaving on a trip to Antarctica. The idea of traveling to Antarctica originated with a knock on my door—the proverbial knock of opportunity—and then the mere idea became a real possibility after a series of unusual and unforeseen circumstances.

One day last fall, I finished my work seeing patients at around five in the afternoon—about an hour earlier than usual. While in the kitchen chopping vegetables in preparation for dinner, I heard a barely audible knock on the door in the laundry room. The door leads outside to the carport. No one that I know uses that door.

When the house was first built, people off the street sometimes knocked on that particular back door, asking me for money or to use my phone or to give them a ride someplace. I stopped answering the occasional knocks and left the door permanently locked.

The gentle knocking persisted. Intrigued, I went out the back door in the kitchen and looked over the garden gate up toward the door in the carport. I saw a man about my age wearing Bermuda shorts and carrying a backpack. My curiosity took over.

“Hello. Are you looking for someone?”

The man spoke in a crisp upper class British accent, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Um. I’m actually lost. I’m, um, looking for two people called Jamey and Esha.”

Now more curious than ever, I said, “Oh. Jamey and Esha are my next door neighbors. What do you need them for?”

He answered, “Well, I’m giving a talk at the Lensic Theater tomorrow night and they offered to put me up for the night while I was in town.”

“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea before I bring you to my neighbors’ house?”

We sat on the couch in my living room, sipping tea. When I asked him what his name was, he said, clearly enunciating each word, “My name is Robert Swan. You can google me.”

“If I google you, what will I discover?” I asked.

Robert Swan, O.B.E. (Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) told me that he was the first and only person to reach both poles. He had skied 700 miles to the Arctic and 900 miles to Antarctica with a few friends—without the support of radios and helicopters.

Robert Swan was so moved by what he saw in Antarctica that he felt a strong need to do something to protect this last frontier of pristine wilderness. He formed an organization called “Antarctica 2041.” The purpose of his organization is to raise awareness about the fate of Antarctica after the multi-national treaty expires in 2041 when Antarctica will be up for grabs and could suffer the fate of oil exploration and mining.

Robert has been giving talks around the country about his organization, while at the same time raising funds to support his endeavors to protect the environment.

Here is one of Robert Swan’s several TED talks:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCUeX7XdzW0

When I looked at some of Robert’s other online videos, I realized that the trips he leads are composed mostly of young environmental activists from all over the world, many of whom have raised money through donations or from working and saving their money for years in order to take this trip of a lifetime.

I think you’ll enjoy this video of what the trip is really like:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yY2nY9aC7tE&feature=youtu.be&spfreload=1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsGmnrSm6uQ

After texting back and forth the next day, I boldly asked Robert if I could go on his trip—even though I’m 68 years old. I suspect that he might have “googled” me to find out who I was. He answered, “We’re the same age. Yes, absolutely you can come on the trip. With all your wilderness, mountaineering, and medical experiences, you would be a good role model for some of the young women.”

Thrilled about the possibility of going to Antarctica, I texted him, back. “BTW, I forgot to ask the price of the trip.” When he told me that the 10 days at sea would cost $12,000, I told him that, sadly, I would not be going due to the cost. I immediately dropped the idea. Robert texted me back saying, “I understand. I have a feeling you’ll find a way to go with us.”

A few weeks later a most amazing series of events happened that started during a phone consultation with one of my patients, Michael, a businessman who lives in Seattle. Michael is the “paterfamilias” of three generations that I have been treating for the last fifteen years. The extended family lives in Portland, Seattle, and Chicago.

At the conclusion of our phone appointment, Michael said, “I really like your blogs—especially your travel blogs. You haven’t been on any trips for a while. Are you planning anything exciting in the near future?”

I told Michael that I had wanted to go to Antarctica, but that it was too expensive. He asked how much the trip would have cost. I told him the amount. He responded, “Yeah. That’s a lot of money.” We said good-bye and I didn’t think anything more about our conversation.

A week later, on my way to eat dinner at our community house, I stopped by the mailbox to check for mail. I saw a thick manila envelope from Michael. The envelope contained an eloquent letter from him, thanking me for helping him and his family with their complex medical problems over the years, along with letters from his wife and from his grown children—drawings from the grandchildren. I wondered why the whole family had decided to thank me at the same time. The letters felt like a eulogy—like something read at a memorial service. Maybe they think I’m going to die.

As I opened the envelope wider so that I could put the letters, card, and drawings back, I noticed another small piece of paper that I had overlooked. I reached in and found a check for $12,000. On the note, Michael wrote that he was looking forward to my next travel blog.

When I phoned to express my stunned gratitude, Michael said that for a few years he and his wife had wanted to give me a special gift but didn’t know what to give that would be meaningful to me. So, when he heard about the Antarctica trip, he had a family meeting. The whole family agreed that funding my trip would be a good idea. I reminded him that he had already given me a gift a few years ago—my first smart phone.

Life is full of surprises—sometimes very pleasant surprises. I’m still reeling from the wonderful shock.

The departure date is in a few days. My first stop will be Buenos Aires where I’ll spend four days visiting with an old friend, Miguel Di Donato, whom I met forty years ago while climbing Aconcagua—the highest mountain in the western hemisphere at 23,000 feet.

In Buenos Aires I’ll eventually meet up with my travel group and then take a light plane to Ushuaia, the southernmost town in the world—the gateway for ships to Antarctica—and the capital of Tierra del Fuego.

I remember Ushuaia well from my travels. When I completed my two years of service in the Peace Corps in Ecuador, I sold the Pan Am airline ticket that I had been provided and used the $600 to cover expenses while traveling throughout South America for six months.

Six hundred dollars was considered a substantial chunk of money in those days in South America. While in the Peace Corps, I earned $120 a month.

I stayed at a youth hostel while I visited Ushuaia and hiked in the rugged and stunningly beautiful countryside surrounding the town. Although the water was freezing, I swam for a few minutes in the Beagle Channel just for the thrill of it.

After I dried myself off and got dressed, I stood on the southernmost point of land and looked out toward Antarctica and vowed that I would go there some day. As I stood watching, I saw a ship come into the port and the passengers debark. When the captain walked passed me, I asked him if it would be possible for me to get a job in Antarctica. He said, “Certainly. We’d be glad to have you.” With excitement in my voice, I asked what kinds of jobs would be available for me. He said that for any job I took, I’d have to sign a yearlong contract. With that news, my interest vanished. I needed to eventually get home and see my family.

In the youth hostel, I met a friendly young man who had taken a year off for travel before going to medical school. We spent a day or two hiking together and then we went our separate ways. That man came briefly back into my life thirty-five years later.

My brother, John, a maritime attorney in Seattle, had been representing a fisherman who had been injured on a ship due to negligence. He needed to consult with a doctor who knew about the kinds of injuries suffered by his client.

As he discussed the case with the physician, he noted the pictures of South America on the wall in his office. John remarked that his sister had served in the Peace Corps in Ecuador in the 1970s and then traveled around the continent. The physician said that in 1976 he had met a woman in the youth hostel in Ushuaia who had worked in the Peace Corps and had just finished climbing Aconcagua. John asked if he remembered her name. He answered, “Erica Elliott.”

John gave the physician my email address. We were in touch for a few months, reliving our brief time together, marveling at how small the world was and how unlikely that our paths would ever cross again. Then we gradually drifted apart, swept away by our respective lives.

From Ushuaia, we will embark on the cruise ship, Endeavor, and sail around the northern Antarctic Peninsula and around one or two little islands, for a total of ten days. There will be plenty of time for exploring on land and looking at the wildlife. I signed up for the sea kayaking option. I also signed up for a second option—camping one night alone on the ice, with full gear provided. Sadly, the company that organizes the trip had to cancel that option due to “soft ice.”

As I look back, I marvel at the unlikely series of events that led to this trip to Antarctica. The first step began with the knock on the door in the laundry room. If I hadn’t finished my work early that particular day, I would not have been in the kitchen to hear the fateful knock on the door.

Some of you worry when I go on a trip, given my past history. I will be extra cautious. Rest assured that there is no chance that I’ll be eaten by a polar bear because there aren’t any polar bears in Antarctica. But, there’s a chance that I might be abducted by an emperor penguin.