"Near, far, wherever you are/ I believe that the heart does go on," Celine Dion sang, as we heaved through another monstrous wave and spray flooded the decks. In the dim radar-lit bridge, the seasoned sailors grinned and lit another round of cigarettes. At 11pm, they were ready for a long night. I was ready for bed.

The 6000-ton ship that had seemed so large and imposing at the harbour in Punta Arenas now plunged like a flimsy toy down waterfalls of dark sea. In the officers’ mess, any furniture not nailed to the floor slid across the room. The swells were about 40 foot, one sailor told me, matter of factly.

I was bound for Antarctica aboard a Chilean Navy cargo ship, the Oscar Viel, and it was late in summer to be crossing the Drake Passage, that infamous strait between Cape Horn and the Antarctic. The Drake — named for Sir Francis, the explorer (if you’re British) and pirate (if you’re from South America) — is best sailed from about November to February, when weather is milder… if you could call 40-foot waves mild; I’ve had less exciting roller-coaster rides.

I was aboard a cargo ship, not a cruise ship like most other tourists, as I was writing a weekly column for a London travel magazine about finding a cheap ride to Antarctica. I had rashly boasted to a lot of people, including the magazine’s quarter-of-a-million readers, of my plans and after three weeks of fruitless searching around various South American ports, had finally lucked out and by sheer chance — a word in the right ear and waving my media card — had secured a berth aboard the Viel.

Each summer, the Chilean Navy sends ships to resupply bases on the Antarctic Peninsula, a tendril of the frozen continent that snakes northwards to South America. The peninsula is far from the extremes of Amundsen and Scott’s South Pole — it has Antarctica’s most moderate climate and is the most accessible part, separated from mainland South America by only about 1000 kilometres.

Britain, Argentina and Chile have bases there, and someone has to keep their isolated occupants in meat and veg. So for the navy, my once-in-a-lifetime voyage was a routine mission to deliver scientists, equipment and food to Antarctic bases and, on the return journey, take out the garbage.

It was a voyage full of marvels

Yet it was a voyage full of marvels, from icebergs the size of cathedrals trailing deep turquoise bulks to the showers of ice calving off glaciers into the sea. We sailed along channels lined with snow-spattered black peaks, through a midnight sea dotted by thousands of ice floes shining like the Milky Way. One morning, I woke to find the ship surrounded by giant lily pads of ice; the only sound the creaking and crunching of floes.

Wildlife viewing was spectacular. Antarctica is awash with penguin colonies and though these birds appear comical on land, I finally realised their sleek beauty when a flock of about 50 ducked and dived next to the ship with the grace of dolphins. I saw seals slip silently off sunny floes to go hunting, whale spouts on the horizon and orcas cruising for a kill (these from the ship’s helicopter).

We did not see any polar bears. That’s because there are no polar bears in Antarctica. This is a mistake so common it’s made the South African National Antarctic Programme’s list of FAQs. I’d met an Australian school teacher who was yet to realise she’d made a $12 000 error. ‘I’m really hoping to see some polar bears,’ said Rachel, who was leaving the next day on her Antarctic cruise.

‘Um, I think polar bears come from the north,’ I said.

Rachel (confidently): ‘Oh yes, they float down on the icebergs.’

"… blistering cold, bleak skies and barren landscape all seem enticing …"

Sadly, I could not be aboard her luxury cruise ship when she found out the truth. Rachel was travelling the conventional way — on a voyage from Ushuaia in Argentina, via the South Shetland islands, to the Antarctic Peninsula. The continent’s appeal is that it’s a frontier-type destination, which makes blistering cold, bleak skies and barren landscape all seem enticing. As a result, expedition cruising is booming.

In the 1950s, when commercial tourism to Antarctica was in its infancy, visitors numbered a few hundred. In the 2007/08 season, the total was around 46 000, according to the Antarctic Treaty Secretariat. But conservationists are concerned the Antarctic Peninsula is growing too crowded and could become a kind of Disneyland on ice, damaging the pristine environment.

Tourists have not even been deterred by the 2007 sinking of the MS Explorer, aka 'Titanic 2' (an iceberg gashed open the hull, passengers took to lifeboats but were all rescued by a passing Norwegian cruise ship).

All thanks to the Soviets

Partly, we have the collapse of the Soviet Union to thank for rising numbers. Cash-strapped ex-Soviet scientific academies have leased icebreakers built for the Arctic to Western tourism companies at affordable rates, so visitors are likely to find themselves touring the frozen south aboard the likes of the Kapitan Khlebnikov or Akademik Sergey Vavilov.

No one owns Antarctica, although various countries claim slices. It’s one big nature reserve devoted to scientific research, with the 1959 Antarctic Treaty stating: "Antarctica shall continue for ever to be used exclusively for peaceful purposes."

Primarily it’s a scientist’s playground, attracting everyone from meteorologists to glaciologists to geologists. It’s also central to climate-change concerns. Antarctica is covered by an ice sheet that contains 70 percent of the world’s fresh water and comprises 90 percent of the world’s ice — if it melted, sea levels would rise by a predicted 65 metres.

During my 16-day voyage with the navy — a week of which was spent along the Antarctic Peninsula — I slept in a cabin with two double bunks and an en-suite bathroom. Cosy but comfortable. One of my three female roommates was Karin, a small, blonde Swiss backpacker who literally hitched a ride. She had her thumb out on the side of the road when the ship’s captain pulled over and asked: ‘Where are you going?’

‘Argentina,’ she replied. ‘How would you like to come to Antarctica instead?’ he said. This story would later become legendary on the back-packer circuit.

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