Where a penguin can get ashore, so, in theory, can a kayaker. Penguin colonies were always a welcome sight – it not a welcome aroma – although they generally made less than ideal campsites. On many occasions we had been confined to our boats much longer than expected because we couldn’t find anywhere to get ashore. A glaciated and somewhat unknown coastline was a risk we had known about ever since the early days of planning, but one that proved difficult to manage. On the second day of our journey we needed to land but there were no penguins going ashore – and the coastline was everywhere guarded by a two-metre rampart of ice, or had a healthy swell that would have pounded, shattered and scattered us and our gear had we chanced it. By luck and adrenaline we snuck through a foaming rock channel that gave way to a tiny sheltered gravel beach. When we couldn’t see penguins getting ashore, only by identifying colourful points or islands like this one, stained pink by decades of processed krill, were we able to ensure we could find places to land.

We took a last swig from our flasks, then prepared to add the next hop to our never-ending game of hop, skip and jump. Three simple nautical miles – at our average pace, just over an hour on the water. The clouds told me that some real wind was heading our way, but how much and from where would it come?

As we moved away from the little island, it became apparent that the wind was not being halted by the protruding Pursuit Point. Instead it was wrapping over and around it like air surging over an aeroplane wing. The effort required to propel our laden kayaks forward, and the increasing volume of water streaming across our bow and spray decks, told us in no uncertain terms that conditions were strengthening – but there was no cause for alarm yet. We had trained in conditions far stronger than this. We knew we were outgunned in this potential battle yet we were as prepared as we could be for a confrontation with nature’s violent forces. If we had learnt anything in our years of outdoor work and play, it was that knowing your limitations and preparing accordingly is your greatest asset in living to fight another day.

And truly living is what this trip was about. We had never set out to be the first, to cover the most distance or be the fastest. We had come here purely to connect, to seek the rewards derived from experiencing a vast wilderness on a more profound level.

As we stroked closer to our destination, the wind speed edged higher and higher: 15-knot breezes with gusts of 20 became 20 knots with blasts of 25. The wind chill was intense and I was now very thankful for my home-made foam pogies. Without talking, we knew what to do – stay and fight until defeat looked imminent before quickly enacting our escape plan. To turn and run was not an option we wanted to take unless absolutely necessary. Running meant being blown many miles back south, potentially to where we had come from two days earlier.

Turning our overloaded kayaks abeam to this wind, with its peaking waves and steep troughs, had risks. A capsize, a broken rudder cable, any incident that would be trivial under other circumstances could shut us down. Strokes became strong and powerful and we tucked our heads down to counter the icy spray whipping across our bows. Conversation ceased, our voices no match for the tearing wind. Instead we communicated by instinctive looks, tuned by months on the water together. We were both monitoring our progress, lining up geographical features to determine if we were making ground, spinning on the spot or even heading backwards. Between gusts we edged forward. When the gusts hit we moved nowhere, blades churning the water just to hold ground. The pungent aroma of penguin guano now managed to pervade the snot that oozed from our icy noses. We were closing on our destination. The deeper we dug, the harder it blew. We both knew it – we were at breaking point. The wind now ripped at the water so ferociously that even the surface in the lee of Pursuit Point was chopped up. We would have to fight the whole way there – right to the end.