AMONG THE ICEBERGS

How messing about in dinghies led Ollie Tucker to take on one of the boating world's most extreme jobs, running a fleet of RIBs for the British Antarctic Survey

- Ollie Tucker

Few places on Earth rival the stillness of Antarctica. At times the air is so still and the sea so flat it becomes a perfect mirror, broken only by the outline of mountains and glaciers that have stood watch for millennia. The silence is absolute, the sense of timelessness near-overpowering.

But this is also the wildest place on the planet. Winds at the Pole can roar past 150 knots, and even on the coast we suffer whiteouts – a disorienting blur of wind and snow, like life inside a ping-pong ball. The continent's isolation makes it harsher still: thousands of miles from the nearest land, trapped by some of the world's most ferocious seas. Each winter, barely a thousand people remain. Rescue, should you need it, might take weeks.

For the past year I've been one of those few. My home is Rothera, the British Antarctic Survey's largest research station, and one of only two with its own marine operations. My job title is Boating Officer: I'm responsible for keeping small boat operations safe, efficient and effective in an environment that doesn't forgive mistakes. Down here, your work becomes your life, and your life your work. This is my story.

DINGHIES TO DREDGERS

Boating was the first pursuit that truly captivated me. I learned to sail in Lyme Regis, Dorset, where one of my earliest memories is clinging to the mast of a Laser Pico while our instructor blasted around the course. I was barely into double digits, terrified by the powerful pull of the sail, but (after a bit more practice) totally drawn in.

Dinghy sailing gave me something rare for a child: control. Within a couple of seasons I could adjust the boat's trim, push past rivals on a race course and feel a surge of confidence I'd never known elsewhere. That sense of independence stayed with me.