From: cameron.a@myemail.com
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 19 Jan, 16:43
Subject: Whales!
Amy,
I’ve just seen a humpback whale, and I had to share the sheer wonder of the experience. Actually, there was more than one of them, there was a pod of at least four. Is pod the right word? This is where I really miss being able to quickly look up stuff online. I’ll have to check in one of the reference books in the ship’s library. Old-fashioned, but effective. You can’t go wrong with a book. Maybe the whales were a family. We were in the Zodiac doing a shuttle run between the ship and the shore with a small group (it takes around 20 runs to get everyone ashore, and that’s fewer than 100 people because we’re not allowed more than that on land at any one time) and I heard this wheezing sound. At first, I thought someone on the boat was having an asthma attack so I did a subtle check of everyone, trying to remember my emergency medical drills, and wondering whether I should ask Antoni (who was steering the Zodiac) to speed up and get us back on board double quick. But then there was a crackle on the radio and one of the crew who was watching from the expedition ship buzzed through to tell us to look to starboard. And there it was, a humpback whale, idly hanging around on the surface. Before we knew, its mates had turned up to join in the fun. George (the lead photographer on board) who’s been here countless times before tells me humpbacks are very inquisitive creatures. Apparently, they often mosey on by to check us out and see what we’re up to. I like to imagine somewhere below the surface the humpback whale tour guide equivalent was pointing out the lesser spotted humans, ‘Check out their brilliant red plumage.’ (We all wear these bright red thick coats when we go ashore. They’re the warmest things in the world, and make us stand out from miles away, which comes in very handy when we’re trying to herd everyone together on shore excursions to return to the ship.) I love that the whales are as curious about us as we are about them, although I think they’re much more fascinating.
Before long, our little Zodiac was surrounded by these gentle giants slowly circling around. At that point a couple of the guests got a tad nervous that we might be upended by an over-friendly whale, but somehow, I knew there was no real danger. I soon managed to distract them by reminding them their photographs of this moment would be the envy of everyone else on the ship. I wish I could show the pictures to you. There’s no way my clumsy words could possibly do justice to the experience.
The whales remained in position for a good hour, so we stayed bobbing around in the boat, breathing in the experience. I was very glad of the bright red coat, let me tell you. It’s relatively mild here for this time of year (around minus three degrees centigrade which is positively balmy compared to the temperatures further inshore) but when you’re not moving, you soon begin to understand why the phrase ‘frozen in position’ is so apt. It was the one occasion I wished the sauna wasn’t broken. Instead, when we got back on board, I compensated by rolling myself up in a duvet with a hot water bottle and feasting my eyes on all the pictures and video footage I’d taken. For once, I was able to switch off critical photographer brain and ignore the usual niggles I’d have about composition and enjoy the continued glow of wonder.
I’ve just checked my watch and realised I’m due in the main saloon in ten minutes for the whale pictures presentation, and instead of getting ready for it, I’ve been waxing lyrical to you about the experience. Never mind, I guess I’ll have to attempt to wing it. As you’ll have realised if you’ve stuck out reading this email, I have a lot to say about whales, so hopefully that will get me through.
Cameron
From: cameron.a@myemail.com
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 19 Jan, 18:21
Subject: Me again
Hello Amy,
I was going to put the subject line as ‘Penguins and Passions’ but then it occurred to me that it might get filtered out as spam so I settled for something safer. It’s me, Cameron, once again. I realised in my previous missive that I spent the whole time bombarding you with my thoughts on whales without asking you a single question, which was plain rude, so I’m taking the opportunity of a quick break between talks to send you another message.
How are you? That’s a genuine query, by the way. I don’t know about you, but all too often I ignore the first sentences of an email because they’re usually the written equivalent of meaningless small talk. ‘I hope this email finds you well.’ Actually, it finds me screaming into the abyss, but thanks for asking. To clarify, I’m not screaming into the abyss, thankfully, and I very much hope you aren’t either.
It’s interesting you asked me how I could top this experience. It’s a question I’ve found myself wondering about ever since I first got into a Zodiac and sailed past a leopard seal casually sunning itself on an iceberg. I realise I keep mentioning Zodiacs—only a few days into my first expedition and I’ve already picked up the ship lingo. When I return to normal life, I’ll be casually dropping it into conversation at every opportunity, no doubt driving everyone mad. ‘We know you’ve been to Antarctica, no need to keep wanging on about it.’ The answer to your question is that I’m not sure that I could top it. Perhaps if NASA is on the lookout for a photographer to record the next moon landing, but as I most definitely would not qualify on the science front, which I believe they’re pretty hot on, I guess I’ll have to rule that one out, sadly. Although being somewhere as remote as Antarctica does feel like good preparation for a space mission. Admittedly I am getting the cushy experience in a nice comfortable expedition ship with plentiful hot showers and the option of getting back to port within a few days if something went horribly wrong. The people who winter over at the Antarctic bases are the ones who are truly isolated, probably even further from help than those in the international space station. Once that last flight leaves the base, there isn’t another one for around nine months, and they have to be able to deal with whatever challenges are thrown at them, all while coping with constant darkness. Now that would be a very different experience.
Perhaps somewhere hot should be next on my list—tiger watching in India or elephant husbandry in Africa maybe. But to be honest, I’m trying not to think of what comes after my Antarctic season. I’m making a concerted effort to live in the moment. (Yes, how very virtuous of me.) But as I mentioned before, if the ten years since graduation have gone this quickly, imagine how speedily my two months on the expedition ship will go. I want to savour every moment so that when I look back, I will know I’ve made the most of the opportunity.
But that’s enough of me talking about my passion. How about yours? What a talent to be able to play the violin, and I’m guessing you play it very well from the way you talk about it with such fervour. Fervour. Good word, that. Must find a way to get it into a photography class on the boat. Have you always played? I remember at school, anything other than guitar or drums was declared distinctly uncool so most kids stopped playing, me included, to my shame. What’s life like as a musician? You mentioned enjoying playing as part of a group, but do you perform as a soloist too? In my pre-ship life, I would probably have googled to find the answer to those questions. As you’ve pointed out, it’s quite terrifying how much information you can discover about a person nowadays online. I think that’s one of the reasons why I don’t bother with social media and the like. But in this strangely antiquarian world of creaky or even no internet, the casual online search is a luxury which I’m not allowed. Besides, I think I prefer it this way, asking questions and reading your answers.
Cameron
PS: the penguins send their regards.
The two emails in quick succession took me by surprise. I guessed the ship must be in an area with better signal. I read and re-read his words, picturing the events he described and relishing every enthusiastic word. His sheer joy at seeing the whales leapt off the page, and I felt touched that even among the high adrenalin he was no doubt experiencing, he’d taken time to think of me.
‘How are you?’ It had been a while since someone had asked me that question and he seemed to be genuinely interested in the answer. Normally I’d reply with, ‘I’m grand, thanks, and you?’ A quick deflection, the pleasantries ticked off the list, everyone able to move on with their lives. But while I appreciated being asked, genuinely asked, I knew I wasn’t brave enough to give the real answer. I didn’t want to frighten him off. Yes, Cameron seemed like a decent guy, and reading his emails was definitely turning into a highlight of my mundane life, but they would probably stop appearing if I replied in all honesty and revealed my doubts and fears on the page. Nobody needed that, least of all a handsome nature photographer. I stopped in my tracks. There I was ascribing physical characteristics to a man I’d never met or seen a picture of (despite my best internet search efforts to remedy the latter issue.) To say he sounded handsome was utterly ridiculous, but somehow, he did. Asking a woman how she was and meaning it, plus being passionate about penguins were attractive qualities, as were his respect for the environment and his patience in waiting for the right moment to take his photos. I allowed myself to indulge in a brief daydream, sketching out his features in my imagination. I pictured a man with a ready smile and a clear gaze, perceptive eyes full of warmth and humour. He was tall and strong, because why not, and besides, it would make clambering in and out of boats and striding across the Antarctic ice much easier for him. And as I was going down this route, with a musician’s appreciation for hands, I figured his were probably large but gentle and dexterous, used to delicately setting up photographic equipment and courteously helping to steady guests as they transferred between the ship and the Zodiacs. I knew I was getting carried away building up this fantasy idea of the man, but it was a welcome distraction from the dreariness of my own existence.
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 19 Jan, 19:51
Subject: Penguin passion!
Hi Cameron,
Well, this is going to be the true test of your spam filter as I decided to be brave and go ahead and mention penguin passion, because why not? I am delighted and honoured to receive the good wishes from the penguin folk, and I return it wholeheartedly. I would add greetings from Eliza and Fraser (my neighbour’s cats who are currently staying with me) but I suspect they might have an ulterior motive in saying hello. I’ve told them Antarctica is a very long way away, but I saw the glint of mischief in their eyes, so I decided to move the conversation along.
My fingers hovered over the delete button. Was I sounding too whimsical? But then again, I got the impression that Cameron was very much an animal person, so he would probably understand attributing personalities and emotions to the cats. As long as it didn’t make me sound like a mad cat lady. I frowned. Now that I thought about it, nobody would dream of calling Mr McTavish a mad cat man because he lived alone with a couple of pets. It seemed unfair women always got tarred with that derogatory brush. I vowed not to use the phrase in the future, even in my own head. I carried on typing.
Eliza in particular is a big fan of the violin, and can’t resist inspecting my case at every opportunity. I don’t blame her. The violin has held a fascination for me ever since I picked up my sister’s instrument at three years old and declared I wanted to learn it too. Liv’s ten years older than me so of course her violin was far too big, but she patiently helped me pluck a simple nursery song—‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’—and from then on, I was hooked. School let me borrow a tiny quarter size instrument, and then I worked my way up through the sizes as I, and my enthusiasm, grew. My poor parents sat through many a Junior String Group concert, but I like to think their patient support has paid off now.
Not entirely true. By now my parents had realised they were on a hide into nothing trying to bring up the subject of the violin, but I knew it was always there hanging between us, the great unspoken difference of opinions. On the rare occasion one of them tried to bring the conversation subtly around to music, I would shut it down instantly. They thought I couldn’t see them exchanging worried glances, and I always acted as if I was oblivious of their quiet concern for me. They couldn’t understand why I’d had to quit, and I was tired of trying to explain it to them.
I forced my stare from middle-distance back onto the screen. Time to commit.
In answer to your question, I perform solo and with others. I particularly love the camaraderie of a string group, the way we communicate through the slightest glance, the entire silent conversations that we can hold during a performance: ‘Nice vibrato’, ‘Give a bit more with that staccato’, ‘Good audience tonight’. A mere quirk of the eyebrow or a tiny movement of a little finger says it all. Sometimes when we’re meant to be providing background music at an event, the room gradually falls silent as people are caught up by the emotion of the piece. That’s the power of music for you.
Yes, we’d been a force to be reckoned with, the four of us. Me as first violin, Jodie second, Cass on the cello and Meg on viola, the butt of all musicians’ jokes. What’s the difference between a dressmaker and a viola player? One tucks up frills, the other f— well you get the idea. Of the four of us, I was the only one who dreamed of turning professional. The others enjoyed the extra money we made doing gigs during university, but they were always going to go on to other things. Cass into medicine; Jodie focusing on her beloved museums; Meg strategically pursuing accountancy. ‘My greatest ambition is to be well paid, and well laid’, she would always say. But I was determined that music was my calling. Until it wasn’t. However, Cameron didn’t need to hear about all that. He was interested in the life of Amy Cameron, virtuoso violinist, not the second-rate version, the person dogged by failure at every turn.
I’m based at one of the older theatres in Edinburgh at the moment. It’s a beautiful venue, all red velvet seats and gold leaf on the plasterwork. I like the size of the auditorium, the way I can look out from the stage and see the faces of the people in the stalls. I enjoy imagining what it was like when it first opened, back in Victorian times, the thick fug of smoke, the sharp smell of the oil lamps. So many talented people treading the boards that I am fortunate enough to walk on now.
Strictly speaking, none of this bit was a lie. I was based in a theatre, and I did very much like the auditorium. But I knew I was implying something which wasn’t true. By not spelling out what I really did at the Variety, I was letting him believe that I was a performer on the stage rather than a worker bee behind the scenes. In another life, perhaps that would have been the way things had worked out. But there was no harm in stretching the truth of my current existence, I told myself. I didn’t owe Cameron anything. Besides, I’d noticed that he’d not responded to my question about how he’d got into expedition photography. There was no obligation on either of us to answer everything and put it all out there. Our email exchanges were a welcome escape from reality. Why shouldn’t I create a better world for myself within them? I quickly checked back through the message to make sure that I hadn’t accidentally let slip the name of the theatre I worked at. Cameron might claim to prefer asking questions, but I didn’t want to run the risk of him getting tempted to look me up online if his internet connection improved. And if he did end up doing that and couldn’t find my musical persona, at least I’d be able to reply in all honesty that I always performed under a stage name. I’d ‘forget’ to tell him what it was, if it came to it.
That’s enough about me. How is life at the bottom of the world treating you? Is it still very cold where you are? I’ve seen videos of people in Antarctica throwing boiling water into the air and it falling to the ground as frost. Have you tried that? Or do you have to be on your best behaviour around the guests? You mentioned that on the coast it’s a little less extreme. Maybe it’s even brighter than Edinburgh is today. The January mizzle has set in, proper chilly stuff that defeats even my best waterproofs. Time to keep cosy and enjoy watching the clouds from the comfort of the indoors. Maybe I need to invest in one of those red coats you guys are wearing.
All the best,
Amy x
PS: what’s the one photograph you’re hoping to take while you’re on your voyage?