Rising steeply from the ocean in a stupendous mountain range, peak above peak, enveloped in a perpetual snow, and clustered together in countless groups resembling a vast mass of crystallization, which as the sun's rays were reflected on it, exhibited a scene of such unequalled magnificence and splendor as would baffle all power of language to portray or give the faintest conception of.
—Robert McCormick
Just imagine being the first person to lay eyes on the Transantarctic Mountains, a towering range of snow-capped mountains that seem to stretch forever skywards as jagged, threatening peaks. These words, from Robert McCormick, surgeon on board Captain James Ross' ship, the Erebus, demonstrate the overpowering wonder afforded by this awesome view. On arriving in Antarctica for the first time, I think it fair to say that everyone feels a little of this emotional power in their hearts. They will always remember that moment.
The first emotional high point of any such trip is saying goodbye to one's family. My wife, Donna, and I had three young children at that time: Sarah, aged 5, Peter, aged 3, and Madeleine, only 8 months old. It was going to be hard for me to leave them, especially knowing that Antarctica has its own brands of danger. Amidst teary goodbyes I departed the cold island of Tasmania on 9 December for yet another cold island, New Zealand, en route to the ultimately cold continent of Antarctica.
In New Zealand I stayed at the Windsor Hotel in Christchurch, a venue commonly used by Antarctic travelers, so it didn't take long be-
fore I'd met up with some other expeditioners also waiting to be called to the airport for the big trip down south. My other expedition members were already down in Antarctica in a remote location in the central Transantarctic Mountains, so I wouldn't be meeting up with them until some time after I'd arrived at Scott Base.
On the morning of Saturday, 12 December 1988, after waiting for two days of delayed flights, I was called to be ready for departure. All of us scheduled for that flight ate a hearty breakfast that morning, then put on our polar underwear, woolen fleecy trousers and shirt, and carried our packed kitbags to the front of the hotel. It was a pleasant summer morning and we felt a little awkward all kitted up in our polar clothing as we loitered around in the warm sunshine awaiting our lift to the airport. At 10:00 A.M. we were met by the New Zealand Antarctic Division representative and shuttled off to the US Naval Air Base located at Christchurch international airport.
Each person is allowed a maximum of 75 pounds of luggage, which is mostly the standard Antarctic clothing and boots, with a few personal items brought from home such as cameras, notes, books, and so on. As we lined up to present our bags for the weigh-in, a black Labrador sniffer dog gave each of us a serious drug inspection. It wasn't too bad—at least the dog wore a rubber glove. Then we were shown to the “departure lounge” to await our flight. We were on a full flight containing 38 passengers and nine crew on a C-130 Hercules equipped with ski landing gear. The flight was further delayed so we were allowed one hour for lunch at the base cafeteria. Luckily for us, one of our friends was with us, an American geologist named Noel Potter, so he was able to pay for our food with greenbacks, as only US currency was accepted there. I scoffed down a rather bland cheeseburger, some fries, and a Pepsi, and relished the thought that this greasy fast food would probably be my last such meal for several months. Finally, at about 2:00 P.M. we boarded the VXE-6 Squadron Hercules, now fully clad in our Antarctic clothing, complete with heavy survival jacket. The latter is a safety requirement in case the plane has to come down in some remote icy location.
The birth of VXE-6 Squadron came about from the Antarctic Development Squadron Six (VX-6) whose first flight to Antarctica was
on 19 December 1955, when several planes set off from Wigwam RNZAF base near Christchurch bound for Antarctica at the start of the American Operation “Deep Freeze.” That day several of the planes had to turn back to New Zealand as headwinds caused them to use up more fuel than they could carry to safely get them all the way down to Antarctica. The rest of the squadron continued and the first to land was Lt Commander Joseph Entrains Neptune. His comment on the journey was: “It's the most miserable flight I have ever made.”
A year later VX-6 Squadron under the command of William “Trigger” Hawkes and Gus Shinn landed an R5D named Que Sera Sera on the South Pole. The crew became the first men to step foot on the pole since the 1912 parties of Amundsen and Scott. In January 1969 the squadron was re-designated VXE-6 Squadron. To date, the squadron has carried over 195,000 passengers to and from the Antarctic, carted more than 240 million pounds of dry cargo to Antarctica, and some 10 million gallons of fuel to sites down there. Using a variety of aircraft ranging from the P2V2 Neptune, UC-1 Otter, C-130 Hercules, C-140 Starlifter, R7D Super Constellation, the C-5 Galaxy, helicopters like the LH-34 and HUS-1A, and more recently the HH-1N Huey, they have had a remarkable safety record and have been awarded several honors for their impressive record at flying over the world's most dangerous continent.
On entering the plane, a US navy man at the door handed each of us lunch in a cardboard box and a set of earplugs. On looking inside the box, we pondered momentarily whether to eat our earplugs and stuff the sandwiches in our ears. We were soon crammed in to fit every available space, sitting there like rows of heavily insulated sardines. The narrow canvas seats were slung across a crude metal framework facing the center of the plane, and there were few windows to look out of. The flight was rather boring, the ear plugs and noisy engines precluded any kind of conversation with the other passengers, so I spent most of the flight reading my book (a cheery little novel called Misery, by Stephen King), with intervals of stretching my legs walking around the plane. Inside the box everything was wrapped in plastic at least once. We had a cheese roll with bright orange bland cheese, some cookies, a chocolate bar of some unknown, unclassifiable species, a cold chicken drumstick
sealed in clear plastic (looking somewhat like forensic evidence at a court case), and an apple. Most of us ate the parts we liked (the chocolate bar), kept the apple for later and dumped the rest on exiting the plane.
As we approached Antarctica six hours later, someone informed me that we had passed the point of “no return” when more than half the fuel has been used. Several times each season a plane may be on its way to Antarctica and find out from the radio that the weather at the base has suddenly turned very bad. In this case, if there's enough fuel, it simply turns around and flies all the way back to Christchurch. These “boomerang” flights are reasonably frequent at the beginning and end of each summer field season when the weather is quite changeable. In our case the weather was fine so there was no turning back. Although I felt happy that we were going all the way, it was still a little scary for us Antarctic virgins who thought about the possibility that if the weather did turn bad at the last moment we would still attempt a landing. It had all been explained to me before, and I had confidence in the pilots, who were very experienced. The weather was forecast as being fine, so we had no cause for real concern.
Still, thoughts of the New Zealand DC-10 disaster of November 1979 lurked at the back of my mind during that flight. On that occasion a plane destined as a tourist flight over Antarctica had flown too low and crashed into Mt. Erebus, killing all 257 people on board. The wreckage still remains on the slopes of the volcano that overlooks Scott and McMurdo bases. Only recently have tourist flights over Antarctica resumed.
About three-quarters the way through the flight we were told by the cabin crew that we could come up to the cockpit one at a time to see the view. When I got up there I could see why people lined up for ages. What an amazing perspective on the world! The whole of northern Victoria Land stretched out below me, filling my whole field of view below the horizon with jagged snow-topped mountains, crevasse-ridden glaciers which flowed out to sea as prominent ice tongues, and vast white never-ending plateaus of snow—a clear blue sky above and nearly all white below. I looked hard to see any rock exposures but very few were apparent, only some craggy little bluffs poking out under the thick blanket of snow. It seemed like an impossible task to search for
fossils down there, but I was reminded that we were still a long distance away from the central Transantarctic Mountains where our fish fossil sites were located.
The plane made a gentle touchdown at about 10:30 P.M. after missing the landing strip on the first try and having to effect a full 360° turnaround. It seemed like it was forever gliding along the ice runway before it finally stopped. On leaving the aircraft I saw the towering volcano, Mt. Erebus, looking absolutely humungous, peering down at me between the few wispy clouds floating around its smoking summit. As blasts of cold air raced around my face, scattering my icy breath, the fact that at 10:30 P.M. at night the sun was belting down on us and it was around −4°F, created an atmosphere quite alien, yet powerfully serene. It was without doubt incomparable to any place I'd ever been to before.
Dave Carrera, officer in charge of Scott Base that year, was waiting to greet us. Scott Base and McMurdo Base run one hour behind New Zealand time, so we reset our watches and drove along a well-made graded ice road to arrive at Scott Base around 10:00 P.M. Scott Base somewhat resembles a series of large green boxes up on stilts, joined together with corridors and walkways. It has a few large hangars and equipment storage sheds outside. Inside its large metal refrigerator-style doors it is surprisingly warm.
Scott Base was first established for New Zealand's participation in the International Geophysical Year (or IGY) of 1957, and to provide a support station for the Commonwealth Transantarctic Expedition. It was designed and prefabricated in New Zealand, then erected under the supervision of Frank Ponder with an army team in January and February of 1957. Situated at 77°51′03″ south, 166°45′45″ east, it sits on one of the lava tongues of Mt. Erebus on Ross Island. The first team that wintered over that year comprised 23 men under the leadership of Sir Edmund Hillary. Since then men and women have wintered over there every year, although the base has been much expanded and modernized since those early days. The original parts of the base are still used as overflow accommodation during the busy summer season.
Inside the base we changed out of our polar gear into our civvies as the base is always kept at a constant cozy 64°F inside. The officer in
charge then quickly briefed us about base procedures, safety, and protocol, and then we were allowed to go to the bar for a much-anticipated drink.
Lo and behold my amazement on walking into the Scott Base bar for the first time and seeing a room full of mostly young people wearing bathers, surf shorts, and bikinis, their noses streaked with luminescent green and pink zinc cream, all dancing vigorously to the blaring tones of the Beach Boys' “I Wish They All Could Be California Girls. ” One group was standing on top of the pool table dancing in unison. No old crusty veteran explorers in fur coats here!
Upon entering the bar and finding a space in the corner near the window, someone thrust a chilled can of Steinlager into my hand. I looked out the window to the Ross Sea ice sheet spread out before me. Twin volcanoes, White Island and Black Island, were poking out of the ice on the horizon. Brilliant sunlight streamed in through the windows. I could see a few seals lying around lazily on the sea ice somewhat resembling big fat slugs. The party contained many visiting Americans over from McMurdo Base, and all in all, about 40 or so beach-loving polar party animals.
From time to time groups of merry beach revelers would open the large refrigerator-style door, jump outside and go rolling around in the snow for a minute or so, then come running back inside to get warm and savor more bevies. I watched with amusement, thinking that maybe they'd been here too long or something. Little was I to realize how similar I would become to these people with the passing of time in Antarctica.
I stayed for a few hours that night chatting with Ian Paintin, a lanky Kiwi geophysicist and keen explosives expert who had come down on our flight. Many people came up to us and introduced themselves once they realized we had just arrived, so the social niceties continued for some time. I ended up going to bed around 1:30 A.M., still revved up by the excitement of finally having arrived in Antarctica after years of planning. I closed the wooden shutters over the window to block out the sunlight in the bunk area, and then slept deeply.
The next day I awoke at 9:00 A.M. It was Sunday morning. Not surprisingly, there was hardly anyone about because most were enjoy-
ing the one day of the week allowed for sleeping in. After a light breakfast in the mess I changed into my polar gear and went for a walk outside around the base to explore my new home for the next few days. It was snowing and quite windy. I kept close to the base on the road and stayed out for a few hours, returning for lunch at noon.
Lunch is always very good at Scott Base, as were all the meals I had there: usually a hot dish of something with several types of salad and cold meats, freshly baked bread, and several fruit drinks to choose from, plus whatever fresh fruit is on hand. After eating, everyone takes their plates and cutlery to the sink and pre-washes their dishes before loading them into the large dishwasher. This is where I first experienced being “zapped.” The air is so dry in Antarctica that static electricity builds up very easily, and then discharges whenever you come into contact with almost anything, especially things metallic. After rubbing your woolen and nylon clothing on the plastic-backed chairs in the mess, a huge charge would build up, just waiting for you to approach the washing-up sink or even just touch someone else. Zap! After the first few times, it became habitual to make a fist and whack the sink before the sink whacked you. The same applied all around the base; so before grabbing a doorknob or whatever, one had to always discharge the electrical build-up by hitting something metallic.
After lunch, Ian Paintin and I headed over to “Mactown” (the endearing nickname of McMurdo Base) on the bus, a Ford 4WD shuttle bus that flits between the bases every hour. We met up with Noel Potter, who gave us the grand tour of Mactown, Antarctica's largest mainland human settlement.
McMurdo Base is a big, sprawling base, somewhat disorganized but fully functional, like most American cities I've been to. It was first established during the IGY in 1957. Today it is a well laid out military-style base complete with nearby Williams Air Field (aka “Willy Field”) and a well-developed harbor area for the incoming icebreaker ships. At the peak of each summer season it swells to hold up to 800 people. In 1962 the base housed a small nuclear power plant. Troubles with the plant forced its decommission in 1972, and with its removal went some 11000 cubic meters of radioactive contaminated rock. Back in 1988 I remember seeing lots of old fuel drums and redundant rusting equip-
ment piled up around the place, but these days, so I'm assured, most of the rubbish has been carted away and stricter regulations are enforced to prevent any disposal of man-made material. Instead, the icebreaker ships that come at the end of each summer season now cart all waste back home.
First we visited the aquarium where the fishes were studied. Large seawater tanks, some about two meters in diameter, were stocked with a variety of local fishes. About 120 species of fishes are known from Antarctic waters, a surprisingly high diversity which is nearly twice the number of species known from the cold Arctic seas. The Antarctic cod were about one meter long and apparently very good eating. Sashimi made from their cheeks is said to be a rare delicacy that few people ever got to try, me included. There were several other smaller spiky fishes in other tanks (Zanclorhynchus and Notothenia). I could also see large marine isopods (Glyptonotus), looking like giant marine slaters, and some flower-like sea lilies (crinoids, a group of echinoderms related to starfishes). I was later invited out to the diving hut where we could watch the camera relay from a small submersible robot filming the bottom of the sea floor just out from the base. I remember vividly how these seemingly lifeless starfish-like crinoids would occasionally skip merrily along the sandy bottom if something threatened them.
The fishes actually live in sub-freezing waters which are at around 29°F. The seawater stays colder than freezing point due to its dissolved salt content. The fishes themselves do not freeze solid because they have anti-freeze glycopeptides in their blood, a marvelous evolutionary adaptation that enables these few fishes to take advantage of the abundant food supply around the polar shelf seas. In this respect Antarctica as a continent actually has a richer biomass than Australia, according to Australian ecoscientist Tim Flannery, even though most of this biomass is obviously concentrated in its shelf seas.
That afternoon the weather was overcast and somewhat dismal, with light snow falling almost continually. We walked about a kilometer to Hut Point and visited Scott's first hut, erected in 1901 on his Discovery expedition. Today, like all the Ross Island historic huts, the Discovery hut stands as an on-site museum, a veritable shrine to the heroism of the early explorers. The key is held at Scott Base, and one must get
permission to visit from the Officer in Charge (OIC) and sign the register of visitors. It is immaculately restored after many years of pains-taking work by the Antarctic Heritage Trust, a group of dedicated historians and volunteers from New Zealand. David Harrowfield, one of the most eccentric yet knowledgeable fellows I've ever had the pleasure to meet, was down there working on the huts almost every season. He has also published a book on the heritage sites of the Ross Island region.
When they first started work on the historic huts of Ross Island in the late 1950s the old buildings were in various sad states of disrepair, completely filled to the roof with the snow and ice built up over several decades. This was carefully excavated away, with roofs, windows, and doors repaired to as near the original condition as possible. Every artifact was labeled, catalogued and placed back in its original position as best determined from the excellent photographic records made by the early expeditions. Even the meat was preserved in the “cool room” (how ironic). Sides of mutton and seal meat turned whitish-grey still hang from the meat hooks. It inspires a feeling of silent timelessness. One could almost believe that at any moment Scott and his men would come shuffling in, hang up their deerskin coats and start boiling a brew.
Ian and I later had a coffee in the Mactown mess and caught the shuttle bus back to Scott Base. That evening we once more returned to Mactown as we'd been invited to see an art exhibition, so twelve of us piled into the OIC's Landcruiser and headed off over the hill, driving US-style on the “other” side of the road. The exhibition was great, and included lots of sketches, paintings, jewellery, and sculptures done by American base staff, mostly those who had wintered over at the base. They served us wine and nibbles while we took in the art. At 9:00 P.M. a few of us left for the Officers' Club to try some American beers. After one can of Budweiser (yuck!!) and one of Millers (not bad!) I left to catch the shuttle bus back to Scott Base and head for bed.
The following day we had a meeting with the operations manager, John Alexander, about how our event would proceed, and when we could fit in our survival-training course. In the afternoon I took a walk around the base and then set to work organizing my basic gear for the survival-training course I would be going on over the next two days. This is a compulsory course for all expeditioners, making us practice
the survival skills learned at Tekapo as well as learn new skills more specific to moving around safely in Antarctica.
The survival training team who led our course was late coming in from Vanda Station that evening. A few of us went over to the field operations base in Mactown to hear a training lecture, and then we practiced a bit of “prussocking.” This technique entails attaching loops of rope to our main climbing ropes that can slide up and down, enabling you to edge up the rope slowly. We also learned some fancy knots and rope work, and then watched some slides showing the techniques in action. The next two days we would be out in the field trying out these techniques, and we were duly advised on what gear to take with us to be comfortable.
After returning to Scott Base that night I had a couple of beers in the bar with Rod Sewell, Andy Allibone, and Jane Forsyth, all of whom are geologists with many field seasons' experience working in remote parts of Antarctica. We chatted about the rocks, sledging journeys and the general hazards of working in Antarctica till quite late. The Scott Base bar has a large photograph of Robert Falcon Scott up on the walls, along with snowshoes, field gear, and other assorted historic memorabilia decorating its cozy surrounds.
The picture of Scott beaming down at you combined with the caramel glow from low angle sun reflecting off the Ross Sea ice sheet is enough to make you want to get out there and start man-hauling your way to the pole! I felt fired up but first had to wait just a few more days until the necessary survival-training course was completed. I was also anxious to hear any news from Margaret Bradshaw's party out in the Darwin Glacier region, as I was scheduled to join their group as soon as they were pulled in from the field. The last I had heard was that they had been delayed, so I would have to bide my time at Scott Base a little while longer.
The photograph of Scott above the bar somehow haunted me. I couldn 't help thinking of what had happened to him and his colleagues as I headed off to bed, and whether or not any degree of careful planning could really avert the direst of unexpected dangers in remote field situations. Tomorrow, I thought, I'd probably find out the answer at survival school.