Certainly we were in one of the strangest, weirdest, and most terrible of all the corners of the earth's globe. Of all existing lands it was infinitely the most ancient. The conviction grew upon us that this hideous upland must have been the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng . . . .
—H.P. Lovecraft
The big orange whoop whoop bird arrived at Scott Base around noon. We quickly loaded up our gear into the helo and were flown over to Vanda Station in the heart of the Dry Valleys. We soared low over the ice shelf, cruising the margin where the sea and ice met. Below us were countless small dots of life; there were seals and penguins safely resting on the ice, and in the deep blue, cold water were the black and white shapes of killer whales keenly patrolling the edge of the ice sheet for unwary prey.
As we headed up the Wright Valley my mental image of Antarctica rapidly changed for we had entered one of the most remarkable dry valley systems on the continent. Here was a large area of exposed clean rock and sand (some 1860 square miles), yet bounded on all sides by ice and snow. It was below the level of the polar plateau, like a sunken lost world, quite reminiscent of Lovecraft's words describing the “Mountains of Madness.”
The Dry Valleys region is an area of the Transantarctic Mountains inland from Ross Island that remains ice and snow free all year round due to the fact that the land is rising at a faster rate than the glaciers can encroach on them. Also, the howling dry winds that roar through there in winter make it impossible for any build-up of snow and ice to
get started. This region was first discovered by error on one of Scott's earlier explorations during the 1901-04 Discovery expedition. Having overshot the mark in selecting a passage through the Transantarctic Mountains on their return journey from the east Antarctic ice sheet, Scott and his party inadvertently stumbled into the Dry Valleys in December 1903. However, being low on food and equipped only for snow sledging, they could not take the exploration any further. In 1911 Scott sent Australian geologist T. Griffith Taylor to explore the edge of these valleys, but it wasn't until the 1950s that the main valley system centered on the Wright Valley was discovered and explored for the first time. During the International Geophysical Year in 1957 a number of intensive studies were initiated to study the natural environment and geology of the Dry Valleys. Both New Zealand and America have had small base presences there ever since.
We cruised up the wide, clear Wright Valley, the towering mountains of the Asgaard and Olympus Ranges forming its scalloped sides and looming way above our heads, even in the helo. It was a truly breathtaking sight as the rocky walls are variously colored with irregular lashings of black dolerite sills, abundant light grey granites, and thinner layers of brownish shales and buff-white sandstones topping many of the pointed snow-capped peaks. We landed at Vanda Station around 12:30 P.M. and we then spent two hours there having lunch and waiting for our helicopter to take us on to Lake Victoria. Our team consisted of Chris Rudge, from the New Zealand Science Department's public relations group, geology student Andrew Allibone, geographer Martin Doyle, and myself.
Vanda Station was one large green hut with a kitchen and small recreational lounge area. Around it were a handful of small portable huts that had one or two sleeping bunks in each. The loo, affectionately called “the honey pot,” was a 44-gallon drum with a hole cut in the top located only a short walk away from the station, which in turn is located not far from the shores of the lake.
Lake Vanda is a stratified lake. The denser layers of salt and chemical-rich waters at the bottom have a higher temperature due to the magnifying glass effect of the four-meter thick ice sheet over the top of the lake. During times of high evaporation, when the lake dried up, the
chemical-rich brine remained as a residue. As new melt water came in from the glaciers, the thick salty solution at the base did not mix with the incoming purer water, resulting in differential layers of differing density within the lake. Lake Vanda is approximately 70 meters deep and in places the water temperature may be as high as 113°F, although at the top of the lake it is just below freezing. The only life found in the lake are some microscopic algae that live between certain layers of water within variable depths of the lake.
Lake Vanda, Lake Vida, and Lake Vashka were named after huskies. Vanda Station was set up primarily to monitor the rate of water flow of the Onyx River, carry out meteorological observations in the Dry Valleys Region, and act as a general base for other studies of geology or biology in these regions.
At about 2:30 P.M. we were airlifted by chopper into the rocky flats surrounding the frozen Lake Victoria, close to the forbidding steep ice wall that marked the front of the Victoria Glacier. We put up our polar tent, tucked our gear inside, and then headed off for a long walk to Sponsor 's Bluff where I could distantly see some craggy peaks of Devonian sedimentary rock. We climbed up to the saddle between two peaks, Sponsor's Bluff and Mt. Nickell, where we found an area of light-colored cross-bedded sandstone, rocks of the Beacon Group. It snowed continuously while we were there. From high up on this saddle we could look down into the pristine rocky wilderness of the Barwick Valley, where black metamorphic basement rocks were punctuated with jagged snow-capped peaks of cream-colored sandstones. It reminded me of my good friend and colleague Dr. Dick Barwick, now at the Australian National University in Canberra, after whom the valley was named.
Dick was one of the early NZARP veterans who worked as a biologist on the 1957-60 expeditions, so he was one of the first people to explore the region. He now works on fossil fishes with Professor Ken Campbell. During my two years in 1984-85 as a postdoctoral fellow in Canberra, Dick used to tell me hairy stories about those early days working in Antarctica. The helicopter rides were so dangerous in those days, he once told me, that the men would sit near the open doors with their full survival gear on ready to jump out in case of a crash.
We examined the rocks closely, getting nose-down onto the out-crops for any little fragments of bone that might indicate we had a potential fossil site. Although we searched intensely for some time, there was no sign of fish or plant remains, only some trace fossils such as the burrows and feeding trails of some ancient community of invertebrates, possibly shrimp or crab-like creatures. We made it back to camp around 11:00 P.M., in hazy light brought about by the closing-in cloud cover. We had a quick feed then went to sleep.
I lay there for the first time, snugly inside my tent on the Antarctic mainland, but all around me outside were rocks and gravelly sand. No snow or ice apart from the frozen surface of the Lake. Chris and I shared a polar tent in traditional layout, the two mattresses in parallel with a central cooking area between them. Andrew and Martin decided to sleep outside in low hollows on the ground, surrounded by a makeshift rock shelter against the prevailing winds, as dry valley areas like this are the only place on the mainland of Antarctica where one could actually get away with sleeping outside. They both wanted to experience a night in the open, under the cloudy sunshine.
On the following day we had mostly bad weather due to increasingly strong winds, so we were holed up in the tent for much of the day, only venturing out for short walks every so often. We spent quite a lot of time reading books and making cups of tea. Everyone was anxious to get on with our work and start the long trek back to Vanda Station, about thirty kilometers away. The plan was for Andrew and Martin to stay on a few days longer in the area to take measurements on the glacier and examine basement rocks in the region, then they would walk back to Vanda, studying the geology all the way back. Chris and I would depart with our backpacks loaded with food and water, and walk down through the valleys to Lake Vanda. Our most worrying concern was about the weather holding out for the long trek. We had a small portable tent on hand to escape the winds if it suddenly turned foul on us. The large polar tents and camping gear would remain at the Lake Victoria campsite and be lifted out by helicopter later that season.
On 29 December Chris and I set out on foot for Vanda Station at around 7:30 A.M. Our walk took us through the scenic Victoria Valley to the McKelvey Valley, through Bull Pass and into the Wright Valley
where Vanda awaited us. We reached Vanda at around 6:05 P.M. with very sore feet from walking in Sorrell boots all day.
It was an amazing day's walk through some of the most alien landscapes I'd ever seen. Weirdly shaped granitic rocks (called “ventifacts”) sculpted by the abrasion of strong winds littered these valleys in all shapes and sizes. The scene appeared even more surreal because of the intermixtures of different-colored geological materials, such as black doleritic rocks, light sandstones, and shining granitic pebbles, some lightly moistened by melted snow. Here in the Dry Valleys one sees sights that regular folk would never imagine existed on the continent of Antarctica, such as drifts of wind-blown sand built into monstrous dunes nearly 30 meters high, reminiscent of classic pictures of the Sahara Desert (at Bull Pass), or of clear flowing streams of ice-cold glacial melt water forming small rivers.
The Onyx River in the lower Wright Valley is Antarctica's only river that flows for about 60 days each year during the peak of summer. One of the other common sights of the region is the half-skeletonized mummies of desiccated seals buried in sand. One theory is that the seals get some sort of ear infection, lose all sense of direction and go wandering up into these valleys until they die of starvation. As there are no scavengers to prey on the carcass it quickly freezes solid after death. Then the harsh winter winds and blasting sands abrade one side of the carcass until the bones are cleaned of flesh. You can see the seal's skeleton on the side of the prevailing winds, and on the other side the animal is filled out with grey-black frozen flesh, its glassy eye and whiskers still intact. It's an eerie sight and one that reminded me of the continuous presence of danger from rapid weather changes. The weather for our walk was sunny and clear when we started off but it snowed lightly for most of the morning, and then cleared again after lunchtime. We arrived to a hot cooked dinner at Vanda Station, a couple of beers and beds to sleep in.
The next morning I arose around 11:00 A.M., as I was very tired from the previous day's long walk. After lunch I went for a short walk to the Upper Wright Valley, heading right of the huge table-shaped structure called the “Dais.” I left Vanda at about 1:00 P.M. and returned at about 6:30 P.M. The day was spent pleasantly wandering around alone
in the huge rocky valleys, exploring the geology and just getting my bearings in the overall area. I came across a lake of poisonous water that exists down in the valley on one side of the Dais. Apparently it was made toxic by the long-term concentration of residual minerals from the granitic and volcanic rocks of the region.
That night Errol, one of the meteorologists who regularly recorded the weather of the Dry Valleys, cooked us a culinary masterpiece for dinner. Where else but Cafe Vanda could you savor a meal of piping hot red saveloys (an Australian form of the hot dog, without the bun) in a tangy sweet and sour sauce made ingeniously from packets of powdered lemon and orange drink? It never ceased to amaze me what some people could create from dehydrated food supplies down in Antarctica. Martin and Andrew arrived from their long march home just after we 'd finished supper. Now there were seven of us here: Dennis Corbett (Vanda Station leader), Martin Doyle, Andrew Allibone, Chris Rudge, Errol, and Ian (meteorologists), and myself.
On New Year's Eve Andrew and I set out on a long walk up to the Odin Valley. This was a high plateau where Devonian age rocks sat on top of the older Ordovician igneous rocks. Like many of the geographical features in the Dry Valleys, Mount Odin and its valley were named after Norse mythological characters. It gave the region a kind of Lord of the Rings mystical feeling about it.
We set off directly up the rubbly slopes of the Asgaard Ranges at 11:30 A.M., and it took us only three hours to ascend the 1500 meters up the rubbly scree slopes until we were standing on the rim of the Odin Valley, looking down over the Wright Valley. From up here Vanda Station appeared as a small green speck on the rim of the glimmering frozen lake. Getting down to work, I spent the next few hours carefully examining every outcrop I could find of the buff-colored sandstones (appropriately named the Windy Gully Sandstone) and searched carefully through the overlying shales, but found no signs of fossil bone. Above this shaley layer was another sandy unit of rock called the New Mountain Sandstone. Its spaghetti-like appearance was due to its incredible density of fossilized burrows, known as Heimdallia, possibly made by some ancient crustacean that lived nearly 400 million years ago.
We trudged up from the Odin Valley into the valley of the Heimdall Glacier, and then slowly made our way back down the steep soft slopes, treading carefully as we would occasionally lose our footing and slide down on the scree. The scree consisted of loose blocks of rock of all sizes, held together by frozen soil of smaller particles. Occasionally the scree would give way under foot because of these icy slip-planes. It's not hard to imagine twisting an ankle on such steep slopes if you were not careful.
At one time that day I heard the soft vibrating noise of a far distant helicopter as it came closer and closer, but despite scanning the skies all around me I couldn't see it anywhere. Suddenly, without warning, the big orange chopper arose immediately in front of me from behind the lip of the valley below and soared noisily over my head. I hadn't thought to check down in the valley where the helicopter was cruising below me all the time. I waved at the pilot and he waved back before quickly disappearing behind me over the top of Mt. Odin. It was an exhilarating moment as the chopper seemed to come out of nowhere with its low engine roar reverberating across the valleys, echoing back and forth.
That night we settled in for some traditional New Year's Eve drinks at Vanda Station, imbibing the “drambers” (Drambuie liqueur), a favorite drop of the Vanda meteorologists. For many years there had been a friendly rivalry between the “Vandals ” (meteorologists) and the “Asgaard Rangers” (hydrologists and surveyors). The Asgaard Rangers would roam hill and dale carrying out their observations and measurements while the Vandals worked primarily around the station, doing meteorological recordings, letting off brightly colored weather balloons, and so on. Occasionally the bold Rangers would sneak down in the middle of the night to play some prank on the Vandals, like steal their flag or set up a booby trap outside the door. The Vandals would then retaliate by spotting the Rangers camp and carrying out a dawn raid on them. The stories are legendary, but when we were all sitting around together, in the warmth and solitude of Vanda Station, sipping the official drop of both Vandals and Rangers, all rivalries were momentarily cast aside.
At just after midnight Dennis, Chris, and I became the first mem-
bers of the Lake Vanda Swim Club for 1989. We stripped off naked and ran quickly into the near frozen melt waters around the edge of the lake. It was bloody cold, but we were in and out very quickly and then hurriedly dressed again, so the effect of the water wasn 't too distressing. The thought then struck me that no one will ever believe I did this, so I went back inside and grabbed my camera, then stripped off again and plunged in for a second time. I managed to get Dennis to take a somewhat fuzzy snapshot of me half submerged in the lake, modestly hiding my private parts just below the water line. We all went back to warm up inside the station. I was duly presented with Lake Vanda Swim Club membership certificate number 57, and then we all turned in to bed at around 2:00 A.M.
New Year's Day was a relatively quiet day. I decided to go for a walk up the valley and study the rocks of the valley floor, searching for traces of the fossil-bearing Aztec Siltstone in the glacial moraine. At the head of the Wright Valley the pyramidal shape of Mt. Fleming loomed above the Dry Valleys. As Mt. Fleming has a thick succession of Aztec Siltstone, I had hoped that maybe some of the fossil-bearing rocks had been transported into the valley during times of high glacial activity. Despite looking intensely all day I found no traces of such rock.
On 2 January I went for another long walk up to the Dais, the gigantic flat table-like mountain that sits in the middle of the Wright Valley just up from Lake Vanda. I climbed over the top of the Dais and down into the other side of the valley. This gave me an excellent view of Mt. Fleming, one of the best fossil fish sites in the region. I gazed at it longingly, and could almost smell the sweet perfume of long dead fish wafting off its icy peaks (sigh). In the afternoon I went to see Don Juan Pond, one of the other toxic lakes on the side of the Dais, then back to Vanda Station, after ten hours of solid trekking.
The plan for the following day was to pick us up and take us back to Scott Base. That morning we prepared all our gear ready for the helo pick-up. While waiting I went for a short walk around the base and looked at the equipment set up by the hydrologists for measuring water flow into Lake Vanda. The chopper arrived on time carrying American VIPs from the National Science Foundation, but as the
weather had suddenly turned bad plans for our return to base were cancelled. The helicopter was securely anchored to the ground, and the visitors and chopper crew were forced to stay overnight at Vanda.
The next day the VIPs left with Chris Rudge, but there was not enough room on the helicopter for Andrew and myself, so we spent the day waiting around for another helo lift. After hearing later that no more choppers were coming, we went for another short walk in the Wright Valley. That night we heard on the radio from Scott Base that Margaret's team had been successfully pulled out of the Darwin Glacier region and were now back at the base. This was exciting news for me, as it meant that there was still hope I could get out to the fossil fish sites in the Transantarctic Mountains of the Skelton Névé region, if only I could get back soon to Scott Base!
On 5 January the helicopter came in and flew us back to Scott Base, using a rather indirect route in order to complete a couple of other missions in the region. Consequently we spent about five hours flying around or waiting on the ground for various pick-ups. We reached Scott Base at 4:30 P.M., exhilarated by a full day of chopper flying in and around all the dry valley regions. That evening I met up with Margaret Bradshaw and her group and heard all about their adventures on the two-month field trip in the southern Cook Mountains and Darwin Mountains. They had had a most successful trip in locating some new exposure of the Aztec Siltstone in the Cook Mountains, with fish fossils present. They also discovered more of the Derycke Peak meteorite on the top of that mountain, and had to modify one of their boxes and attach skis to its base so as to drag the heavy iron space rock down the slope.
From 6 January through to the 10th, my days were spent waiting around Scott Base, planning initially to go out in the field as soon as Margaret's group were ready for another field session. Eventually, as the bad weather settled in and all operations were starting to wind down, it soon became apparent that VXE-6 Squadron were not keen on putting us into a remote location at so late a time in the field season. We learned that VXE-6 Squadron had successfully recovered an old C-130 Hercules that season which had crashed near Durmont D'Urville in 1971. The plane (call sign XD-03) was retrieved and re-
paired and was used in active service for another ten years, right to the end of VXE-6 Squadron's replacement by the Air National Guard in 1998.
On Sunday, 8 January Margaret, Ray, and Eric Saxby went out cross-country skiing and convinced me to tag along with them. They taught me how to cross-country ski. We went about six kilometers out towards the ski field, along fairly easy level ground which skirted along the edge of the island. Although exhausted on return I felt proud at having covered so much ground on my first skiing attempt. The next day we went for a much longer cross-country ski to the Scott Base “Chalet”—about a twelve-kilometer round trip. It was decided that day if we couldn't get lifted into the field by Thursday we would have to call off the whole trip and start planning for the next season. Eventually the sad news of a helicopter crash suspended all operations and we had to completely abandon the idea of getting into the Boomerang Range. In such cases where lives are seriously at stake, one doesn 't dispute the wisdom of the operations managers.
On the night of Wednesday, 11 January I departed Antarctica from Willy Field on a C-130 Hercules flight back to New Zealand, arriving in Christchurch early Thursday morning. By that evening I was back on a flight to Australia, somewhat disappointed at not having had the chance to visit the richly fossiliferous sites in the Aztec Siltstone, yet still exhilarated at my overall experiences of having explored the Dry Valleys on foot. Moreover, I was determined to go back and do it properly next time, as Margaret had promised we would plan a big return trip for a few years down the track.
And this is exactly what happened in the 1991-92 field season when we visited the “Mountains of Madness.”