A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 34 (the last entry)

This is it, dear Reader. The last journal entry from our memorable trip to Antarctica 23 years ago.  

If you have managed to stick with it from Day 1, you have my admiration and gratitude - thank you for your resilience.  If you have no idea what this is all about and have just dropped in randomly, please take a moment to go back to Day 1 (HERE) and hopefully, if what I have written appeals to you, we'll see you back here in a few days.

I've thoroughly enjoyed re-visiting these memories, and while I realised of course, at the start of this exercise, that what I'm doing here is the very height of self-indulgence on my part - I did it anyway!

Thursday 16th January 2002 

Southern Ocean 

This will be my last journal entry for the trip. Barring vessels in distress lost refugee ships or pirates, we should have an uneventful voyage from here and be making our way back up the Derwent River towards Hobart in about six days’ time. 

We had a competition to design a voyage tee-shirt. My contribution was to offer to have Collex pay for them if we could put our logo on the sleeve. I think it was Tamara who came up with the winning design.

I mentioned yesterday about the Antarctic waste problems and the many challenges it presents. But what else did we learn from the voyage? Well, perhaps more than anything we learned about the human relations aspect of such a voyage. Being thrown together with a wide variety of people and personalities, even for this short period of time, has provided a great opportunity to learn something about people’s characters as well as our own. I spent nearly ten years on board ship during my marine engineering career but that was a long time ago and from today's perspective of a reasonably comfortable lifestyle, with plenty of personal space whenever it is needed, this kibbutz-style of living three to a cabin (four at one stage) and the sharing all facilities takes some getting used to. I never really feel I’m on my own until I draw the curtain in the evening on the 2 metre long by 1.2-metre-wide capsule which is my bunk. There is no escape. If I decide to go to the bar for a drink, or to the ship’s gym (sadly, not something I have done often enough) or to the video room to watch a movie, or the conference room to check or write an e-mail, I share the same space, with the same people with whom I have had breakfast, lunch and dinner. And yet it’s not so bad. This has been a remarkably happy and friendly voyage, and there is something agreeable about the experience of strangers becoming friends and of unfamiliar faces becoming familiar. On the way south, we were a comparatively small group of 40 expeditioners and 20 crew and the eight days it took us to get to Casey, provided ample time for us to become a friendly community. We shared a barbecue on the Trawl Deck and had a great time on Christmas Day. We enjoyed the fun of watching a hirsute bunch of people become follicly challenged as they shaved their heads for Camp Quality, and we had the opportunity to learn a lot about the different reasons we all had for coming on the voyage. There were wintering expeditioners on their way to face 14 months of isolation, marine scientists carrying out work enroute and individuals like Yann and myself who had some project involvement, for which a visit to Casey would provide valuable information in carrying out their various tasks. 

Once we arrived in Casey, we were overwhelmed by all the new faces. We, who had been comfortable in our ship-board environment were suddenly the visitors; the interlopers who were invading the space of the fifty or so expeditioners who made up the 2001 Casey summerers and winterers. We joined them in the Red Shed for meals and socialised with them in Splinters Lounge, but we knew that we were the round-trippers who were now taking up room in their territory. Then we left Casey, and those fifty or so Caseyites came with us, leaving behind the fourteen 2002 winterers that had come south with us. The ship was now not so quiet and we who’d had the luxury of being the sole occupants of a four-berth cabin, were now three to a room. 

Then the decision was made to turn left, instead of right when we came out of the ice. We weren’t going home after all, or at least not just yet. First, we had to see what help we could give Polar Bird, a few days away to the west of us. It was during this time that those strange Caseyites who had joined us, turned out not to be so strange after all. Those odd people with names like Critter and Fishbuster and Pepé, with their green and orange hair and their familiarity with each other, started to appear normal and friendly people, and quite a pleasure to be with. Is it something special about the type of people who come to the Antarctic, or is it true of people everywhere? I guess it’s because living and working in the cities and towns and in the busy world of today, the only people we really need to know well are our immediate families and friends and that anyone else is just a bystander. 

I’m reminded of one of the comments of AAD’s Chief Medical Officer, Dr Peter Gormley at our briefing on Day One, the morning before we sailed. He said, “When you sit across the table from the same fellow for four or six or twelve months, or however long you’re away for, and even though he cleans the food out of his beard with his fork, you’d better get used to it and learn to live with it, because he’s going to be there again tomorrow. So the message I leave you with is this: be kind to each other.” 

And so it was when we picked up the Mawson crowd from Polar Bird. By this stage, we had over 100 souls on board, and lunch and dinner required two sittings. But still morale was high and the attitude of all one of comfortable cordiality. Alright, the rationing of the beer to one can of VB per day was a bit of a drag, especially when the Guinness ran out, but there are still a few cases of Jacob’s Creek on board and the Light Ice at least quenches the thirst. 

It’s not just the expeditioners either. Being back on the deck of a ship after my own sea-going career many years earlier was an absolute pleasure and not one I had ever anticipated. I was quite chuffed when Evan, the ship's Chief Engineer, on learning of my previous engine room experience, inquired whether my marine engineering qualifications were still valid – if so, perhaps I’d like to do a couple of watches! I kind of think he was kidding, but I wasn’t completely sure. The officers and crew were to a man and woman, some of the most skilled and capable people I had come across – maybe it’s something to do with being on the Antarctic run, and the fact that this must be one of the last pioneering spots on the planet. The comment from our ship's captain, Tony encapsulated it all when he said to me one day, “A lot of people think that the two best jobs in Australia are Prime Minister and captain of the Australian Cricket Team. They are all wrong – this is!” 

It’s been a trip that I would not have missed for the world. Had Yann and I known beforehand how long we would have been away, we would have most likely decided not to come. Our jobs have suffered during this extended absence, and it’s been unfair to our families. From a personal perspective, I probably could not have been away at a worse time with bushfires in Sydney at one point threatening the suburb where I live and I am so thankful that I have a wonderful partner in my life who said, “Go, you’ll never get another opportunity.” I believe that during this time, Doug, my boss at Veolia in Sydney sent me the very first email he ever sent in his life, complete with punctuation errors it read, 

“Dear Mike, Do yOU still work for CoLLex?” 

But I’ve now been Antarctica and witnessed the wonders of that special part of our planet which is its very engine room. The place where the currents and winds seem to originate; where circumpolar low-pressure systems are formed and then spun off into the lower latitudes; where so much unique wildlife exists – the whales, seals, petrels and most of all those comical little penguins. 

It has been a privilege and not one I will ever take for granted. I just know that the next time I go to an event where there are thousands of people like a packed footie stadium, I will look around at the crowd and think to myself, “How many of YOU have been to Antarctica?” 

It’s a place where scientific research provides us with so much information about the very life and future of our planet; where the glaciologists, geo-physicists, earth and marine scientists and biologists come to study those things which look at climate patterns, the ozone layer and the biodiversity of life. I’m so very pleased to have made this trip and pleased that Doug Dean, Collex and Veolia have made a commitment to helping to return the White Continent to a condition where our human impact is minimal. I’ll be back. 

Footnote 2025 

I never did go back – or at least as I write this, I haven’t made it back yet. Maybe I’ll get there one day as a tourist, but it is unlikely to happen any other way.  However, much to my family's amusement (or maybe not), I am still wearing the tee-shirt.

The waste in Antarctica particularly at the old Wilkes base continues to be an issue. Australia is not alone with this problem. A quick Google search will reveal that there are legacy waste sites at many other present and former bases owned and operated by Antarctic Treaty nations. 

I'm certain that if a similar situation existed at a more accessible or visible Australian territory such as a former mining site say, the news would be on the front pages. It's unkind to say that out of sight, means out of mind, but this is Australian Antarctic Territory and there is no doubt that it continues to present a serious problem. 

Will it be fixed in my lifetime? I sincerely doubt it. 

The airport at Wilkins about 70km from Casey was completed in 2007 and most expeditioners now travel by Airbus on the four and half hour flight from Hobart. This reduces the amount of work that the charter ships do in terms of carrying expeditioners, but regular visits for refuelling and the carrying out of scientific marine work goes on. 

The dear old orange roughie, Aurora has gone. After over 150 trips to Antarctica she carried out her last assignment five years ago. She has been replaced by Nuyina a larger, faster and more powerful vessel. I did some research on the current whereabouts of Aurora. When last seen she was alongside the wharf in Vung Tau, Vietnam as the Cyprus registered, Aurora Dubai. No longer certified as an ice breaker, she is described as a supply vessel and my guess is that her days are numbered. 

Polar Bird did her last voyage for Antarctic Division in 2003. To my surprise, she is still active as Israeli owned and registered general cargo vessel Almog, last sighted in Haifa. 

It was, as I said in my journal, the journey of a lifetime. One particular moment that keeps coming back to me is standing on my own on the Helideck at about three o'clock in the morning. The ship was in a gentle swell in open sea and we had seen our last iceberg a few hours earlier. I must have stood on that deck for an hour, on my own, just looking at the silvery reflections on the sea from a billion stars overhead and thinking, I need to capture this moment in memory for ever - because it may never happen again. 

To people like Martin Riddle and Ian Snape and the many others involved in the human impact and clean up programs I acknowledge the critical contribution you have made in Antarctic research over many years. 

To those expeditioners I was fortunate to spend time with: Steve the kelp expert; Ann and Mary the lichen and moss ladies; glaciologist Mark; krill master Angela; risk manager (and great voice-over actor) Gordon; Lucinda from the ANARE Club; voyage leader Greg; deputy leader Simon; Station leaders John and Paul and those whose names I have forgotten, but certainly not your involvement and commitment, I remain in awe of your work.

To the ship's officers and crew, particularly skipper Tony; chief mate Scott (who later captained Aurora's replacement, Nuyina); second mate Jake; third mate Carmen; chief engineer Evan; Pilot Ric; Elvis; King Neptune; and Mark (who lost more hair on the charity night that most of us can grow in a life time), I thank you for your professionalism and your good will.

To those AAD executives like Tony Press and Kim Pitt and later Kim Ellis, it was a privilege to have known and worked with you. I dips my lid to all of you, expeditioners and mariners alike.

I'd also like to say a very special thank you to my colleague and friend on the trip, Yann Moreau - you were a great shipmate. 

Finally, thank you, Doug Dean – RIP.

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 33 (Homeward Bound)

Welcome to the penultimate journal entry.  We were on our way home and not too far away from returning to Earth.  I hope you've enjoyed it so far - only one more to go after this...

Wednesday 16th January 2002 

Southern Ocean (55 deg S, 92 deg E) 

Late yesterday afternoon, Yann was on the bridge deck photographing what may well be the last iceberg we will see. I asked him why he was taking a picture of such a pathetic little lump of ice when we had hundreds of pictures of some of the most majestic looking structures imaginable, he responded by reminding me how excited we were to see the first, and he felt that we should treat the last with the same respect. Can’t argue with that. 

Having freed Polar Bird, we sailed in convoy for a few hours, and it was a wonderful sight to see the two vessels in their brilliant orange livery gliding through the water on such a bright, cold sunny day. We might easily have been at a regatta on the Solent were it not for the ever present wandering albatross. It became even more of a social event later that morning when we rendezvoused with the Chinese Icebreaker, Xue Long. A great opportunity for photos, radio chit-chat and a lot of waving. 

Later, as Polar Bird at last took her leave from us, it was to a stirring rendition of Die Walküre’s evocative "Ride of the Valkyries" blasting from her on-board speakers across the every increasing gap between the two vessels. It wasn’t just the sea-spray which was making our eyes water. 

When we left Hobart nearly five weeks ago, we had no idea what was in store. We were looking forward to a short and uneventful three-week round trip. A chance to understand at first hand the waste problems of the Antarctic, meet the people involved and visit the project sites at Casey and Wilkes. We certainly accomplished this. We understand the scope and size of the challenge and as a consequence, are more committed than ever in ensuring the success of the program. 

Now that we’re on the way home, someone has organised a Murder Game. The rules are simple, everyone is given a piece of paper with the name of their murder victim on it. Killing your victim is simple – you must be alone in a room, or a corridor with him or her and simply say, ‘You’re dead.’ The victim then gives you the name of their intended target, which then becomes your target. The game can last for a week or longer. I lasted less than an hour. At 7.00 o’clock that the morning the game started, I ducked into the Conference Room to send an e-mail. Two minutes later, big Dan from Casey came in and said, ‘Good morning, Mike, I’ve got some bad news for you, you’re dead.’ 

It was a blessing in disguise as I saw my shipmates and friends slowly deteriorate from normal people into haunted paranoiacs. After several days, Yann said, “It’s not a game anymore, Mike. It’s a nightmare!” 

The ship’s corridors became places where people would only walk about in pairs, and signs appeared around the vessel saying things like, “BT must die” and “Tamara is dead.” As I write this, we are down to five murderers, the rest of us are all dead. 

On Saturday, we’ll be having the finals of the 500 competition, followed by a farewell barbecue on the Trawl Deck. The gym is a hive of activity as people work frantically to take off extra kilos gained over the past year, summer or just weeks depending on whether you are a long-term expeditioner or a round-tripper. One of the expeditioners, Dave has started a swing dancing class which has been well patronised and there are some excellent songstresses on board including Lucinda from ANARE and Aurora’s Third Mate, Carmen. 

Our eagle-eyed skipper, Tony Hansen, caught sight of a huge floating kelp island which disrupted a few people’s equilibrium as we turned in a decent swell to bring it on board for marine ecologist Steve Smith to add to his collection. Steve later told us that he thought it had drifted on Antarctic currents from Kerguelen Island, possibly the world’s most remote island. I think he was also a little sheepish about the broken crockery and disruption which may have been caused by the sudden and sharp left turn we had just made – but no one was really upset – all part of the advancement of knowledge. 

We should arrive at Hobart either late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning, fair winds prevailing. I’ve learned that the final waypoint is the Customs House Hotel, so that’s where I’ll be on Wednesday night.

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 30 (not stuck)

You may be pleased to read that we are getting close to the end of this nostalgic ramble. 

If you have stayed with me this far, I congratulate you and thank you for your endurance.  If you are reading this for the first time, and want to catch up - HERE's the place to start.

Monday 14th January 2002 

Prydz Bay (68.17 deg S, 75.43 deg E) 

Yesterday morning there was a yellow sticky note on the Bridge door. It said:

 

WE’RE NOT STUCK JUST WAITING… 

The little sign says it all. After several hours of bashing ice and getting nowhere while at all time worrying about the northerly wind closing the ice behind us and closing our line of escape, we have retired to a safe distance. 

If we want to move now, we probably can, but with that same northerly blowing the ice back in on us, it would be hard work and an excessive use of fuel. So the strategy is – wait. 

The break while everyone waits for the change in the weather is a good opportunity for an exhausted crew and voyage party to rest and recover from the sleeplessness of the past few days and get ready for the next ones which are likely to be every bit as challenging. 

It's now late Sunday afternoon and the wind has come around just enough for Tony to give it another go. There have been one or two bar room experts who have decided that we really are stuck and not “waiting” despite our voyage leader's assuring address to everyone at a Mess Deck briefing earlier in the day. The experts are nowhere in sight as we start in the early evening to move in closer towards Polar Bear who is where she has been for the past 24 hours or so, about three or four miles away. 

Our escape route is looking secure, and the weather favourable as we start to work our way down a lead toward Polar Bear's stern. It takes about four hours to make the few miles through the ice and by 0100 we are within three ship lengths of her. The last 300 metres takes eight hours to get us to a point where both ships are almost touching. Breaking ice for a rescue mission is not the same as breaking ice to make progress. We need to provide room for both vessels to manoeuvre and Tony’s aim is to smash enough of the thick unfriendly floes to allow progress by a conventional ship. So we crunch our way for a few ship lengths towards the stern, then do the same thing amidships and then to the bow, turning the ice into manageable lumps. We cannot charge in towards her using full power, otherwise a sudden breakthrough and we would become a battering ram rather than a rescuer - not a happy outcome. 

It would be overstating it to suggest that the precision had to be surgical, but it certainly had to be precise. The skills and teamwork of Tony and his chief mate Scott, and the other team members continued to impress us all and at no time was there ever a suggestion that failure was an option. By mid-afternoon, 24 hours since we first started to move in on Polar Bird, we have mooring ropes attached to her bow, and we begin trying to pull her around and into our track. This is laboriously slow, but after a few hours, we have her in tow and we are making slow progress towards the open sea, 30 or so miles to our north. 

Just when things are starting to look good, the rope separates, and Polar Bird came to an abrupt stop. The ice is particularly unfriendly during this time, and Bird is having great difficulty making any progress at all through our wake. 

We need a stronger towing line, and options are being considered including using one of Polar Bird’s anchor chains. We back up as close as we can to Polar Bird’s bow, trying to chop up some of the gnarly bits with our propeller wash. 

Slowly, ever so slowly she starts making progress again and we push on. The chopper is back in the air, with firstly, skipper Tony Hansen, then voyage leader, Greg Hodge and then Tony again aloft, directing traffic through the elusive little channels and ponds which appear and vanish and appear again somewhere else. 

It is a long, long night with several stops as Polar Bird loses momentum and falls further behind, then catches up as we reverse and start the prop wash exercise again. Persistence and the combined skills of officers, crew, pilots and the voyage leader and his team eventually pay off. At 0400 the watery bits are getting more frequent and the thick rafted floes start to change to lighter ice which breaks easily under Aurora’s bow. By 0430 we are in open water. Amid cheers and handshakes, the tension is released and thoughts of home on both ships became a reality. 

The beer will taste good later tonight.

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 27 (Prydz Bay revisited)

Welcome to Day 27 of our Antarctic Christmas. When last I wrote, we had left Mawson where we had dropped off the expeditioners who had previously been stranded on Polar Bird, and we were on our way back to Prydz Bay near Davis Base to have another crack at getting her out of the ice where she has been stuck for nearly a month.

 

Friday 11th January 2002 

Prydz Bay (68.20 deg S, 74.40 deg E) 

It is a couple of hours past midnight in the small hours of Saturday morning as I write this. 

It has been a long day. It began hopefully, turned to optimism and exhilaration and, as I write this, has ended with tension and frustration. We are just two miles from Polar Bird, but still the ice, the snow and the weather continue to thwart us. 

I had been up through much of the previous night writing a progress report on the Thala Valley waste management project for Sydney office. After that there was an hour long phone call to Australia which began at 7 am Sydney time, (0200 Aurora time). I think I finally made it to my bunk around 0600. 

Two hours later, Voyage Leader Greg, is at my door with the message that we are ten miles from Polar Bird and the two Squirrels are about to take off for a short recon flight. Greg knows that I'm keen to get some aerial footage of the ice and of Aurora Australis. He says if I am quick, there is a spot on one of the helicopters. 

I am quick! 

In about a nanosecond I am wide awake and scrabbling for warm weather gear, cameras and film. I pull on Yann’s fur-lined Size 10 Sorrels, (my own having disappeared when I left them at the door of the Casey Shed) and before you can say "ice", I’m up four sets of ladders and on the helideck where I am kitted out with immersion suit and life jacket, followed by a short but thorough briefing on safety procedures. 

For longer reccies such as this, the choppers always fly in tandem. Ricardo is flying Sierra Romeo Bravo with his two passengers, Chief Mate Scott and Voyage Leader Greg. 

I am in Hotel Romeo Delta with pilot Kevin and ANARE expeditioner Zane. We're off first. We do a couple of circuits of Aurora while waiting for Sierra Romeo Bravo to join us aloft and once she is airborne, we are on our way south toward the thick ice. 

It is another spectacularly clear morning with bright sunshine and a light southerly blowing. Southerlies are good, they blow the ice away from the land. Aurora has been moving easily at 7 or 8 knots in light ice floes, with about 60 or 70% clear water. The plan is to fly toward the thick ice and Polar Bird and search for inlets and channels in the ice from where we can direct Aurora to get closer. From 2,000 feet, and with such a clear sky, we have an horizon of about 40 miles and can clearly see the Amery ice shelf and the distant hills. 

The light ice soon gives way to the thicker porridge that we have become used to, but as we fly west along its edge, channels of water start to emerge. From above, the ice looks like something between crazy paving and broken bits of Plaster of Paris. The original plan is to do a short reccie and report back with options, but as the channels and leads become more pronounced, it is decided that the two choppers will push on further to see how close to Polar Bird these leads extend. 

After another 20 minutes or so, we see her directly ahead of us – a small orange dot on the horizon which grows larger as we get nearer. Tiny ice cracks turn into longer channels and leads of clear water and, as we get even closer, we see that Polar Bird is in the centre of a rectangular pattern of channels, each one about a mile or so away from her. 

There is the faintest suggestion of a diagonal crack which appears to run right through Polar Bird’s escape route and which may lead her to a possible way out. Even as I am watching and filming, the crack opens wider. 

I am so intent on filming everything that's going on, that I almost forget to take in the magnificence of the scenery surrounding me. It is breathtaking. We land one after the other on Polar Bird’s helideck, forward of the bridge and accommodation. She is a Norwegian vessel, registered in Bergen, smaller than Aurora Australis, but because she is a more conventional type of vessel than Aurora, she has quite a bit more cargo space. We head on up to her bridge where we meet her Norwegian skipper and her voyage leader, Joe Johnson. By this time, the crack in the ice had opened sufficiently for Polar Bird to attempt to push forward a little, and very soon to cheers which ring out from all parts of the ship, she moves under her own steam for the first time in over four weeks. With ironic humour, typical of the hardy souls who venture down here, one stranded expeditioner, who has been stuck on board for the past month, calls out from the bridge where she is standing, “I’m feeling seasick!” 

Shortly after this, we are back in the air. Sierra Romeo Bravo with Scott providing instant information goes ahead, tracing a route through the ice channels and relaying GPS latitude and longitude way points to Polar Bird's skipper so she has a course to follow. At the same time, Kevin in Hotel Romeo Delta, with myself and Zane on board, hover in front of the ship, providing her with on-the-spot information on how she is doing as she slowly at first, and then more positively moves under her own steam, through the channels of ice-free water which are slowly opening for her. 

We all know that this is only the start. She has 30 miles of thick ice to try to navigate before she finds more easily negotiated waters and although we spot plenty of leads, there is still a lot of crud to get through and she won’t be able to do it herself. There is also continuing concern about the weather. A change in wind or a drop in the barometer and it will all close in again, and if the streaks appearing in the sky away to our north are not enough of a sign of more severe weather on its way, the meteorological update from Davis Station confirms that our window of opportunity is shrinking. 

Satisfied that Polar Bird is underway and making some progress north through the ice, we head back to Aurora, arriving some 45 minutes later – a breath-taking trip, one I will not forget in a long time. 

All through the rest of the afternoon and early evening Aurora makes progress through the ice. A buzz goes through the whole ship when around 2100, Polar Bird comes into view for the first time and is clearly visible from our ship's bridge. She is about twelve miles away and slowly getting closer. She appears to have found a small billabong of clear water and is waiting for us to open a route for her. Spirits are high and we are all feeling that success is only a few hours away. Skipper Tony Hansen is aloft in Sierra Romeo Bravo with Ricardo and is giving running directions to Scott at the helm of Aurora. But the weather is deteriorating, and the wind has come around to the north, which is the very thing we do not need. Soon the leads have all petered out and we are back in the thick crap which so frustrated everyone the last time we were here. But back then we were over 35 miles away; now we are only two miles from success. Concentration and focus on the job in hand are paramount. By midnight, all non-operational personnel are asked to leave the bridge to the professionals and we let them get on with their mission unhindered. 

As I write, it’s 0230 Saturday morning and the northerly wind is closing all the exits. The worst possible scenario is now a plausible reality.

Are we going to get stuck ourselves?

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 25 (from Mawson)

Hi readers, welcome to another day on board Aurora Australis - 2001. Another short journal entry today, but stick with it there's more to come...

Wednesday 9th January 2002 

At sea again (67.36 deg S, 62.52 deg E) 

It is now midnight on what has been another spectacular Antarctic summer day. The sun has shone around the clock, and you can see forever. 

We have just finished helicopter activities and are gently making our way north again through light ice towards Iceberg Alley and on to Prydz Bay and our friends on Polar Bird. 

It's not like there is a jetty that we could tie up alongside, so sadly none us made it ashore as Aurora wedged herself into sea ice about 2 or 3 miles out from Mawson Base. We did however have an excellent view of the operation as the versatile and reliable French Squirrel helicopters spent all day ferrying expeditioners, baggage, stores and important scientific field samples between Mawson and our ship. 

So we're underway again. The weather is excellent and at one stage during the day, I caught sight of a couple of the hardier souls out on the fo’c’sle with their shirts off, taking advantage of the afternoon sun as if they are on Bondi Beach. It is remarkable how quickly we all seem to adapt to the weather. Minus one degree C is practically T-shirts and shorts weather and it is only when the wind strengthens that concessions are made to beanies and woolen mittens. Regular visitors to these parts tell me that it is noticeable that when the ship gets back to Hobart, family members waiting on the dock always seem to have more layers of clothing than returning expeditioners. 

After a very long day, where those involved in the activities worked tirelessly, we were finally finished by late evening. With the Squirrels stowed in the helideck hanger and everything once again lashed down, we backed out of the ice, made a 180-degree turn and slowly began again on our way north and eastwards at midnight. 

The sun sits low in the west without ever quite disappearing. As we smoothly make our way out of Holme Bay, it briefly winks out behind a mountain or an iceberg resulting in an hallucinatory blaze of changing colours and providing endless opportunities for still and film cameras which are always at hand. Skipper Tony has earlier predicted that the sight as we sail back again through Iceberg Alley at midnight will be magnificent and he is spot on. I hope that our photos do justice to it all. 

The effect on us of 24 hours of daylight means that there is never a moment when people are not up and about, working, watching, reading books or playing cards. With biological rhythms in utter confusion we sleep when tired and work when awake and some mornings the E Deck Mess is as busy at 0300 as it is at 1800. 

We have had another encounter on the way with Nova Tuna 1, who seems to be spending a lot of time within the Australian EEZ just looking. 

And so again to Polar Bird – perhaps some time tomorrow or early Friday…

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 24 (to Mawson)

A short interlude as we dash off to Mawson with a handful of expeditioners transferred from Polar Bird.

Tuesday 8 Jan 2001 

En route to Mawson 

We have not abandoned Polar Bird. Like Schwarzenegger, “we’ll be back” – but there is still a feeling of letdown as we leave her so completely beset in heavy pack ice, with no immediate chance of breaking free. 

She has been left with extra supplies of oil, fresh provisions, and a couple of extra communications guys and we have set off for Mawson with 35 additional passengers. There is a sense all round that we want to get back as soon as we can and finish the job.

 Tonight was Quiz Night – a fun event which raised another $500 for Camp Quality. I was able to answer all the questions, also not surprising since I was Quizmaster having prepared them all from a list that I just happened to have on my hard drive which has been collected after years of trivia nights at school and band functions. I knew it would all come in handy one day. 

My favourite question – What famous sporting event was won by Russia in 1946? 

No one had the correct answer of course and when revealed at the end of the round, I was peppered with a variety of projectiles for being such a smart arse. 

 It was the first night for quite some time that people had a work-free evening and the presence of Mawsonites, Caseyites, round-trippers and crew, not to mention Uruguayan Ricardo, the heli pilot from Polar Bird, and a party life and soul if ever I saw one, made for a memorable time in the “F” Deck Lounge later in the night.

We have made excellent time to Mawson, interrupted by yet another engagement with a fishing vessel. This time instead of Japanese whaling “research” vessels, we came across a long-line tuna fishing boat, Nova Tuna 1 complete with marker buoys and lines all ready and prepared. When hailed and asked what she was doing 60 miles inside Australian waters, her skipper said that his Ghana registered vessel was just “looking around.” 

“No sir,” he said when hailed, “we’re not fishing, just looking, and now that you have told us about this 200-mile zone, we’ll be on our way.” Yeah, right! 

The weather has been very kind, and the trip has been made even more magical as we travel through Iceberg Alley, surrounded by orcas and minkes. The last 30 miles as we approach Mawson leads through a spectacular iceberg field where drifting and grounded bergs, separated from the continental mass, stand in a huge array of colours, shapes and sizes. It’s over two weeks since I saw my first iceberg. I was gob-smacked then, and still am now. When we talk to crew members who have been here many times, their response is the same, you never tire of this. 

Pods of orcas and minke whales keep appearing, first on the port then on the starboard side. They are the most photo-shy of all Antarctic animals. Great to see, but never appearing when you get the camera out unless to show up in exactly the place where your camera is not pointing.

What an outstanding place is Mawson. If Casey, with its bay, and abundance of penguins, and bergy bits is stunning, then I struggle for superlatives to describe Mawson. As we approach and the ice-edge looms closer, I suddenly realise that what looks like low cloud, is in fact coastline gently rising to a clear white plateau with several splendid rocky hills and mountains carving the skyline. Of the three continuously operated Australian continental bases (the others being Casey and Davis), Mawson is furthest from Australia being about 5,500 kilometres southwest of Hobart. The station which is the oldest continuously operating station south of the Antarctic Circle was established in 1954. 

We gently push into the sea ice which stretches for about 3 or 4 miles from Mawson Station. 

We are here. 

 Oh – one last thing. In case you were struggling with the answer to the quiz question, here it is!

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 23

 Welcome back. There wasn't much journal writing for a few days, so we've jumped forward from Day 17 to Day 23 - but you haven't missed a lot - it was several days of ice bashing.  Here's my report at the end of that week. Read on...

Monday 7th January 2002

in ice Prydz Bay (68.20 deg S, 74.40 deg E)

 We’ve been here for nearly a week – not quite within a loud “Cooee” of Polar Bird, but pretty close. It’s been a long and frustrating few days, described by one of my fellow expeditioners as being in a state of punctuated equilibrium. I know what he means. Over the past few days, it has been a case of constantly adapting to changing conditions and situations as the weather and wind changes.

I have already mentioned that icebreaking is a lot more than just science - it requires skill, commitment, ideal conditions and lots of fuel. I have spent enough time on the bridge over the past few days to get an idea of the huge responsibility taken on by these guys when it comes to deciding the action plan for arriving at the right outcome for all involved. It is complex and has many conflicting priorities and needs.

First there is the annual shipping schedule which is built up around the resupply and the research program. The Antarctic Division has used two vessels through the 2001/2002 season, Aurora Australis and Polar Bird. Their role is to carry out re-supply to the three mainland bases at Casey, Davis and Mawson as well as the additional sub-Antarctic base at Macquarie Island. They take down the wintering and summering expeditioners and bring home those who have been there for the past season. There are also valuable marine science programs which are carried out both during the re-supply trips and as  separate voyages. A disruption such as having Polar Bird out of action for so long affects the operations of all the stations, and impacts the science programs and the people who are carrying out these programs. 

Additionally, there are many round-trippers such as Yann and me and many others, whose role it was to go to Casey, carry out their assignment, and return to their day jobs. So it is easy to understand that no matter how important it is to do everything that can be done to rescue Polar Bird, (and this of course, is priority number one) it is also essential that we do not get stuck ourselves and make the situation worse. I have stood on the bridge alongside Tony Hansen, many times over the past few days and repeated hear him saying, sometimes out loud, sometimes under his breath through gritted teeth:

"I’m not getting stuck; I’m not getting f*cking stuck!”

We bash and growl and bully our way into Prydz Bay, bit by bit getting closer to our target. The first time we come within 42 miles, before Tony calls it a day. 

If we should have a sharp change in the weather from the light south-easterly we are presently feeling to a northerly, then the ice channel we are creating, will close behind us as the wind blows the ice back toward the land. 

Aurora's crew are all highly experienced in ice, most of them having been down here many times before and without exception a repeated comment is:

“I’ve never seen this much ice in Prydz at this time of the year.” 

Many of the old hand expeditioners agree. (Maybe there really is something to this climate change talk.)

From the safety of the comparatively lighter ice, some 60 or so miles from Bird, a decision is made to start doing some helicopter reconnaissance and stores transfers. A little later we have two four-seater Squirrel helicopters from Polar Bird landing on the big white H on Aurora’s aft helideck, where only a few days ago our big waste containers had stood. Voyage Leader, Greg and Skipper Tony are soon up in one of the Squirrels with pilot, Ricardo and after a 10-minute sortie come back and confirm everyone’s fears that the ice around Polar Bird is not going to move for some time and it is too risky for Aurora to try to keep pushing further.

We start helicopter transfers to evacuate the ship of its stores and expeditioners, and later in the day it is decided that, for now, nothing more can be done to assist Polar Bird. We have not heard from the Chinese icebreaker and any way decisions on getting help from other sources are taken further up the line than on board Aurora. We don't have time to wait for that. The weather improves, then it deteriorates, then it improves again. During this time, phone calls and messages go back and forth between Polar Bird, Aurora Australis and the Tasmanian headquarters of the AAD. Eventually the weather clears enough for a 12-seater Sikorsky from Davis Base, some 80 or so miles to the east to join us. Aurora will take the Mawson bound expeditioners off Polar Bird and deliver them to Mawson. This will add another five or six days to the schedule but will get the expeditioners on their way at last and hopefully give a few days for the weather to improve, so that on the return journey we can have another attempt at helping poor old Polar Bird. So after having at one stage been as close as 35 miles, we leave Polar Bird with enough people and stores to keep the lights on, and with another 35 pax on board, we are off again in heading west to Australia’s oldest and many say, most beautiful of all stations, Mawson. 

Now there are four of us wedged into our tiny cabin, and there is a need for dual sittings at lunch and dinner. 

There is genuine concern that the beer is going to run out.

And so to Mawson …

A Southern Christmas 2001 - another short film

 I need to take another short break from the diary, as the next journal entry was not for another two or three days. So we will leave Aurora bashing and grinding at the ice as she continues her attack on the thick snow covered ice in Prydz Bay on her way to Polar Bird. If you have not read any of the story so far, this will give you an opportunity to catch up from Day 1 by starting HERE. 

Otherwise you may find this little five minute film, Cleaning up Antarctica - Wilkes provides more detail of our cleanup mission. It's dated of course, the sound is a bit scratchy and is not as well mixed as we would have liked, but I think it provides a picture of the challenges that are being faced in the cleanup process.

I have a couple more films which I'll try to post here a little later, just as soon as I work out how to transfer them from a twenty year old DVD disc to a notebook PC that doesn't have a DVD slot.

Meanwhile I hope you'll enjoy this...

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 18 (icebreaking)

 Wednesday 2nd January 2002

at sea (66.30 deg S, 78.40 deg E)

En route to Polar Bird…

After the excitement of New Year and our encounter with the Japanese whalers, the past 24 hours or so have been most frustrating as Aurora inches her way through ice and snow.  While some of us worry about families coping with the extreme heat and bushfire dangers in parts of Australia and wonder how the Aussies are doing at the Sydney Cricket Ground, Aurora Australis is showing us that icebreaking, particularly ice which is covered by up to a metre of snow, is no simple task.

It is now 1600 hours and in the 16 hours and four watches since midnight Aurora has travelled a total distance of 18 nautical miles, and we are no closer to Polar Bird. The competition for the first sighting of Polar Bird looks like going to whomever of us is the least optimistic.

Chief Mate Scott reminded me this morning that we’re an icebreaker, not a snow breaker. The mere presence of a few inches of snow slows the ship’s ice-breaking capabilities and makes it more like trying to force our way through solid porridge. To compound matters, in these conditions the clumps cling to the side of the ship as we go along increasing our drag and slowing us down even more.

The process is an art form, not a science as Skipper Tony Hansen says. 

"Look for little channels in the rafted ice floes and aim for a grey sky on the horizon, rather than a white one. The grey indicates possible water, the white is more snow and ice." 

This can be misleading at times, so it's important to maintain forward momentum and not chase false leads. All day it has been a case of making a hundred metres or so of forward progress watching as the ship slowly grinds and growls to a standstill when a particularly stubborn clump of snow covered ice refuses to yield, and then backing up 20 or 30 metres into our clear wake and taking another run at it, gaining more speed and momentum to break through and create enough inertia to sustain another run until the next huge clumps forces us to start the process all over again. Newton’s Laws of Motion certainly takes a pounding when you’re trying to push your way through this stuff.

Through all this, the scenery never ceases to capture our attention. Just think for a moment of every picture you have ever seen of the moon – huge rocky emptiness in every direction – then imagine it painted the purest white, with blue shading and you are close to the picture that we have been looking at today. And the wildlife persists - different species of seals (leopard, Weddell, crabeaters), sea birds and the wonderful emperor penguins. At one point, in the thickest of ice, in a tiny pool of water two minke whales surfaced for a quick breath before disappearing back under the ice again.

I am again reminded of the need to keep this area clean and unspoiled. We have done a one or two satellite phone interviews with Australian and French journalists and yesterday I was interviewed by a Chinese journalist. Among other things she wanted to know was why we thought it was so important to clean up waste in Antarctica when the continent is so large, and the part affected by human occupation and exploitation is so small. The point I made then, and one which gives a lot of cause for thought is that it is true that the part of Antarctica which is partially ice free in summer and which has been affected by humans is less than one percent of the continental land. However, it is because this region is comparatively ice-free and warmer, that it is so abundant in wildlife. That is of course abundant by Antarctic standards, where a couple of millimetres of moss growing on a rock is considered an absolute rain forest. And because of this abundance of flora and fauna, over 90% of the continent’s birds and animals use these regions to live and most importantly to breed. So we have the situation where less than one per cent of the continent supports over 90% of the wildlife, and this is the very spot where we have been making such an impact for the past hundred years.

So it is critical that these regions are dealt with sensitively. Current research at Thala Valley is already showing indications of reduced marine life in the region of the run-off from the tip. As we have said several times previously, Thala Valley represents less than a tenth of the potential problem at Wilkes, and the problems at some of the other bases, particularly the Russian Bases are probably as bad, if not much worse.

Finally at 1830 hours, after more than 24 hours of trying to push our way through what was becoming more and more like quick-drying cement full of lumps each the size of a small truck, Captain Tony Hansen decided to call it a day. The real risk to us is that if the weather should change for the worse, we could finish up in the same situation as Polar Bird and instead of being a rescuer we could well become in need of help ourselves.

We are very close to helicopter range of Davis Station (about 120 miles) and with clear weather a helicopter will do a much better job of directing us through the ice and helping us to find the most snow-free route. At present, although the log says we are in 9 tenths thick sea ice, I would describe it as 99 one hundredths. So we’re heading north-west instead of south-west to stay in helicopter range, but we need to find some free ice, from which to make our next attempt.

It’s going to be a long haul.