It was while on a survey trip that Fuchs first thought of making the trans-Antarctic crossing. He told me:
‘I remember the moment well. It was in a tent and we were about four or five hundred miles out from Stonington and couldn’t go any further because we were running out of food and had all that way to go back. We’d been stuck there for four days by a blizzard. We could see some mountains further on and wanted to know what their geology was. I said that there must be even more peaks beyond, but we did not know at that time what happened inside the continent. There had been very little aerial survey at that stage. I said to Adie, “The only way to do this is to make a trip all the way across the continent and then we shall know, shan’t we?” I sat down then and there, with a stub of pencil and worked out that it should be a joint effort of all the Commonwealth nations with claims in the Antarctic and that it would cost a quarter of a million. In the event, it cost three quarters.’
This was in 1948, but the idea lay dormant for a little longer. Fuchs was advised to wait – something he was very good at doing; and as Director of the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey Scientific Bureau back in Britain, he remained in an excellent position to seize the right opportunity for advancing his plan.
It was not a new idea. In 1914 Ernest Shackleton had sailed into the Weddell Sea in Endurance, planning to winter on the coast before making his attempt to cross the continent the following summer. It was an almost unbelievably bold project, considering they were totally dependent on their dog teams and their own strength, that they would have to establish their own supply depots on the way to the Pole before setting out on their journey, and that they would have no form of radio communication with the outside world or their support party, coming in from the other side to lay depots up the Beardmore Glacier. Caught in the ice through the winter of 1914, Endurance drifted further and further in towards the centre of the Weddell Sea and was finally crushed. They were in a desperate predicament, hundreds of miles over ice and ocean from the nearest settlement with very little chance of anyone being able to come and look for them, since the First World War was now well underway. But for Ernest Shackleton’s extraordinary powers of leadership, the twenty-seven men under his command would almost certainly have died. They set out to save themselves, hauling two of the ship’s boats over the ice of the Weddell Sea, through the bitter cold of the winter, till the summer thaws stopped their progress. Then they drifted on an ever-decreasing ice floe through the long summer, towards the Atlantic Ocean until, at last, they could push the boats into open waters and row towards the dubious haven of Elephant Island, a bleak and rocky bump, buffeted by Atlantic storms. Had they stayed there they would have starved to death and so Shackleton, with five seaman, sailed one of the boats to the island of South Georgia, 700 miles away over some of the stormiest seas in the world. It took them sixteen days, half-starved, their clothes soaked and rotten, the boat covered in ice and filled with water for most of the time. And still it wasn’t over. Having landed on the uninhabited side of the island, they had to cross its glaciers and mountainous terrain without maps, food or any kind of climbing equipment to reach the whaling station of Stromness. Shackleton then sailed back with the rescue party to pick up the remainder of his crew. It was an extraordinary achievement, something that the modern polar explorer, with his radios, air support, modern food and equipment, would never be called upon to perform.
Vivian Fuchs’ plan was almost identical to that of Shackleton. He, too, wanted to sail into the Weddell Sea, establish a wintering base on its shore and then make his dash for the Pole, with a support party to lay down depots at the other side. The plan was the same; the available equipment was vastly different. He would have a powerful, almost unsinkable icebreaker to penetrate the Weddell Sea, aircraft to spy out a route and stock his depots, motor-driven, specially designed tractors to make the crossing. It could be argued that Shackleton’s plan, with the knowledge and equipment available at that time, was a forlorn hope, but it also held the very essence of adventure, a challenge against vast odds and unknown dangers, while that of Fuchs had an element of overkill; but then, Vivian Fuchs was not interested in adventure for its own sake. He was undoubtedly an adventurous man. He would not have chosen the course of life he had adopted had he been anything else, but he was essentially a scientist. ‘I have to have a reason for everything I do,’ he told me. His main aim in making the crossing of the Antarctic was to increase man’s knowledge of that continent; the adventurous side of the concept, which was something he most certainly enjoyed, was still secondary to the scientific.
In 1954 Vivian Fuchs had his chance. The International Geophysical Year was going to be from 1957 to 1958, when the governments of the world would be concentrating on scientific exploration and research, and would be amenable to a project which would be extremely expensive but also prestigious. Fuchs was not the only Briton who dreamed of making a trans-Antarctic crossing. Duncan Carse, the childhood hero of my generation in the guise of ‘Dick Barton – Special Agent’ (in a radio series of the late 1940s and early 1950s), had grown tired of fantasy adventure and had joined the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey. Now he produced a plan for an Antarctic crossing which he submitted to the Polar Committee. Vivian Fuchs also produced his, and from the position he held and with the backing he had from the establishment it was almost inevitable that his would be accepted. He then succeeded in gaining the enthusiastic support of Winston Churchill, presented his plans to the Conference of Commonwealth Prime Ministers in 1954, and the expedition was fully underway.
Fuchs needed a support team to come in towards the Pole from the other side and, since this was in New Zealand’s sphere of influence, a New Zealand party was the obvious choice. He had already met Sir Edmund Hillary and, as New Zealand’s most eminent adventurer, Hillary seemed best qualified for leader, even though he had no polar experience. The two men provided an interesting contrast, which was to cause a great deal of trouble as the expedition unfolded. Fuchs was primarily the scientist and brilliant bureaucrat, with the plodding patience and determination that so many polar explorers have developed; Hillary, on the other hand, regarded the South Pole as a mountain to be climbed for its own adventurous sake. He was extrovert where Fuchs was self-contained; Hillary spoke his mind, whereas Fuchs carefully chose his words. But in those early days of preparation they each got on with their own sides of the huge and complex job of organisation without coming over much into contact or conflict.
In November 1955 the advance party of the expedition set sail in the icebreaker Theron, with both Fuchs and Hillary on board. They shared a cabin, but this did not bring the two men any closer together, perhaps even accentuated an awareness of their differences in temperament and motive. Hillary remembered:
‘I was treated with an unswerving friendliness but it was made very clear that I was only an observer and I was never permitted to attend the regular meetings of his executive committee (although both of my expedition members were invited to these meetings on various occasions). I suppose I shouldn’t have resented this, but I did. I felt an outsider, not to be trusted with expedition responsibilities, and this was probably an uncomfortable foundation on which to build our association over the next couple of years.’
Most of the voyage was very relaxed, since they were little more than passengers, their only duties being to take turns in cleaning out the dogs. They played various deck games to while away the hours and maintain some level of fitness. In these games Fuchs showed another side of his character; although fifty years old and the oldest man in the party, he was furiously competitive and would always do more skipping or press-ups than anyone else on board. He was determined to win every rough game they played and was the champion arm wrestler of the voyage. He had to be leader in every respect, commanding his team by physical as well as intellectual dominance.
The object of the voyage was to establish an advance party on the permanent ice shelf of the Weddell Sea, to prepare for the main part
y which would set out the following year. Only one other boat had ventured into the Weddell Sea since Endurance had been trapped forty years before. Even with the power of modern engines and the help of their Auster aircraft, it was all Theron could do to penetrate the piled floes and reach the Filchner Ice Shelf. They were late in reaching their destination, barely had time to unload all the supplies on to the ice floe abutting the main ice shelf, before setting sail in a rush to avoid being trapped as Endurance had been.
The eight members of the advance party, under the leadership of Ken Blaiklock, an experienced Antarctic hand, had the task of ferrying all the supplies from the floe edge to the relative safety of the permanent ice. They had the advantage of tractors and Sno-Cats, but even these were of little use against the power of the elements. A violent storm blew up shortly after the departure of Theron, broke up the sea ice on which most of the stores were still stacked and the lot were swept out to sea.
The advance party’s hut was not yet built and they were still living in tents. The Antarctic winter was close at hand. Blaiklock kept his nerve, calmly suggesting that they return to the big crate which had contained their Sno-Cat, and which they were now using as a living shelter, to have a cup of tea and take stock. It was a very different situation from the one that had faced Shackleton some forty years before, for the nearest base – an Argentinian one – was only fifty miles away down the coast. Even though they had lost most of the fuel for their tractors, they had plenty of fresh dog teams and could undoubtedly have reached safety. But Blaiklock quickly dismissed this option. He had had the foresight to bring up to their camp a carefully balanced selection of stores which were just enough to last out the winter. True, there was no fuel for heating but there was just enough for cooking. He was determined to get the hut built and Shackleton Base established before the return of the main party.
The discomfort and the feeling of isolation experienced by Blaiklock’s party was no less acute because it was self-chosen. Several of them, particularly the ones without Antarctic experience, had difficulty in adjusting to their circumstances. Hannes La Grange, a South African meteorologist, suffered particular stress, spending long hours by the floe edge gazing out into the pack ice for a relief ship that, logically, he should have known would not be arriving until after the winter. He would shout out, ‘A ship! A ship!’ at the sight of a distant iceberg, only to be told by the others to shut up and not to be so bloody stupid! Then he took to walking out of earshot, so that he could shout out in the cold, empty spaces, ‘A ship! A ship!’ without irritating his companions.
Eventually he and the other members of the advance party overcame their troubles and settled down in their bleak environment. In talking to polar people, I gather Blaiklock ran a no-nonsense setup, where individuals were encouraged to keep a stiff upper lip, keep their emotions to themselves and sort out their own troubles. Perhaps this was the only way for a small group to survive, living on top of each other in fair discomfort over a long period of time.
It took them most of the winter to build the hut. It was prefabricated into hundreds of pieces that bolted together. Unfortunately, however, laid out on the uneven surface of the ice with the snow constantly drifting in, few of the bolt holes could be lined up together. As a result, assembling the hut was a painfully slow process which occupied the entire winter, with the men working in temperatures which went down to –50 °C and having constantly to dig out the wind-driven snows. They had no fuel for heat, slept in their tents and used the Sno-Cat crate, which was also unheated, as a kitchen and living room.
And yet, at the end of the winter, when the main party returned in the icebreaker Magga Dan their spirits were high, for the hut was built, their initial fears overcome, the small group welded into a tight team. Fuchs, with George Lowe, an easy-going New Zealander who had been a member of the 1953 Everest expedition and was now official photographer for the venture, flew into Shackleton Base in advance of the boat to bring in their mail and a few luxury items. The advance team had made a special feast for their visitors, enormous cakes, home-made biscuits and sugared dough cakes, all cooked on an oil drum stove. Magga Dan arrived the following day and the stores were unloaded in the next few weeks. At the same time, on the other side of the continent, Ed Hillary was establishing Scott Base on the Ross Sea, whence he was going to lay out his line of depots for the traversing party.
The pattern of polar exploration is so very much more deliberate than that of mountaineering. You arrive one summer, build a base or camp in which to survive through the winter and be poised at the beginning of the following summer to carry out an adventure or do scientific work. Antarctic bases very quickly resemble one another, each with a big living hut containing workshops and laboratories, and a work shed for the vehicles nearby. The Antarctic explorer has to be a thoroughly practical man, able to set his hand to building, vehicle maintenance, sewing and taking his turn at mass catering, in this instance for sixteen hungry men. There is also a tradition of structured work and routine, established partly by the scientific disciplines that have always dominated polar adventure and partly by the fact that everyone taking part in the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey had been doing it as a job of work, admittedly a highly vocational one, but nonetheless one for which they were being paid.
This was a difference in approach that George Lowe noticed particularly. Used to the free and easy ways of a mountaineering expedition, he began to see the difference that winter in Shackleton Base. They had a record player in the communal living room, but the rule was that this could only be played on Saturday nights and Sundays, the argument being that it would disturb people who were working and that not necessarily everyone would want to have music – or like the music that had been chosen. It was a logical rule, but it was also a fact that Fuchs was not particularly musical, considering the music as an ‘infernal din’, and that the decision had been reached by Fuchs without any kind of consultation with the others. This was undoubtedly his style of leadership. A self-contained man, who knew exactly what he wanted, he governed every feature of the expedition with a firm hand. It had to be done his way. He did not encourage any kind of discussion, even casual, of expedition matters. George Lowe described one incident that brought this out.
‘One day, a group of three or four were listening with interest while Geoff Pratt held forth on the subject of the gloves he wore. “These things are no bloody good,” said Geoffrey. “I wouldn’t mind betting that I could design a far more efficient glove for conditions like ours.” Bunny [Fuchs] glanced up sharply from his book, took off his glasses, laid them on the open pages and spoke, “When you know a good deal more about Antarctic conditions,” he said quietly, “you’ll also know more about gloves. These gloves have been designed after years of experience – and I think you’ll find they will do the job they were intended for.”’
On the other side of the continent, Ed Hillary had no such inhibitions. He knew very little about the Antarctic, had very few preconceived notions and therefore had looked at each piece of equipment with fresh eyes. He foresaw the problems that the prefabricated huts could present and completely redesigned the ones he was going to use, having them made in very much larger sections that could be more easily bolted together. He was also flexible on the question of clothing, bringing to bear the experience he had gained climbing in the Himalaya. Fuchs distrusted down gear, feeling that the down would get wet, then freeze and lose all its insulating properties. Hillary, on the other hand, went for down suits and jackets, since they had worked so well on Everest.
Although Fuchs’ rule was autocratic, he had the personality to gain acceptance. The morale of the group was high because they felt that the venture was worthwhile and that, under Fuchs’ command, they had a very good chance of success. He was totally competent, consistent and quietly determined; also, equally important, his team were accustomed to this kind of discipline and were, in Lowe’s view, very much more amenable than a group of mountaineers would have been.<
br />
The period before the arrival of winter had been spent in organising both the Shackleton Base and establishing their forward depot, to be known as South Ice; it was on the Antarctic plateau, about 300 miles south of Shackleton and 500 miles from the Pole. This was done entirely by air, using the single-engine Otter, to make both their initial reconnaissance and then to ferry in the parts of the prefabricated hut. Three members of the team, led by Ken Blaiklock, whose appetite for lonely outposts was in no way diminished by his experience of the previous year, were to stay there through the winter, to carry out a scientific programme.
Winter and summer in Antarctica are merely relative terms. Summer means continuous glaring light, cold, snow and wind. Winter is continuous, unrelenting dark, even greater cold, with yet more winds and snow. Fuchs and his party sat out the winter, filling their time with scientific research and the preparations for their long journey next year. The vehicles were overhauled, modified and improved in a large engine shed which was even heated. The huts, partly buried in drifting snow, had an ugly, impermanent look, as if they did not belong to this pure, bleak, empty world, having a radio that was sufficiently powerful to reach England, with an arrangement to link in with the telephone network. This meant that they could call anyone in Britain for a modest ten shillings and six pence a minute. It was a strange mixture of the traditional and the new – on the one hand the huge, empty continent, a hut which was very similar in design to the ones built by Captain Scott or Shackleton at the beginning of the century, a diet that was very similar to the one that the early explorers had had, even a rhythm of life that was not so very different, and yet combined with this were the aircraft, the big powerful Sno-Cats, wireless communication that could reach anywhere in the world and the knowledge that there were other, similar bases littered over the continent, even at the Pole itself.
Quest for Adventure Page 33